Page 36 of Spring Break with a Bodyguard
“Away from supply closets and emergency strategy meetings,” she adds, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“Although,” I continue, my voice dropping lower as I close the remaining distance between us, “I did promise Preston I’d see you home safely.”
Her eyes brighten, a flush spreading across her cheeks. “That sounds very... professional of you. And I definitely need a security escort with all those reporters outside.”
“Exactly,” I agree, fighting a smile. “Just following orders.”
The space between us has shrunk to almost nothing. After days of pretending, of careful distance in public, of stolen moments in supply closets, the prospect of being truly alone together—no assignments, no disguises, no imminent crisis—sends heat coursing through my veins.
My hand finds hers on the table, our fingers intertwining as I lean closer, drawn by the gravity of everything that’s been building between us since that first day.
A knock at the door shatters the moment. Karina appears, her expression apologetic.
“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re ready for the official statement. Teddy, we’d like you to stand with Preston while he addresses the press. The ‘dedicated housekeeper secretly learning the business’ angle is gold, and having you still in uniform sells it perfectly.”
Teddy nods, reluctantly pulling her hand from mine. “One last performance as Theresa Holden, housekeeper extraordinaire.”
“After this, we’ll get you home for some well-deserved rest,” Karina promises, her gaze flickering between us with understanding. “Javi, we’ll need you providing visible security during the statement. The ‘bodyguard protecting undercover heiress’ angle adds another compelling layer to the story.”
Of course it does. Our professional roles becoming part of the narrative—perfect irony.
“Ready to face the cameras one more time?” I ask as Karina steps back to take a call.
Teddy smooths down her rumpled uniform, confidence replacing her earlier vulnerability. “Ready. Though I’m definitely looking forward to never wearing this polyester blend again.”
“I don’t know,” I say, allowing myself a moment of unguarded appreciation. “I’ve grown oddly fond of the uniform.”
Teddy laughs, the sound igniting something in my chest. “Then I’ll be sure to keep it as a souvenir. Maybe for special occasions.”
The implication sends my thoughts in decidedly unprofessional directions, which I rein in as Karina returns to escort us downstairs.
The lobby has transformed. The chaotic media scrum has become a proper press area, with Hollister Hotels banners somehow already in place. Preston stands near a hastily assembled podium, looking every inch like the corporate leader about to turn a crisis into victory.
Karina directs Teddy to stand beside Preston, positioning me behind them—visible security, part of the image. As cameras flash and Preston begins his statement about Hollister Hotels’ innovative management training and security excellence, I maintain my professional stance, eyes scanning the crowd automatically.
But my awareness centers on Teddy—the proud set of her shoulders, the subtle curve of her neck, the way she stands taller now than she did eight days ago when this all began. I’ve protected people professionally for years, but never has that protection felt so personal, so essential to my own well-being.
As Preston concludes his remarks to enthusiastic press questions, Teddy glances back at me, a private smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
I grin, knowing with absolute certainty that whatever comes after this moment—professionally, personally, or somewhere in the complicated space between—will be worth every risk.
ELEVEN
TEDDY
The rideto my townhouse passes in silence as Javi navigates evening traffic. I could have driven myself home in the loaner car, but when he saw my hands trembling as we left the hotel, he gently took my keys without a word.
The adrenaline from the confrontation with Roberts, the impromptu press conference, and Preston’s unexpected approval has finally caught up with me. My body feels like a live wire, humming with residual energy that has nowhere to go. But it’s not just the day’s events making my pulse race and my hands unsteady.
It’s the man beside me. The man who’s about to come home with me, with no assignment, no pretense, no professional barriers between us.
I steal glances at Javi’s profile as he drives—the strong line of his jaw, now relaxed without the tension of our mission; the focused intensity in his eyes as he scans the road with habitual vigilance; the slight curve of his lips that suggests he’s as aware of the shift between us as I am.
“What?” he asks, catching me staring.
“Nothing,” I say, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Just... processing everything.”
A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “Quite a day.”
