Page 21 of Spring Break with a Bodyguard
“Absolutely,” I say, with more confidence than I feel. “I’ve learned more in five days of housekeeping than in a month of shadowing Charlie.”
Preston makes a noncommittal sound. “That’s... good to hear. And Javi? Is he providing adequate security?”
The question sends heat rushing to my face.Adequate security?
More like adequate back massages and mind-blowing kisses.
“He’s very... thorough,” I manage, grateful this isn’t a video call.
“Excellent. I’ve asked him to provide daily reports, but they’ve been unusually brief. No issues to report, I take it?”
I freeze.Daily reports?Of course—Javi works for Preston, reports to him directly. Which means he’s been documenting his observations of me. Has he already reported our kiss? The back massage? The intimate conversation?
“Teddy?” Preston prompts when I don’t answer right away.
“Sorry, dropped something,” I lie. “No issues. Everything’s... fine.”
“Good,” Preston says, though he sounds suspicious. “I’ll expect a comprehensive report when your three weeks are up. Brogan sends his regards.”
The call ends, and I flop back onto my pillows, anxiety churning in my stomach. What have I done? Javi’s job, his professional reputation, his relationship with Preston—I’ve put all of that at risk because I couldn’t control my impulses.
Just like my mother would have done.
The thought hits me like a bucket of ice water. My mother, with her destructive patterns, her inability to think beyond immediate gratification, her talent for complicating situations that were already complicated enough.
Am I following in her footsteps after all?
My phone buzzes again, this time with a text.
Javi:
Good morning. How’s the back feeling today?
Simple, professional words that give nothing away. But they’re enough to make my heart race again. There’s something about seeing his name on my screen that creates a fluttering sensation in my stomach I haven’t felt since my first crush in boarding school.
I stare at the screen, unsure how to respond. What are the protocols for texting someone after you’ve kissed them on your couch while they were supposed to be protecting you?
Finally, I type:
Better, thanks to you. The patches worked wonders.
Neutral enough, I hope. A response comes almost immediately.
Javi:
Good to hear. About last night...
I hold my breath, waiting for the rest of his message, but nothing follows. It’s as if he started to write something and then thought better of it. Or maybe he’s struggling with the same uncertainty I am.
After a long moment, I type:
We should probably talk about that.
Javi:
Agreed. In person. Coffee later?
I hesitate. Meeting outside the hotel feels like another boundary crossed, another complication in an already complicated situation. But we do need to talk, to figure out where we stand before we see each other at work tomorrow. And if I’m being honest with myself, the prospect of seeing him again makes my pulse quicken in ways that have nothing to do with anxiety.
