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A beat of jealousy snakes through me, leaving a warm trail of respect. He has the ability to present as someone else while I’m stuck as Dancing Barbie, trying to dress up as Business Barbie.
His jaw clenches before he says, “Your mother’s place is already secure. She’s had years of evading cameras and shady people. At her place, I won’t stand out. It can be her idea if word gets out that you’re staying with her. All people will know is that I’m a bodyguard and you’re getting divorced. They’ll make their own assumptions. News of a stalker will stay out of the press, making it easier to track him down.”
People will assume Roman is threatening me. A perverse part of me likes that idea. A way to unknowingly stick it to Roman for being a cold spouse.
I learned one thing from Mother—control the narrative as much as possible. She no longer acts, but she runs her business with the same principles. Cannon’s plan is better than the studio. Roman won’t go within a hundred yards of Mother. When she first met him, I overheard her asking, “Tell me, Mr. Hughes, what does a virile, accomplished man like you want with a college girl half your age that doesn’t have to do with sex and control?”
I was livid, but present-day me would very much like to know the answer. I should’ve learned more from her before she and Father divorced and I was split between two households that would just rather not be with me.
I lift my chin and focus on those yellow flecks instead of his intimidating height and width. “I’ll call my mother.”
* * *
Cannon
Elsa floatsinto Jacobi’s house with reflective sunglasses that are probably covering dark circles under her eyes and a large plastic cup of something yellow with a straw sticking out. I woke her up after an all-nighter.
Penelope is calling her mom in the guest room. The discussion outside went better than I anticipated. I expected a little foot stomping. That plump lower lip sticking out is the sexiest pout I’ve ever seen. It made an appearance, then was gone, thank fuck. When she did it, I envisioned nipping that ripe flesh between my teeth.
I need to get laid.
I wipe that thought out. My dick doesn’t lead my life. Sex is a tool. Sometimes, it needs to be sharpened, but this isn’t one of those times. It’s Penelope’s quiet strength that’s getting to me. I’m glimpsing a woman who’s so unlike my mother they might as well be on different planets. It’s the way she looks at me, with her direct, guileless stare. She actually fucking sees me.
Penelope’s dangerous. If Roman wrote her off as a clueless tool, then he’s the clueless one. She’s a watcher. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. She watches. She studies. And when she’s ready, she acts. No one is prepared for her to act. Roman Hughes wasn’t.
A spark of respect lights within me. She defied her powerful husband. Men like that don’t like when women make them look bad. Men like that use women. Roman’s more like my mother than anything. There was no one around to stop my mother. But I can stop Roman.
Elsa pushes her glasses up and squints around the mansion she used to clean. “We got another job, and why can’t it wait until I can nurse this hangover?” She stuffs the straw into her mouth and sucks until her cheeks cave in.
I glance at the second level. Jacobi is in his office. He’s the one who let Elsa through his gate. London ran to work, and Penelope hasn’t come out of her room. I spent the night planning my mission.
“You remember Penelope?”
Elsa tips her head. “The dancing queen or the Marilyn Monroe lookalike?”
“Dancing queen.” Holland has the fifties bombshell vibe.
Elsa nods. “Right. Yeah?”
“She’s divorcing her finance tycoon of a husband, and he’s going to be pissed.”
“Okay.”
“She’s also being stalked.”
Elsa’s brows lift and she takes another slurp of her pineapple-banana-God-knows-what-else smoothie. “Well, there’s no shortage of creeps.”
“I’m gonna be her bodyguard, and I need your help.”
She narrows her eyes. “What else is there to the story?”
Elsa’s ability to read people is the only reason she’s still alive and hasn’t been packed into a cargo ship container and sold to the highest bidder. Struggling actresses transplanted from the Midwest don’t always fare well in Hollywood, but Elsa has the perfect amount of jadedness. It’s why I’m comfortable around her. If she’s in trouble, she’ll tell someone before she lets it destroy her. Unlike the swan.
“I can fill you in when I know all of it. But I can promise you that Penelope needs protection.”
Elsa rolls her eyes and says a sarcastic, “Yeah. She’s like a little deer, dancing around being pretty for everyone, and everything’s fine until some hunter wants to stuff her.”
That’s incredibly…accurate. Penelope’s beauty and privilege distracted me from the innate innocence she possesses, made me think it was fake.
