When I spoke again, my voice was frigid enough to make Antarctica look like a beach paradise. “Yes.” My smile sharpened. “Luckily for us both, Mr. Larsen, I have no interest in being your friend, confidant, or ‘anything else.’”
I didn’t bother dignifying the second part of his statement—the one about me doing what he said, when he said it—with a response. I wasn’t an idiot. I’d always heeded Booth’s security advice, but I’d be damned if I fed into Rhys’s inflated sense of self.
“Good.” Rhys stood. I hated how tall he was. His presence obliterated everything else in the vicinity until he was the only thing I could focus on. “I’ll assess the house before we discuss next steps, including upgrading your security system. Right now, any teenager with access to YouTube tutorials can bypass the alarm.” He shot me a disapproving glare before he disappeared into the kitchen.
My jaw dropped. “He—you…” I sputtered, uncharacteristically speechless. “Why, I never!” I turned to Booth, who was trying to melt into the giant potted plant by the front door. “You’re not leaving. I forbid it.”
Rhys could not be my bodyguard. I would murder him, and my housekeeper would murder me for staining the carpet with blood.
“He probably has first-day jitters.” Booth looked as uncertain as he sounded. “You’ll get along just fine after the, ah, transition period, Your Highness.”
Perhaps…if we made it out of the transition period alive.
“You’re right.” I pressed my fingers to my temple and took a deep breath. I can do this. I’d dealt with difficult people before. My cousin Andreas was the spawn of Satan, and a British lord once tried to grope me under the table at Monaco’s Rose Ball. He only stopped after I “accidentally” stabbed his hand with a fork.
What was one surly bodyguard compared to entitled aristocrats, nosy reporters, and evil family members?
Rhys returned. Surprise, surprise, his glower hadn’t melted.
“I’ve detected six security vulnerabilities we need to address ASAP,” he said. “Let’s start with number one: the windows.”
“Which ones?” Stay calm. Stay reasonable.
“All of them.”
Booth covered his face with his hands while I contemplated turning my hairpin into a murder weapon.
Rhys and I definitely weren’t making it out of the transition alive.
2
Rhys
Princess Bridget von Ascheberg of Eldorra would be the death of me. If not literal death, then the death of my patience and sanity. Of that, I was certain, and we’d only been working together for two weeks.
I’d never had a client who infuriated me as much as she did. Sure, she was beautiful (not a good thing when you were in my position) and charming (to everyone except me), but she was also a royal pain in my ass. When I said “right,” she went left; when I said “leave,” she stayed. She insisted on spontaneously attending crowded events before I could do the advance work, and she treated my security concerns like they were an afterthought instead of an emergency.
Bridget said that was the way things had worked with Booth, and she’d been fine. I said I wasn’t Booth, so I didn’t give a damn what she did or didn’t do when she was with him. I ran the show now.
She didn’t take that well, but I didn’t give a shit. I wasn’t here to win Mr. Congeniality. I was here to keep her alive.
Tonight, “here” meant the most crowded bar in Hazelburg. Half of Thayer had turned out for The Crypt’s Friday night half-off specials, and I was sure the bar was over max capacity.
Loud music, loud people. My least favorite kind of place and, apparently, Bridget’s most favorite, considering how vehement she’d been about coming here.
“So.” Her redheaded friend Jules eyed me over the rim of her glass. “You were a Navy SEAL, huh?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t fooled by her flirty tone or party girl demeanor. I’d run in-depth background checks on all of Bridget’s friends the moment I took the job, and I knew for a fact Jules Ambrose was more dangerous than she appeared. But she didn’t pose a threat to Bridget, so I didn’t mention what she did in Ohio. It wasn’t my story to tell.
“I love military men,” she purred.
“Ex-military, J.” Bridget didn’t look at me as she finished her drink. “Besides, he’s too old for you.”
That was one of the few things I agreed with her on. I was only thirty-one, so I wasn’t ancient by any means, but I’d done and witnessed enough shit in my life to feel ancient, especially compared to fresh-faced college students who hadn’t even had their first real job yet.
I’d never been fresh-faced, not even when I was a kid. I grew up in dirt and grit.
Meanwhile, Bridget sat across from me, looking like the fairytale princess she was. Big blue eyes and lush pink lips set in a heart-shaped face, perfect alabaster skin, golden hair falling in loose waves down her back. Her black top bared her smooth shoulders, and tiny diamonds glittered on her ears.
Young, rich, and regal. The opposite of me in every way.
“Negative. I love older men.” Jules upped the wattage of her smile as she gave me another once-over. “And you’re hot.”
I didn’t smile back. I wasn’t dumb enough to get involved with a client’s friend. I already had my hands full with Bridget.
Figuratively speaking.
“Leave the man alone.” Stella laughed. Fashion design and communications major. Daughter of an environmental lawyer and the chief of staff to a cabinet secretary. Social media star. My brain ticked off all the things I knew about her as she snapped a photo of her cocktail before taking a sip. “Find someone your own age.”
“Guys my age are boring. I’d know. I dated a bunch of them.” Jules nudged Ava, the last member of Bridget’s close friend group. Aside from Jules’s inappropriate come-ons, they were a decent bunch. Certainly better than the friends of the Hollywood starlet I’d guarded for three excruciating months, during which I saw more “accidental” genital flashings than I’d thought I would ever see in my life. “Speaking of older men, where’s your boo?”
Ava blushed. “He can’t make it. He has a conference call with some business partners in Japan.”
“Oh, he’ll make it,” Jules drawled. “You in a bar, surrounded by drunken, horny college guys? I’m surprised he hasn’t—ah. Speak of the devil. There he is.”
I followed her gaze to where a tall, dark-haired man cut a path through the crowd of said drunken, horny college guys.
Green eyes, tailored designer clothing, and an icy expression that made the frozen tundra of Greenland look like tropical islands.
Alex Volkov.
I knew the name and reputation, even if I didn’t know him personally. He was a legend in certain circles.
The de facto CEO of the country’s largest real estate development company, Alex had enough connections and blackmail material to bring down half of Congress and the Fortune 500.
I didn’t trust him, but he was dating one of Bridget’s best friends, which meant his presence was unavoidable.