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Now I shift in my chair. Is this man asking me what I think he’s asking me? To babysit his god-awful daughter that I thought I got rid of months ago? Fuck me.
“Let me get this straight,” I start. “You wantmeto be your daughter’s bodyguard? Follow her everywhere she goes day and night?”
Charles nods his head. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Jameson.”
I suppress the need to sigh. I’ll definitely be needing a stiff drink when this meeting is over. When I first started this company, yeah, I’d jump at these opportunities but now—now I organize security for high-ranking political officials and billionaires,nottheir spoiled kids.
“She’s my angel,” he adds. “She’s—”
The door to the office bursts open. My head jerks to see who’s walking in and—
Fuck. Me.
Speak of the devil. In she walks—Blaire Hanson.
Her platinum-blond-topped head is tucked down as she looks at the stacks of papers in her hands and walks farther into the room, her heels clacking on the tile. The sleeveless cream dress she’s wearing hugs every slight curve of her lean body. Her nails are perfectly manicured an icy white, just like her cold exterior.
“Daddy, I’ve gone over these reports dozens of times now. I don’t see the—”
Her voice stops the second her eyes land on me. Her whole body freezes, and I watch as the memory of the one dreadful night we shared flashes through her mind. It almost makes me laugh to know what she’s thinking this very second. I nonchalantly cover my mouth with my fingers to keep from laughing.
“You,” she whispers, narrowing her eyes.
Charles appears to be oblivious to the situation by the way he cheerily says, “Blaire, darling, excellent timing! Meet Jameson Maxwell. He’s going to be watching out for you for the next little bit.”
I smile at Blaire as she shoots daggers at me, obviously not looking forward to her new reality. My, my, my, how funny is this.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says, turning her attention to her father. She crosses her arms over her chest and shifts her weight onto her left hip.
“Sweetheart, we’ve already discussed this.”
“I can take care of myself,” she protests, now looking back at me. “I don’t need some wannabe undercover spy attached to my hip.”
Oh, I’ve been attached to a lot more of you, sweetheart.
“Blaire, this decision is final whether you like it or not.” Charles’ voice is more stern and forceful.
Blaire gives her dad a look that could kill. The room is silent for a moment as the two of them have a stare down with me sitting in between them until Blaire interrupts it. “What about when I travel?”
“He’ll be right with you.”
“And when I go to the store?”
“He’ll push your cart.”
“What about when I’m at home cooking or sleeping?”
“He’ll wash the dishes and tuck you in.”
Charles folds his arms across his chest as if he’s sizing up Blaire. His mouth is pressed into a hard line, and the two hold each other’s gaze for a few more silent seconds. Something tells me this man has seen a lifetime of her behaving this way. I love seeing this woman being put in her place.
Without another word, Blaire’s heels clack loudly on the floor as she walks to Charles’ desk and slaps the papers in front of him.
“Read ’em yourself,” she says, storming out of the room.
The door slams with a loudthump, and it’s all I can do to keep from laughing.
Aw, the princess doesn’t get what she wants. How unfortunate.
