Page 14 of Spring Break with a Bodyguard
Days of watching him move through the hotel has taught me things about Javier Conrad that I never noticed before. How he always positions himself with his back to a wall, eyes constantly scanning. How he remembers every staff member’s name, from the general manager to the newest dishwasher. How his hand instinctively moves to where I assume his weapon is concealed whenever an unexpected noise occurs.
It’s not just physical attraction, though God knows that’s there in spades. It’s the quiet competence, the absolute reliability. When Javi says he’ll do something, it happens. When he promises to check on a suspicious guest on our floor, he’s there within minutes. When he sees my cart is getting too heavy, he appears as if by magic to help with the load.
And just now, with Tyler—the way he stepped between us without hesitation, his body becoming a shield with such natural instinct that I doubt he even realized he’d done it. Not because he thinks I’m weak or incapable, but because protection is woven into the very fiber of who he is.
I’ve dated successful men before—men with money, power, social connections. But I’ve never been with someone like Javi, someone whose strength isn’t for show or status but simply exists as an intrinsic part of him.
The realization is terrifying and thrilling all at once. Because I don’t just want Javi in the physical sense that’s been simmering between us. I want the entirety of him—the quiet strength, the unwavering reliability, the intense focus. I want to be the puzzle he’s determined to solve, the person he instinctively moves to protect, the reason those serious eyes occasionally crinkle with a rare smile.
And that’s infinitely more dangerous than any mere physical attraction could ever be.
“Theresa! Can you bring more towels?” Miguel calls, breaking me from my reverie.
I shake myself back to reality, pushing thoughts of Javi to the back of my mind. “Coming!” I call back, turning away from the sight of him conferring with the manager.
I have two more weeks of this assignment. Two more weeks–plus a day or two–to prove to Preston and Brogan—and to myself—that I can be more than the family disappointment.
Developing feelings for the security detail was definitely not part of the plan.
* * *
By the end of my shift, my uniform is still damp from the flooding incident, my feet squelch uncomfortably in my shoes, and every muscle in my body protests the day’s exertions. Yet somehow, I feel oddly satisfied. We handled a crisis, prevented major damage to the hotel, and stood up to an entitled guest.
Not a bad day’s work for a spoiled socialite playing housekeeper.
I make my way to the employee locker room, longing for dry clothes and a hot shower. The room is empty when I arrive, most of the day shift having already departed. As I change out of my sodden uniform, my mind keeps returning to Javi’s question—Why is this so important to me?
The simple answer is that I want to prove myself capable, to show Preston and Brogan that I’m serious about joining the family business. But there’s more to it than that—a deeper need to prove something to myself, to break free from the pattern of taking the easy way out that I learned from my mother.
As I finish changing, the door to the locker room swings open, and Carmen, the head housekeeper, enters.
“Theresa,” she acknowledges with a nod. “Heard about the flooding in 325. Good call catching that.”
“Miguel spotted it first,” I say, not wanting to take credit. “He knew exactly what to do.”
Carmen nods, opening her locker. “Miguel’s one of our best. Been with us almost fifteen years.” She glances at me, her expression assessing. “He speaks highly of you, you know. Says you work harder than most new hires, especially during spring break.”
I feel a flush of pride at the unexpected praise. “I’m just trying to do my job well.”
“Hmm.” Carmen studies me for a moment longer. “Well, whatever your story is, you’re a good worker. That counts for something around here.”
My story. For a heart-stopping moment, I wonder if she’s figured out who I really am. But her next words reassure me.
“We get all types at The Sandpiper. People passing through, people hiding from something, people starting over. I don’t ask questions as long as you show up on time and do your job.” She closes her locker with a decisive click. “Speaking of which, you’re on the second floor tomorrow. Room 237 is hosting some kind of birthday party tonight, so prepare yourself.”
With that, she’s gone, leaving me with the unsettling feeling that while my specific identity remains a secret, Carmen sees more than she lets on.
As I gather my belongings, I spot a small notebook that must have fallen from Carmen’s locker. It’s open to a page with room numbers listed in Carmen’s neat handwriting, with check marks and notes beside each.
I should close it, return it to her locker, and walk away. That would be the right thing to do.
Instead, I find myself scanning the page, curiosity getting the better of me. The entries appear to be some kind of tracking system—rooms cleaned, maybe, or special requests from guests?
But then a note catches my eye: “Room 412 — Diamond earrings missing. Guest claims $5,200 value. Report filed.”
Below that, another entry: “Room 356 — Wallet missing from nightstand. $300 cash, cards canceled.”
And another: “Room 401 — Laptop disappeared during room cleaning. IT called re: security footage.”
