Page 3 of Unguarded

I spin on my heel and storm from the room, Ember and Katherine right behind me. My assistant and publicist,respectively, have both become my friends, and I know they support me in this. Fidel, my manager, stays behind—I’m sure to attempt to smooth things over by talking about numbers with them. Remind them of the money. That’s how to calm the execs down.

I love my fans, and I desperately want to show up for them for this tour. But even they aren’t worth risking my life for, knowing there are a few crazies who inevitably linger in the crowd.

Cash Redford is the only man alive I trust to protect me.

The real question is, why doesn’t he want to? I need to figure out what motivates a man like that.

It’s a rare occurrence that I find myself unable to persuade someone with unlimited zeros on a check.

My trainer,Marty, kicks my ass in my home gym. Sweat drips down my chest as I finish up another set of burpees.

“Ten minutes in the sauna,” he instructs, tossing me a water bottle.

I chug down half of it before entering the sauna, grabbing a hand towel on the way in. Marty joins me, sitting on the opposite end. He’s about my height—five foot four—with a tight, toned body. He coaches jiu jitsu to kids, and I love when he incorporates it into my training regimen. He turned sixty last year, but doesn’t look a day over forty-five. He moves like he’s barely in his thirties. He told me once thatthe secret to eternal youth is cucumber-carrot juice, so I choke it down every morning.

“How’s prep going for the tour? You’ll be gone for six months, right? I have a workout plan in the works for you.”

I shake my head, downing more water. “I’m not going. The record label can’t get their shit together. I don’t feel safe.”

Marty nods. He’s familiar with the incident in Texas and the attempt on my life. He’s been my trainer for four years now. I share a lot with him, but he’s also overheard many conversations. I pay my therapist out the ass, but I probably work through my issues more consistently with Marty.

“The man from Texas still won’t take the job? What’s his deal?”

I shrug. “Maybe he has a wife or girlfriend who’s not okay with him leaving for so long? I have no idea.”

He scoffs. “Surely, the record label could’ve found that out. Aren’t they doing their due diligence? How much do those dickheads make off of you?”

I rest back against the wood, scrolling through my latest Instagram comments about the upcoming shows. “I make them a disgusting amount of money, but they’d lose it all if I bailed. They don’t care about my life. They care about lining their fat pockets.”

Marty grunts as he stands, using a towel to soak up the sweat on his forehead. “Well, sounds to me like you need to take matters into your own hands.”

I consider his words as he exits the sauna. My fingers hover above my phone screen for a few moments before I start tapping away on it. A search forCash Redforddoesn’treveal anything on Instagram. All I know about him is that he lives in a small town in Texas and that he’s a muscled six-foot-four ex-military cowboy with a killer jawline and a lethal right hook—who also happens to respect and protect women he doesn’t even know.

Exactly what I need right now.

My phone lights up with my boyfriend’s name. I swipe to answer it with a heavy sigh.

“Hello?” I don’t bother hiding the irritation in my voice.

“Hey, gorgeous. What are you up to this Saturday?”

Zade Byron won Sexiest Man Alive last year, and this year, he’s starring in the next Bond film as the lead, James Bond. Zade Byron is, of course, not his real name, and he gets more boring the longer I know him. Contrary to popular belief, Monroe Blueisactuallymy given name, but my mother was high off her ass at a party when came up with it.

“I will be very busy wallowing in self-pity after getting the wrinkly pink skin of my asshole lasered until it’s a smooth buttercream texture. All the coolest celebrities are doing it now. Wanna join?”

Zade has never laughed at a single one of my jokes. I’m pretty sure he’s actively annoyed by them.

“There’s a party I need a hot date for. I think the theme ishow much skin can you show this early in the year.”

I roll my eyes as I rise to a stand, realizing I’ve probably been sitting in here for way too long, sweating. I step out of the sauna and get more pleasure from the burst of cool air than Zade has ever given me in the bedroom. I pull the hair tie out of my sweaty hair as I make my way to my bathroom to take a much-needed shower.

“Where?” I ask.

“It’s at Katy Bardot’s house in the Hills. Pack a swimsuit. I’ll pick you up around seven. Love you, sexy.”

He hangs up the phone. I toss it on my bed before stripping out of my workout clothes. At one point, I remember being giddy when Zade Byron wanted to take me out. It has only been four months, but he is truly taxing to spend time with.

Is it me? Am I the problem?

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