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“It’s okay. He’s my bodyguard,” I explain.
Things are far from okay. The second we’re home, I’m calling Papa.
“Oh.” Henri gives me a sheepish smile then heads toward the door. “This is too complicated for me. I’ll see you around.”
I let out a disappointed sigh as he hurries out of the restroom, then my eyes lock with Max’s. My voice is low with anger as I demand, “Let go of me.”
He obeys the command, and when he takes a step deeper into the restroom to search the area, I snap, “Don’t bother. We’re leaving.”
I stalk into the hallway, and heading to the table, I grab my purse. I don’t bother keeping up pretenses that I’m a happy socialite. Without saying goodbye to anyone, I rush to the stairs and go down to the lower level.
I feel Max right behind me, and when a group of drunk people almost knock into me while they’re staggering to the bar, Max’s arm wraps around me and yanks me back until I’m flush with his chest.
Which is rock hard.
For a second, I’m actually impressed by the wall of muscle behind me before my anger surfaces again.
With Max still glued to my back, breathing down my neck like a vicious pit bull, I’m directed where to walk like I’m some puppet.
The moment we’re out of the busy nightclub, I pull away from Max and stalk toward my Bugatti, my body trembling from how upset I am.
Again he grabs hold of my arm, and I’m stopped from trying to climb into my car. Before I can lose my shit from all the manhandling, Max growls, “I need to check the car.”
“For fucking what?” I seethe. “It was locked. I doubt the boogeyman got in while you were screwing things up for me with Henri.”
His eyes land on mine, and it looks like he’s a second away from killing me himself. “There might be a bomb.”
I seriously doubt it, but stand next to the Bugatti while Max checks the vehicle with some kind of mirror on a stick.
Once he’s satisfied that there’s no threat, he comes to open the passenger door. Glaring at him, I climb inside the vehicle and strap on my safety belt.
The instant Max slides in behind the steering wheel, I snap, “Go to my father’s house.”
Like always, Max doesn’t respond. He starts the engine, and with his eyes on the road, he drives to Papa’s home.
What the hell? I can’t even have some alone time with a man. I’ve seen other people with bodyguards, and their protectors never embarrassed them like this.
Seriously, Max is the furthest thing from a bodyguard. Where the hell did Papa find the man?
Chapter 8
Cami
The moment Max brings the Bugatti to a stop in front of the mansion, I shove the door open and get out. I’m too upset to greet my father’s guards as I stalk into the house.
Knowing Papa will be in his office this time of the night, I head in that direction. When I walk into the room, Papa’s head snaps up from where he is reading a document.
“Camille? What’s wrong?” he asks, concern lacing his words.
I gesture at Max, who’s coming to a stop next to me. “He embarrassed me tonight and is downright impossible. I understand it’s for my safety, but there has to be boundaries in place. I’ve been walking on eggshells the past week.”
Papa gives me a patient look. “What happened tonight?”
“I went to the restroom, and he burst inside like the freaking Terminator.”
My father’s eyes flick to Max. “Care to explain?”
“Camille went into the restroom with Henri Durand. I’ve told her I have to search a room before she enters it.”
