Page 32 of The Bodyguard

If she was any less screwed up in the head, Angela might confuse the closeness she had with Sawyer with romance. They had a solid friendship in which she could reveal her ugliest embarrassments, and he would tell her she was awesome. That kind of connection was rare.

A knock sounded at her door, and a fresh round of shivers rolled down her spine. No one other than Sawyer would stop by that late at night, but Tran Pham’s band of merry assassins had taught her to double-check assumptions. She picked up her phone. Sawyer hadn’t reached out.

Is that you?

A moment later, three little dots danced on her screen. It was taking him longer than necessary to type, “Yup.” Finally, he confirmed he was at the door with a “yeah.” What had he been writing?

She glanced down at her favorite pajamas. She’d chosen them tonight to feel beautiful and happy, to remind herself that she didn’t need toxic relationships and wasn’t newly single; she’d been single for years without realizing it. The pajamas lay over her skin like a soft whisper. Although she usually loved silky pants and frilly tops, they suddenly felt too thin.

Angela made a quick pit stop at her bedroom closet, found the matching robe, and tied the sash around her waist as she walked to the door. Her shivers hadn’t stopped. The pajamas were too thin. Her heart slammed in her chest. She paused at the door and checked for Sawyer through the peephole. He leaned against the wall, and the fisheye lens made him seem even farther away.

She rested her forehead on the door but couldn’t stop her racing heart. Today had been too much for her to handle. After a long breath, she opened the door and smiled. “Howdy, stranger.”

He stood at an arm’s length from the threshold to her room, his own arms crossed, with a serious look. “You okay?”

The spastic, hiccupping pace of her heart stuttered. “Of course.” She cocked her head. “Is that why you stopped by?”

“It took you a while to answer.”

“It took you a while to say that had been you knocking.”

Sawyer rolled his lips together and nodded, not explaining. “You weren’t asleep.”

“You knew I wouldn’t be.”

He raised his chin. “Night owl.”

This conversation didn’t feel right. His body language screamed that he would rather be in a million other places. She wasn’t sure why he didn’t stride in—or, for that matter, why she remained shivering against the door jamb, not letting him inside. “Do you want to come in?”

The corners of his lips tightened. “Sure.”

She backed against the door and let him in. “I haven’t heard from Boss Man. You?”

He shook his head as he walked past her. Their apartments were hotel suites. Hers had two main sections. The living area had a small kitchenette, desk, couch, and television. The bedroom and bathroom were through a door she’d left propped open.

Sawyer seemed larger than normal. He appeared to take up more space in the room than he had the last time he’d been in her suite, and he sucked up more of the oxygen too. He moved to the dark window and stared.

“You didn’t have to check on me.” Angela perched on the edge of the couch farthest from him. “Today was a lot.” She crossed her arms and rubbed the silky fabric against her skin. “But I’ve been through worse.” She half laughed. “Yesterday was quite the doozy.”

He turned from the window, and his eyes narrowed. “Are you cold?”

“No. I have a shiver I can’t get rid of.”

He nodded as though he understood and paced before the large window—the backdrop of city lights illuminated around him. Sawyer stopped and opened his mouth as though to say something, but he shut it without a word. He paced again.

Did he want to talk about Paul? The breakup? That horrible word Paul had called her? Had Sawyer ever encountered a woman he’d been with who didn’t make his world spin? “Have all of your relationships had a spark?”

He stopped cold. “Yeah, sure.” Sawyer caught himself and shrugged. “More or less.” He ran a hand into his hair and let the thick blond locks thread through his fingers. “I don’t know, Ange.”

What was normal? Why didn’t she notice a massive red flag in her relationship with Paul, which was already draped with them? “Are sparks all the same? They can’t be, right?”

“I haven’t thought about it before…” He shrugged. “But I guess not.”

Relationships were confusing. They were a type of friendship butmore. However,moredidn’t always come with a friendship. “I think I’m…confused.” She rolled her eyes. “Or maybe I’m programmed wrong.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ange. Paul’s an idiot.”

She moved onto a couch cushion, pulled her feet up, and wrapped her arms around her shins. “Both things can be true.”

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