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Giving up on taking a walk, I turn around. “Let’s head home.”
Max’s eyes lock on my face. “Why? If you’re worried about your safety, don’t. Nothing will happen while I’m guarding you.”
“I’m not worried,” I argue as I walk back in the direction of my building. “I feel crowded, and no amount of walking with you by my side will make it go away.”
When he doesn’t comment on what I said, I ask, “You’re not a people person, are you?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all.”
“Then why be a bodyguard? Surely you should be able to get along with the person you’re guarding?”
He shakes his head again. “No, I just need to keep you alive.”
Brick freaking wall.
“Forget it,” I mutter, feeling more frustrated than ever.
The man has zero communication skills. I’ll just have to do my best to pretend he’s not here.
Hopefully, Papa will find out who’s behind the threats and have the person locked up, then my life can return to normal.
Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Even if the person is exposed, Papa won’t remove the bodyguard.
Getting back to my building, we take the elevator up.
I glance up and find Max staring impassively at the shut doors.
“What’s the longest you’ve guarded someone?”
His eyes flick down to meet mine. “Don’t worry, Camille. I won’t be around for long. As soon as your father gets rid of whoever is threatening you, he’ll arrange for someone else to guard you. I’m just here while the risk of an attack is high.”
The elevator doors open, and he orders, “Wait here.”
“Are you going to search the entire penthouse every time we get home?”
“Yep.” The single word is filled with a world of annoyance.
Maybe I frustrate him as much as he frustrates me. Our personalities clash.
I wait for him to search the apartment, and when he joins me downstairs again, he says, “Let’s go over the rules.”
“Rules?”
“You never go anywhere without me,” he states the obvious. “You don’t lock a door, and unless you’re using the bathroom or developing photos, I expect the doors to remain open.”
In other words, there goes my privacy.
My frustration flares into anger, and I cross my arms over my chest while just staring at him.
“Whenever we leave the apartment, you obey every command I give without hesitation. If I say get down, you become one with the floor and don’t lift your head until I say it’s safe to do so.”
My eyes narrow on him.
“I will search public restrooms before you’re allowed to use one.”
Jesus, does he even have emotions? I’ve never met anyone so rigid before.
“What if I have a date?” I ask.
