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By mid-morning, I’ve roamed the house, read a book, and made sure the grass in each of the front, back, and side yards is growing at a proper rate of speed. Yeah—safe to say I’m bored.
Eventually, I lie down on the couch in the den and fall asleep. The next time I open my eyes, the sun is shining a lot higher than it should be for me having just napped.
“Beck?” I call out.
No answer.
I shake off the residual fatigue and stretch, then roll off the couch, step into my slippers, and pad into the kitchen.
“Beck?”
“In here.”
He’s sitting at the counter, coffee in one hand, iPad in the other. When I walk in, he shakes his head as a video plays on the tablet. “This kid Weston Scott from L.A. is setting the ice on fire.”
I cock my head. “Wouldn’t that melt it?”
He shoots me an eye roll and tilts his screen over so I can see. A flash of motion, players careening into one another. The red light of a goal. “Scored six goals last night against Phoenix. Lars Brendel is a beast and this Scott kid still put six big ones past him. I’m glad I’m not a goalie.”
“Same. I feel like doing my job with a couch strapped to my limbs wouldn’t be fun.”
He rolls his eyes again, scowling at me, but then he throws an arm around my shoulders and tucks me into his side.
“I want to go out today,” I inform him.
He sighs. “Okay.”
“Shopping, I think.”
Window shopping, to be specific, as I have no money, but I’m not offering up that information. I don’t want his AmEx or his wallet or whatever he would try to shove into my hand or handbag if I admit that.
“Whatever you want.”
This is too easy. He’s being too agreeable. Something isn’t right.
Instead of forcing the issue, I get ready, shower, and change into shopping shoes and clothes. I’m halfway back down the stairs before I notice what looks like an army of goons standing at the door.
Three towering trees of men look up at me in unison as I descend the rest of the steps uncertainly. “What’s this?”
“We’ve been assigned to accompany you today, Miss Reeves,” one of them rumbles. He’s got a voice like a cement mixer.
“Accompany me?” I look at the biggest one. I would fit in his pocket, for God’s sake.
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Daniels?—”
He doesn’t get to finish before I’m whirling on my heel and hunting down Beck in his office. “Three?” I exclaim as I burst in. “You think I needthreejolly giants tailing me through the aisles of the mall? The last thing Victoria wants is to spill her secrets to the bulk brigade, Beck!”
He doesn’t look up from his work. “And she can. But I want to keepyou, and this is the only way I can do that without personally following you everywhere you go. As much as you hate this, I think you’d hate that even more.”
“I’dhate it? Oryouwould?”
The girl inside of me who wants the very pretty boy to admit he wants to be with her is waiting with bated breath.
He drags his eyes up to mine. I watch as he licks his lips. My heart is suddenly painful and constricted in my throat.
“Either of us,” he says at last.
I swallow hard. “You know what? Fine. Three bodyguards is overkill, but I can handle it.”
