The Trouble With Bodyguards: Part 1 Page 4

  Chapter 6

  “Oh,” she groaned, coming back to consciousness. Her eyes were glued shut, the pain in her head a thundering war-hammer, and her mouth filled with the dried remains of raw sewage.

  “Fuck,” she said, attempting to roll over, the swaying of the room locking her in place for the moment. She needed water, needed it, but in order for that to happen she would need to first open her eyes. She struggled, willing her eyes to open, to no avail. She put her hands to her face, rubbing at the makeup that was still on her face from the night before. How had she gotten... she thought about it, she really didn't know that she was home until she could open her eyes. Who knew where she could have ended up. The last thing that she remembered was... the super-hot guy at the bar, Rick.... dancing with Rick.... did he kiss her? No, he didn't... because she had... oh fuck... she had puked all over the floor.

  Ugh, very classy, Alex, she thought. Meet a super-hot guy, throw up on him. That's exactly how you win a man. She forced her eyelids open, grimacing at the blinding light of the sun coming in the bay window. Where the hell was she? Panicking, she sat up quickly, grasping at her head as it attempted to fall off and roll across the room.

  “Oh, fuck,” she said, the pounding in her head thudding louder. She thought about lying back down, to lessen the pain, but she needed to find out where she was. She looked down, horrified to realize that she was not wearing her dress any longer, but that someone had put her into an oversized t-shirt with a dolphin on the front, and that the t-shirt did not belong to her.

  “You say ‘fuck’ a lot when you have a hangover,” said Barry, entering the room, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands.

  “Barry,” she said, squinting at him from the bed. “Where am I?”

  “My houseboat,” he said. “After your little sprinkler impression last night I put you in the car, but I didn't know exactly where you lived, and you were out cold, so I brought you here.”

  “And my clothes?” she asked, pulling at the hideous t-shirt.

  “Carl took your dress to the dry cleaners,” he said, chuckling. “You didn't want to put it back on like it was. So you're stuck with the flipper tee for now. I have some shorts that I think that you can fit into, for the ride back to your place. Want some coffee?”

  “Yes,” she said. She cradled the mug between her palms, savoring the warmth of it on her hands. She sipped at the sweet brew, taking a moment to relish the simple pleasure of a good cup of coffee when your mouth tastes of toxic waste.

  “What happened?” she said, sipping again at the coffee.

  “Well,” he said, chuckling. “You danced a grip, were having a really good time. Then you zeroed in on a super-hot guy, and he seemed to be checking you out too. I watched you...” he hesitated,” sort of hunt the guy for a while. Interesting approach, I must add, though it didn't really work out. You tried to get him to dance with you, which failed, and then you fell into his arms. Literally, fell, into his arms. Then I think, now, mind you, I was across the room, so I'm not sure. But it looked like you tried to lay a kiss on him, and he wasn't having it. I can't really blame him, as by this point you were wasted and looked it.”

  “Oh god,” she said, hanging her head in shame.

  “Oh, it gets better,” said Barry. “He goes to leave, and you call him back so he doesn't miss your final act, barfing all over everything and passing out.”

  “Oh god.” She put her hands to her face, trying to hide.

  “Carl and I jump up from the table when you fall, run over, and try and scoop you up. No self-respecting woman should ever lay in a puddle of her own puke. But you were all wobbly, and we were having trouble getting you out to the car. So dreamboat comes over and helps us carry you.”

  Alex looked up at him, horror in her eyes. Rick had come back, to help her friends carry her drunk, puke-covered ass out to a car. Embarrassment flooded her, and she thought that she might be sick again.

  “He really was tasty, by the way,” said Barry, “but don't expect to have him knocking on your door. You were in really rough shape last night. He's probably hoping he never has to see you again.”

  “Oh fuck,” she said, flopping back down on the pillow. She had made a fool of herself in front of hundreds of complete strangers, and now she was in the bed of a gay man, on a houseboat, with makeup and puke all over her, in a Flipper t-shirt. How could this get any worse.

  She recognized the jangling melody of her cell phone, and leaned over the edge of the bed, spotting her purse on the floor near the bed. As she rifled around inside her bag, Barry headed out of the room, to give her some privacy.

  “Hello,” she said, her hand to her head as she answered.

  “Good morning, dear,” said her father's voice from the phone. “Did you sleep well?”

  Alex lay back on the pillow, her hand over her eyes to block out the light streaming in the window. “Oh, sure,” she said, chuckling. “What time is it?”

  “It's about ten,” he said. “Listen, I'm calling to see if you would come over to the house for some late lunch this afternoon. I have some things that I would like to discuss with you.”

  “Today?” she said. “I have work to do today.” She didn't mention that she still needed to find her way home, shower off the embarrassment of last night, and somehow dig up her pride before she started anything today. Just those things might take the rest of the week.

  “I only expect this to take an hour or so,” he said, “then you can get back to work. I'll instruct the cook to serve lunch at two, which should give you plenty of time.”

  She knew better than to argue with her father, especially when she felt like this. She would never be able to stand her ground. “Okay,” she said, “I'll be there by two.” She tossed her cell phone onto the bed, flopping back onto the pillow and pulling the duvet up over her head, blocking out the wretched, blinding sun that was now streaming in through the bedroom window. She groaned, writhing in a tantrum below the covers.

  Chapter 7

  The meds that Alex had taken to quell her headache were finally starting to kick in, thank the dear baby Jesus, as she flew along the highway in the direction of her parents’ house. The sun shone radiantly in the sky, despite her pleas for it to knock it off and go hide under a rock somewhere. She pushed her oversized sunglasses up higher on the bridge of her nose, hoping that her father wouldn’t notice the dark circles under her eyes, the sallow tone to her skin that just screamed, “I stayed out all last night and got hammered!”

  Traffic came to a screeching halt as she crossed the bridge out of town. She slammed her palms against the steering wheel. “Crap,” she exclaimed, staring at the hundreds of tail lights burning brightly, miles of them spread out before her. She was going to be late.

  She blew out a rough breath, leaning back against the head rest, closing her eyes for a moment. The image of Rick, the guy from the bar last night, filled her mind, the look of disgust and horror on his face when she had fallen into his arms and attempted to kiss him vivid in her memory. Ugh, she thought, her stomach turning over, still embarrassed at her performance of the evening. At least she didn’t know anyone that frequented that establishment, other than Barry, and she didn’t think that he would be gossiping about the situation with his friends. He had brought her there; he might be just as eager to shove the whole thing under the rug as she was. Most likely, as soon as this headache was gone, she would never be reminded of that mess, ever again.

  Bummer, though. Rick had been super-hot, and it had been entirely too long since she had gotten laid. Between the photo shoots, the endless hours of culling and editing, and the pointless reveal parties for the designers, filled with the vacant stares of models and the flashing chaos of the paparazzi, there just wasn’t time to meet a decent man. She sighed heavily. She had seriously ruined any chance she had to get next to Rick last night; she couldn’t think of anyone who thought it was hot to have some chick barf on their shoes.

  As the traffic began to move, s
he wallowed in self-pity and shame. She was on the way to be scolded by her daddy, as he assigned her a babysitter to watch over her life, because she was not able to take care of herself.

  Chapter 8

  “You’re late,” her father said as Alex threw open her car door in front of the house. He was standing on the porch, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for her to arrive.

  “I know,” she said, climbing the steps. “There was an accident or something on the expressway, traffic was backed up for miles.” Standing on her toes, she stretched to press her lips against her father’s cheek in a chaste kiss. Perhaps some affection from his little girl would soften the shell of irritation that he was wearing today. She looked into his eyes. Nope, she thought, he’s pissed.

  “I’ve had them wait to serve lunch until you arrived,” he said, walking into the dim house. She followed him, pulling off her sunglasses as she crossed the threshold, the blaring afternoon sun shaded by lace curtains on the big windows of the main gallery. The house was immaculate, not a trace of the celebration of the night before visible anywhere, not a stray glass forgotten on the mantle, not a coat thrown over an armchair. The staff must have been here early this morning, toiling away before the sun peeked over the horizon, to have the place spotless before her mother and father had come down for breakfast.

  As she stepped into the dining room, a woman carrying a tray entered the room just as her father settled himself in the chair at the head of the table. She had been waiting, Alex knew, on the other side of the swinging door, the passage of her boss through the dining room door the signal for her to begin her dance. She poured them both tall glasses of iced tea and water, set fresh, green salads on their plates, and placed a basket of steaming rolls and butter on the table between them.

  Alex noticed, as she slid into her place at the table, the same seat that she had occupied since she was old enough to be allowed to eat at the table with her parents rather than being shut up in her playroom with the nanny for her meals, that there was a third place set at the table across from her.

  “Is Mom joining us?” she asked, looking to her father, who was sipping thirstily at his iced tea. “Should we wait for her?”

  “Your mother is out for a day with her ladies,” he said, drizzling salad dressing from a crystal decanter onto his greens.

  “Then who is the third place setting for?” she asked, picking at her salad. She wasn’t really hungry. Her stomach was still churning from the lingering hangover she’d had since waking up. Whatever was in those fancy drinks last night had really done a number on her. She’d have to remember to ask Barry next time that she saw him, so that she’d know to avoid them at all cost.

  “Your bodyguard,” said her father, without looking up from his salad, which he was devouring heartily.

  “My what?” Alex said, shocked. She set her fork down on the table, and it clattered against the edge of her salad plate, slinging greens and dressing onto the white tablecloth.

  “We talked about this, Alexandra,” her father said, blowing out a heavy breath of frustration.

  “It thought that’s what we were doing here. I thought that I was summoned to lunch, even though I have things to do, to talk about me possibly needing a bodyguard.” She shouldn’t be surprised, she thought. Once her father had his mind made up about something, there was no discussion, no way to sway his determination to get the ball rolling. He would do what he wanted, regardless of what she had to say.

  “Listen, Alex,” he said, setting his fork down and folding his hands on the table in front of him. “You come from an influential and well-known family. I know that you want to distance yourself from that, that you need to prove something, that you can be your own person. But someone has taken an unnatural interest in you. We know this from the gifts, from the photographs. What we don’t know is whether this person is dangerous or not, or what their intentions are.”

  “It was just a few pictures,” she said.

  “Let me finish,” he said, holding his hand up to staunch her argumentative interjections until he had said his piece. Alex sat silent, biting her tongue, vibrating with irritation. She felt like a child being scolded by her daddy in order to teach her a much-needed life lesson.

  “I know a gentleman,” he said, brushing at crumbs on the white linen tablecloth. “We have used men from the same service before, when your mother and I went out of the country. He is reliable, and very good at what he does. He will not interfere with your daily life, your work, and most of the time you won’t even know that he is there. But if needed, he will be able to protect you.”

  “I can protect myself,” she said, interjecting. She hated the idea of having some strange man keep tabs on her day and night, reporting her every movement back to her father. It went against everything that she was trying to do with her life; it robbed her of her freedom.

  “I know, darling,” he said, reaching across the table, placing his warm hand on hers, covering it completely, his hand still larger than hers, even though she was no longer a child. “Please,” he continued, sincerity in his warm eyes, “do this for me. It won’t be forever. If there is nothing more that happens in your life to make me worry, then we will discontinue the contract, and Mr. Andrews will disappear from your life.”

  Mr. Andrews. Alex pictured a bald, threatening hulk of a man, violence in his dark eyes. For some reason her mind created this creature with a scar over the left side of his face, bulging muscles with visible vascularization. A beast for her to drag around on a chain to frighten away bad guys that might be dangerous to her. A guard dog for her daddy’s precious princess.

  “All right,” she said, sighing heavily. “Fine.”

  “Good,” said her father, visibly relieved that she had acquiesced to his plans. “I’ve set up this lunch meeting so that you and he can get acquainted, and we can go over the situation, so that we are all a little more comfortable. I don’t want you to think that I am sending someone to control your life, darling girl. I just want to make sure that you are safe.”

  “I know, Dad,” she said, reaching across the table to place her fingers gently on the back of his hand. “I’m sorry if it seems like I am being a brat,” Alex said, pleased when her father chuckled and squeezed her fingers.

  “You’ve always been a brat,” he said, reaching again for his salad fork, “but I kind of like you, so I keep you around anyways”

  Alex laughed, relaxing into her chair. She loved her father; they had been close as long as she could remember. He had been the one to stand behind her when she decided that she wanted to learn to ride a horse, lifting her into the saddle, driving her to the hospital when she immediately fell off and broke her arm. When she had expressed an interest in archery, he had taken her to the store to buy a compound bow, standing out in the blazing sun, teaching her the mechanics of hitting a target from several hundred yards away. Her mother ached to put her in frilly dresses, to take her along to afternoon tea with the ladies, or for day at the spa, but Alex wasn’t having any of it. She wanted to get her hands dirty, to experience adventure and thrill, and to live life to the fullest.

  Her father had held her up, putting her on his shoulders, her dirt-covered knees on either side of his head, as they climbed to the top of the waterfall on the outskirts of town. From the top of that cliff, lifted high into the sky by her father’s strong arms, she knew that she could take over the world, with his support.

  Alex smiled. This was nothing, a small irritant for her to deal with for a few weeks, nothing in comparison to everything this man had done for her over the years. Her stomach growled loudly, and she reached for a roll out of the basket, slathering it with butter.

  Andre, her father’s employee, who had really been in charge of the way that the house functioned as long as she can remember, stepped into the doorway to the dining room. “Pardon my intrusion. Hello, Alex,” he said, leaning over to press a small kiss to the side of her face before continuing. “But a Mr. Andrews is here to s
ee you.”

  “Yes,” said her father, “he’s expected. You can bring him in.”

  As Andre turned away, headed for the foyer to collect her babysitter for the foreseeable future, Alex leaned back into her chair, popping the rest of her roll into her mouth, and promptly lost her ability to swallow.

  Rick stood in the doorway, shock and dismay in his eyes, quickly followed by disgust as scenes from last night’s horrific adventures flashed in his memory. He was even more good-looking than she remembered. He still wore the close-fitted black t-shirt and cargo pants from the night before, the muscles of his shoulders and chest visible through the fabric. His hair was tousled, as if he had driven here with the windows down, windblown. Disdain burned in his dark, smoldering eyes.

  Alex tried to swallow the lump of bread in her mouth. Her stomach sank, and icy fear ran in her blood as it lodged itself in her windpipe, blocking her airway. She was choking!

  She stood quickly, her chair falling backward, kicked over and clattering to the floor behind her. She slammed both of her palms down on the table, her salad plate spinning over the edge and shattering at her feet. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked to her father to rescue her.

  “Oh hell,” exclaimed her father, jumping up from his chair to come to her. “She’s choking!” Pushing his chair out of the way, he moved as quickly as his years would allow.

  Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her body into the warmth of a powerful embrace, as Alex’s vision began to darken around the edges. Her ears were ringing, she could no longer hear the shouts of her father, the clattering of the silver at it crashed to the floor. Her chest was burning, the need to breathe overwhelming all else. Her knees went weak, the arms around her now supporting her fully as a crushing weight landed on her middle.