Page 18 of The Bodyguard

“I know.”

She looked up at that. “You always do things without being asked?”

“No. Only when it’s necessary.”

A small smile curled at the corner of her mouth. “So says the man who took over my building, my loft, and now apparently my caffeine intake.”

“I’ve saved your life once already. Don’t make me add to the list.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to rearrange it.”

“I’m not rearranging it, Andi. I’m fortifying it.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the subtle shift in her posture. The way her shoulders relaxed slightly. She wanted to fight him. She didn’t want him to stop fighting for her.

He leaned a hip against the desk, arms crossed, watching her scroll through policy documents like the attempted sabotage hours earlier hadn’t even touched her.

“You’re back at it.”

She didn’t look up. “The campaign doesn’t pause because someone decides to threaten me. That’s the point, Langdon. If I stop moving, they win.”

“You could have died.”

“Key words: could have.”

Mitch didn’t respond right away. He just watched her.

She was fast. Efficient. He saw the way her fingers danced across the keyboard—navigating campaign calendars, social media metrics, polling data—absorbing it all like it fed her. This wasn’t just her job. It was her identity.

“You love this,” he said, more to himself than her.

She paused. “Yes,” she said softly. “I do.”

He nodded once. “Even when it’s dangerous?”

“Especially then.”

That answer should’ve annoyed him. It didn’t. It just made him want to pin her down and make her feel what it was like to let go.Just for a second. Just long enough to remember she didn’t have to carry it all alone.

“You ever trust anyone else with it?” he asked.

“With what?”

“The weight.”

She didn’t answer.

Mitch pushed off the desk and paced to the windows again. He could see his reflection faintly—broad shoulders, black shirt clinging to muscle, the profile of a man who looked more like a weapon than a bodyguard. Maybe that was all he was. Maybe that’s all he was supposed to be.

But watching Andi at that desk, stubborn and stunning and trying so damn hard not to flinch—he wanted to be something more. Not instead of. But for.

The silence stretched too long. He turned back to her. “Your campaign staff. Your inner circle. You trust all of them?”

She hesitated. That was enough.

“I need a list of everyone with access to your schedule.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You think someone on my team?—”

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