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“Come on, Jade, it’s time to go.”
When I don’t move, he places his hand in the small of my back, guiding me forward, out to the limo where the chauffeur has the door open, ready.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Richard.” I’m talking to myself more than Jaxon, but he leans down to speak softly in my ear, anyway.
“Yes, you can. Come on.”
“Why didn’t he come?” I ask brokenly, tears pricking the back of my eyes. I can’t believe I’m doing this, seeking reassurance and comfort from the man I call Mr. Asshole in my head, the man whose fingers are still outlined in red on the back of my hand.And probably elsewhere on my body, I think bitterly, remembering the brutish way he’d bent me over the desk and walloped my ass repeatedly.
“I don’t know,” he says gently, patting my shoulder sympathetically.
His compassion confuses me. I don’t know how to take him when he’s like this, showing a kind side. At least when he’s gruff and stern, I know where I stand. I don’t like it, but it’s not confusing like he is right now.
“Come on,” he urges quietly. When I don’t move, he takes my hand and leads me right up to the open door of the car, standing aside to make room for me to get in. His hand on my back pushes me inside, and his body blocks my escape. There’s nowhere to go, nothing else for me to do but obey.
Tears stream down my face as I shimmy across to the other side of the car, making room for Jaxon, who slides in next to me. He reaches across me and fastens my seatbelt, before shifting back to his own seat and doing up his own. I don’t fight him. It seems pointless now. Nothing even matters anymore. I’m being sent away from everything I’ve ever known: all my friends, my home, my family. The sense of betrayal aches inside me, getting stronger as the limo glides smoothly down the long driveway, out through the arched metal gates, driving me away from everything I love.
I expected Jaxon to sit up front with the driver, leaving me alone to wallow in my misery, just like every other bodyguard I’d ever had. But Jaxon is completely unlike any other bodyguard I’ve had before. Nobody else has cared about my behaviour the way Jaxon does. All my other bodyguards kept me safe but didn’t care too much about what I said or did. Except my most recent one, Mr. Useless. He barely kept me safe, and my behaviour seemed to fascinate him. I’m certain it’s his fault my face is plastered over all the papers today. If he didn’t tip the paps off himself, he did nothing to shield me from them once they found me.
“It will be alright, Jade,” Jaxon tells me softly, patting my shoulder.
Mr. Asshole doesn’t seem to fit him so well anymore.
“He didn’t even come to say goodbye,” I sob. For some reason, that hurts me more than I expected it to.
Jaxon doesn’t say anything, but he does pat my shoulder again in what I assume is meant to be a comforting gesture, and he offers me a crisply ironed handkerchief to use to dry my tears. I take it, unfolding it and wadding it up into a ball, dabbing at my face carelessly. I’m pretty sure my makeup is ruined—my mascara is meant to be waterproof, but it never is. Not properly, anyway. But I don’t even care. My life is falling apart. Smudged makeup is the least of my worries right now. There’s a mirror in the back of the limo, accessible by pressing a button on the console, which slides back the cover, but I don’t bother to check my reflection. Let the paparazzi take photos of me like this. See what headlines they can come up with this time. It can’t be any worse than what they’ve already said about me.
Even in the car, Jaxon doesn’t relax fully. I’m slumped against the seat, feeling pretty miserable about everything, completely oblivious to the outside world. But Jaxon is sitting up straight, alert, his head turning constantly as he looks out the windows in all directions. As annoying as it is to see him always moving out the corner of my eye, it makes me feel safe to know he’s watching our surroundings so carefully.
“Damn, I feel like shit,” I mumble. I’m not actually talking to Jaxon, but he reacts anyway.
“Don’t swear,” he growls, frowning at me. “It’s not ladylike.”
I snort. “You’ve seen the photos of me in the newspapers, right? The ones of me vomiting in the gutter with my hair smeared across my face, stumbling around the place with only one shoe? I’m not a lady.”
I swear a wry grin flashes across his face, but it’s gone in an instant and I’m left wondering if I imagined it. Instead, the stare he fixes me with is stern. The one that turns my insides to mush.
“Maybe not,” he agrees. “But you’re going to act like one, regardless.”
“Fuck off. No, I’m not,” I snap at him furiously. I can’t be bothered with his nonsense. I’ve got a killer headache, a hangover from hell. He’s forcing me to do something I don’t want to do and go somewhere I don’t want to go. I don’t care about his insistence on manners. I don’t owe him anything.
Quick as a flash, he has my chin in his hand, and he turns my head so I’m facing him. He tilts my face up so I can’t avoid his steely gaze. Chills go down my spine at the threatening look he fixes me with.Damn, that’s a sexy stare.I try to push the unwelcome thought away.
“You swear at me again and I will turn you over my knee and spank your bottom until my hand hurts too much to continue.”
I gulp. He’s holding my chin tightly so I can’t look away. His dark eyes flash dangerously.
“And Richard’s not here to stop me after just a few swats. Remember that.” With one last, stern stare, he lets my chin go and I quickly turn my face away, back to the window. I don’t want him to see my tears. I don’t want him to know that he frightens me and arouses me in equal measure. I don’t want him to know thatthis—travelling on a commercial airline to New Zealand, away from everything I know and love—frightens me.
After a few minutes of silence, Mr. Asshole (he deserves the name after his threat) turns to me.
“What happened to your shoe? In the picture?” he asks curiously.
“Don’t know.” I shrug. “I think it came off when I was running, trying to escape the photographers.”
He purses his lips and frowns. “Where was your security?”
I shrug again. “He was there.”
