Page 17 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

No laugh. Not even a smile. Tough crowd.

"Of your skills," she clarifies, her voice tight. "If you're as good as I was told."

"And who told you?"

"I can't reveal that, but it's important that I hire you and not someone else."

I finally release a sigh because my frustration is peaking. I'm trying to help and understand the situation, but she's not giving me much. "Why does it have to be me?"

She rolls the mace canister between her palms like it became too heavy for one hand to carry. A vulnerability slips between the growing cracks in her defenses and her eyes drop to the floor. "It's just… important. You offered security for a few of my old coworkers. One of them had a stalker and you found the guy your first night working for her. None of her other security guards were able to spot him. But you did and…" As if the memory finally convinced her I'm not a threat, she drops the mace in her tote bag. "The police searched the stalker. He had agun and a suicide note in his pocket. They said he was going to shoot my coworker and then kill himself. You saved her life."

My heart beats harder because her scenario sounds familiar. I search my memories again and the vague image of an actress appears. I've worked hard to block out my past celebrity assignments, but I think she was an actress on some sitcom. She hired me for a one-off gig to guard her while she attended a friend's movie premiere.

Spotting her stalker wasn't hard—it was the way his eyes never blinked and never looked away. He wasn't excited to meet an idol or simply staring at a beautiful woman. That gaze was possessive.

Thankfully, that night my instincts didn't fail and I was able to keep the actress safe.

I'm happy about that, but one successful assignment doesn't erase my massive failure with Wunmi shortly after.

As I study Hoodie Woman and the desperation etched in the hard creases along her forehead, alarm bells are ringing.

"Walk away."

"Walk away so you don't get this poor woman hurt or kidnapped."

Killed.

"Don't get this poor woman killed."

I need to direct her to the NexaProtect booth. Let Patricia set her up with someone who's active. Someone whose judgment isn't compromised by past failures.

I also swore never to work with celebrities again because they're high risk. If this woman's coworker was an actress, it's possible she might be one too.

I open my mouth to tell her just that, but she sucks in air and suddenly jerks closer. Now that her guard is down and she's no longer watching me like a hawk, she seems to be having trouble maintaining eye contact. Is it only nerves? Or something else?

Anticipating my refusal, she speaks first, "I, well… I might be crazy."

I blink at her. Okay, wasn't expecting that. "You're what?"

Like gray clouds parting after a storm to reveal a rainbow, she cracks a small smile. It's actually a beautiful smile, as timid as it is, and I get distracted by it for a split second before catching myself.

She glances down the hallway, looking at nothing as the smile continues to soften her face. "What I mean is, I think I might be imagining things. This could all be in my head, so I need your help. I need an outside opinion. That's all I'm hiring you for. Just prove me wrong."

I get caught up in her gorgeous smile again and smile back. "And what are you imagining?"

"Someone following me. A stalker I guess."

That erodes my smile instantly. Why couldn't it be anything else?

Don't get involved.

Don't make promises you might not keep.

Don't risk another Wunmi. Another failure.

I step back because now I'm the one needing space.

She reads my hesitancy, reads my body language easily like she's also been trained for it. She closes the gap between us again and her fear causes cracks around the edges of her voice. She's frayed and ready to snap as she says one word: "Please."

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