Page 20 of Unguarded

The suite has a spacious lounge area, three bathrooms, and two bedrooms. One is for Monroe, and one is for the bodyguard on shift. The rest of the staff is spread out throughout the hotel.

I was informed that some of her suites wouldn’t have a bed for a bodyguard, but she is safe in the hotels, as they increase security specifically for her stay. That’s not going to fly with me, but I’ll cross that bridge when we get there. I’m not even sure if I’m staying that long.

“Thank you. We’ll let you know if we need anything,” Ember tells the hotel manager, who bows and leaves us.

Monroe exhales, arms folded as she stares out thewindow. I want to tell her to back away from it, but I’m hoping we’re too high up for anyone to see her.

“Staff meeting in an hour. Everyone, come grab their room assignments.” One of the managers, Leo, tosses a piece of paper on the table, spreading out key cards alongside it.

I look at the sheet, seeing that I have the first shift in Monroe’s suite. I go into the bedroom, finding that my bag was brought up already. There’s an en suite bathroom with gold mirrors and hand-painted tiles with intricate details.

I ask Brooks to stay in the room while I take a few minutes to shower off the thirteen-hour flight, the hot water working over my shoulder muscles to loosen the tension. Her private jet is luxurious and spacious, but I never sleep well in the air.

After changing into a plain white T-shirt and light-wash Wranglers, I walk out into the main area connecting the rooms. Brooks nods at me before exiting to find his room.

The champagne and spread of food have barely been picked over. My stomach growls as I approach the table. I don’t recognize any of the colorful food.

“Seoul’s food is one of my favorites in the world,” Monroe says from behind me.

I turn to face her. She’s fresh from the shower and changed into gray sweatpants with a pale blue cropped tank top. Her short hair is up in a messy bun, a few loose tendrils around her face. Her skin is clean, her otherworldly beauty nearly overwhelming.

Ever since her full-frontal exhibit, we’ve barely spoken or made eye contact.

I nod, reaching for a bottle of water. I don’t feel right eating her food.

She exhales, approaching the table. She points at a pink, flower shaped piece of food with tiny black orbs on the top. “The rice cakes are my favorite, so I ordered an assortment. Some of them are spicy, some are sweet and nutty. I love how they’re all different shapes and colors.”

She uses chopsticks like a natural, grabbing a pale green piece shaped like a dumpling.

“Did you know that thirty percent of the world’s population uses chopsticks to eat?” she says after she finishes chewing.

I shake my head.

She points at the rice cakes she just took a piece from. “Try it.”

I grab a pair of chopsticks, trying to mimic the way she’s holding it. After several failed attempts, I give up and spear the center of it.

She snorts, shaking her head. “That’s one way to do it.”

I bite into the green rice cake, the sweet, tangy flavor bursting on my tongue. “It’s good,” I’m surprised to say. It has a sticky texture with a soft, chewy center. I try one of the pink ones next, finding it even sweeter at the center with a flavor I can’t name.

She nods, pointing at another one with an orange glaze over the top. “That one’s my favorite. It’s spicy.”

The door opens, and several of her managers, including Fidel, walk through with Ember on their heels. Everyone has changed clothes. I step back from the center of the room, finding a place to lean back against the wall, out of their way.They begin spitting out information about costumes, dancers arriving, the band setup, before deliberating on which of the rice cakes tastes the best. Monroe has taken a seat, lounging on the velvet sofa, only paying attention to the discourse when someone asks her a direct question.

I take the time to inspect the full suite, familiarizing myself with the layout of Monroe’s room, the balcony, and all access points. The elevator only reaches this floor with a key card that inserts into a slot next to the button. The bodyguard on duty, Monroe, and Fidel are the only ones with a copy.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to find her another security firm on such short notice. I’m hoping this team can handle what we’re up against. Every day, Monroe receives obsessive fan mail, some of it disturbing. With the recent break-in at her home in LA, along with the text to her direct phone number, I’m fairly certain at least one of her stalkers is capable of finding her, especially with her tour schedule easy to locate with a Google search.

It’s been over five years since I left the military, but I’ve seamlessly slipped back into the soldier’s mindset, where I think only about the safety and security of whoever I’m currently tasked with protecting. Monroe Blue is now my sole focus, my entire world. I’ll do whatever it takes to guard her with my life … at least for the next two weeks.

8

MONROE

The opening night of my first world tour is meant to be a showstopping event. Some parts will be filmed and shared in clips on social media in an effort to show all my fans and future concert attendees what they have to look forward to.

The two songs I’m going to open with are my biggest hits. I wrote them both, but one of them is a solo and the other a duet. I fought Fidel and Sun Records on this, but they eventually won and convinced me to perform the duet with my ex, Clint Clyde.

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