Page 10 of Unguarded

What is he, six foot four?

I’m now his employer. I don’t sleep with the staff.

I’ve kept to that rule from day one, and it’s always served me well. Cash Redford’s powerful, muscled body, height, sleeve of tattoos, and callus fingers aren’t going tochange it.

Still, the curiosity I have to know what those calluses feel like dances around in my head. I’ve had bodyguards for almost seven years. They’ve become like another body part to me, as unnoticeable as my own hand or foot.

Ignoring Cash Redford would be like ignoring a house fire—while living in the house. He’s silent, but I have a feeling getting used to him being around isn’t going to be as easy as it normally is.

You’re being ridiculous. He’s here—begrudgingly—to protect you. You have a tour to focus on. This is your career! You’ll adapt.

I shift my eyes away from his work-worn hands, clearing my throat as I look out the window. Ember has been typing away on her laptop since we were wheels up in Texas.

With two weeks until I leave for Korea, there are still plenty of preparations to be made. Cash will be training so he can familiarize himself with the routines and protocols in the event of an emergency, either during a concert or anywhere out in public.

My hands haven’t stopped trembling since the picture from inside my bedroom was sent to my personal phone number. The police are already on the scene, but I doubt they’re going to find anything. Whoever the intruder was, he must’ve hacked the security system.

A new threat with that kind of ability is not what I needed right before going on tour for six months. The security company my record label uses has the shittiest response time. They’ll send the police out, who won’t find anything, and then they’ll put me up in a hotel for a few days while my passwords get changed and call it a day. I’ll take it upon myself to have my house deep-cleaned from top to bottom.

Things had been quiet on the unstable-fans front since the attack in Texas last year. I was hoping that I was overreacting and overpreparing.

I guess not.

“Did they set me up at The Plaza?” I ask Ember, rubbing my palms together.

She nods, continuing to type. “Two rooms, one for you and one for the bodyguard on shift. Brooks is up first.”

Cash leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking up at Ember. “Does she normally stay at The Plaza after something like this happens?”

Ember peers up at him, nodding slowly.

“I think another hotel would be a better idea. Anything that’s a pattern should change.”

Ember glances from my face to his. “Like what?”

He sits back, shrugging. “Where she parks her car, where this plane lands and takes off, where she buys a new dress, where she eats her morning bagel, and where she sleeps at night. Anything and everything.”

I stare at him, wondering if I’ve finally found someone who gives a shit about my safety enough to put effort into a plan, even if it’s a hassle for everyone else. The overpaid, shitty security company sure doesn’t.

“Do as he says,” I tell her.

My anxiety can’t take any more hits at this point.

The followingweek is a whirlwind of tour preparations, costume fittings, hotel room-service meals, and DoorDash. I’m too afraid to go out in public after what happened, and I can’t stomach going to my house without three bodyguards with me.

Cash refused to onboard with the security company and is instead employed by me directly. The record label executives weren’t pleased with the decision, but they didn’t argue with me about it for long.

After the final trip to my house to get a few last-minute personal items, Cash opens the door of my black SUV for me before climbing in after. He’s still wearing his cowboy hat, and I’ve spotted the bulge of his handgun on his hip several times.

He met with the security company three times before telling them he got the picture and started guarding me on regular shifts. He also called the police station to see if they’d gathered any evidence on the break-in at my house. There was no sign of forced entry.

“They came through the dining room window. It wasn’t locked,” he says, eyeing Harold in the driver’s seat.

The other two bodyguards are behind us in an identical black SUV. I pause the typing on my Notes app, where I always log new song lyrics that come to me, swallowing over the sudden lump in my throat.

My eyes meet his. “How did they get past the security system?”

He shrugs. “Hacking it is the only explanation.” He shifts his big frame to face me.

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