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“Are you going to be with me twenty-four seven?” Taylor gestured at the three of us. “Like, in my apartment?”
I pushed the idea of being in her apartment beyond what I had to do for my job out of my mind. Shit, I really needed to get my head in the game. I was good at my job. I really loved my job, something I didn’t think I’d feel after my football career ended. I couldn’t throw it away for a beautiful woman.
“No,” Cody said. “We’ll assess your apartment for potential security weaknesses and put in a security system to monitor you while you’re at home. One of us will get you settled each night and lock the door behind us. If anyone breaks in or attempts to, an alert will go straight to us and the police.”
“Okay. My doorman already knows not to let people up, so I should be okay,” she said. “And will all three of you be with me all the time?”
“Not necessarily. We take shifts being your primary guard, while the other two do all the work of ensuring that your environments are safe and that you aren’t facing any threats,” Cody said.
Taylor nodded slowly at that, a hint of a worried wrinkle on her brow for a tenth of a second.
“Do you have any concerns about that?” I asked.
Her eyes widened, like she wasn’t expecting me to pick up on her hesitation. “No, it’ll just take some getting used to. Troy, did you have anything?”
“No.” Troy smiled. “It sounds like you’re in good hands. When can you start?”
“We need to finish up the background work on the people she comes into contact with and set up security at her apartment,” I said, sliding my tablet back into its leather case. “But after that, we can start first thing in the morning tomorrow.”
“First thing tomorrow, then.” Taylor took a deep breath through her nose and gave us a smile. It wasn’t a full-on one, which was a relief. I already knew her smile was going to be my weakness, and I needed every ounce of willpower to get my job done right.
CHAPTER3
Ethan
Taylor Bailey’s apartment was about what I expected it to be: an expensive penthouse on prime Manhattan real estate, decor designed down to every detail. It was a space befitting of a billionaire heiress whose career was built largely on appearances.
Not that what it looked like mattered. The more important thing was that it was more or less a fortress against intruders. Guests needed to get past the doorman first, then use a passcode to get up to her floor. Once we got to her floor, we had to wait in a foyer in order for her to unlock the door to her actual apartment. Cody had replaced the locks and deadbolt with something that even he couldn’t pick if he tried.
But just because her home wasn’t as vulnerable to intruders didn’t mean I could sit back and relax. I double-checked the cameras we’d installed around the foyer yesterday. No blind spots. I rang her doorbell and waited.
And waited.
Was lateness a habit of hers? I checked my watch right as I heard all the locks and deadbolt coming undone. Finally, she pulled the door open, flustered. It didn’t seem like she’d stumbled over from bed based on her outfit. She was in snug, pinkish-purple leggings and a coordinating sports bra, her olive-toned skin covered in a sheen of sweat.
She was a stunning young woman. Pretending she wasn’t would be ridiculous. Her workout outfit was only emphasizing her curves and ample cleavage, making it hard to ignore the heat sweeping through me. I kept my eyes above her neck. That didn’t help, either. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but her skin was bright and soft-looking. Her brown eyes were doe-like and wide, her lashes ridiculously long.
I nodded at her. “Good morning, Miss Bailey.”
“Sorry, I was in the kitchen making my smoothie, and I didn’t realize all these locks took so long to open,” she said, glancing behind her. “You can come in. I’m running a little behind, so I still have to shower.”
I stepped inside. “Do you often run behind?”
“Not usually. I just had a hard time falling asleep last night.” She led me farther into her apartment, her attention darting from one room to another. Finally, we stopped in the kitchen. It was gigantic, befitting of a chef. “Um, do you want a coffee while I get ready?”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
She blinked. “So that’s a no, I’m guessing. Water? Tea? Anything?”
“Water, please. If you show me where it is, I’ll get it myself.”
Taylor walked over to a cabinet and pulled down a glass, filling it with water from the door of her gigantic fridge.
“Thank you.” I took a sip of it when she handed it over.
“You’re welcome.” She ran her hands down her thighs, like she didn’t know what to do with them. “I just need to drink my smoothie really quick and shower.”
“Go ahead.” I checked my phone, where I’d pulled up her schedule. “We have half an hour until we’re supposed to be at the coffee shop for you to get work done.”
