Page 9 of Spring Break with a Bodyguard
“Goodnight, Teddy,” he says again, his voice softer than before. “Now go inside so I can leave.”
The words are still professional, still maintaining that boundary, but there’s something in his tone—a gentleness that wasn’t there before—that follows me into the house long after I’ve closed the door.
FOUR
JAVI
The next day,I do my best to stay out of Teddy’s way and let her work. As Preston’s bodyguard, I was always in the background, assessing threats and keeping watch. It didn’t matter if people noticed me.
But he wasn’t playing housekeeper like Teddy is.
Which makes my job of keeping an eye on her without being obvious more challenging. I can only walk the perimeter of the Sandpiper so many times before someone figures out that Theresa Holden isn’t who she’s supposed to be.
But that’s not really what’s bothering me. What’s bothering me is what happened on the beach—when I stared into her eyes too long and let my fingers linger on her cheek. I can’t shake the memory, the softness of her skin under my fingertips, the way her eyes widened at my touch. It was unprofessional, dangerous even.
And totally not like me.
I’m a professional, damn it, and allowing myself to get distracted is not in my job description.
The hotel is eerily quiet when I arrive at 0600 hours, just as the housekeeping staff begin their shifts. I change into the standard-issue Sandpiper security uniform, the hotel logo embroidered on the breast pocket. The fabric is stiff and scratchy compared to the tailored suits I’ve grown accustomed to wearing as Preston’s security detail.
Another reminder of my temporary demotion.
As I button the uniform shirt, I catch a glimpse of myself in the locker room mirror. The man staring back looks annoyed, tired, and—if I’m being honest—bored out of his mind.
Three days of watching Teddy Hollister push cleaning carts and make beds isn’t exactly the kind of assignment that gets the adrenaline pumping.
Yet, surprisingly, she’s still here. Most people in her position would have quit after seeing the first trashed room. But she hasn’t. Not only has she stuck it out, but she’s thrown herself into the work with unexpected dedication.
It’s... confusing.
I head to the staff room for the morning briefing and see that Carmen, the head of housekeeping, is already there, arranging schedules on a whiteboard.
“Morning, Conrad,” she greets me, barely looking up from her paperwork. “Your girl’s on third-floor rotation today.”
I feel a flare of irritation at the phrasing. “She’s not ‘my girl.’ I’m just security.”
Carmen gives me a knowing look that I choose to ignore. “Whatever you say. But you might want to check room 317. Night security reported loud parties until 3 AM. Could be messy.”
I nod my thanks for the information, moving to the coffee station in the corner. As I pour a cup of the industrial-strength brew, staff members begin filtering in. Miguel, one of the veteran housekeepers, gives me a respectful nod. I’ve worked with him before during hotel security reviews, and he’s sharp—probably knows exactly who “Theresa Holden” really is, though he hasn’t said anything directly.
Teddy arrives last, slipping in just as Carmen begins the briefing. Despite having seen her in this disguise for several days now, something about her still catches me off-guard.
The uniform does nothing for her figure, but somehow that makes the moments when I catch glimpses of the woman beneath more striking. The way she tucks her hair—several shades darker now thanks to what I suspect is temporary color—behind her ear. The curve of her neck when she bends to write something down.
The transformation goes beyond physical appearance. There’s a quiet focus to her now, a determination that’s completely at odds with the carefree socialite I’d glimpsed at Preston’s events. It’s as if stripping away the designer clothes and perfect makeup has revealed someone entirely different—or perhaps someone who was always there, hidden beneath the polished surface.
Carmen runs through room assignments, pairing Teddy with Miguel for the third floor—a smart move, putting the newcomer with the most experienced staff member. As the meeting breaks up, I catch fragments of excited conversations about spring break guests.
“Remember the group that filled the bathtub with Jell-O?” one housekeeper laughs.
“Or the mini-golf course they built using towels and ice buckets?” another adds.
The camaraderie among them is evident—the kind that comes from shared challenges. For a moment, I see Teddy watching them, a flicker of something like longing crossing her face before she composes herself and moves toward Miguel to prepare their cleaning carts.
I hang back, monitoring the room without being obvious about it. My assignment is to keep Teddy safe, not to hover so closely that I draw attention to her. The goal, according to Preston, is for this to seem like a normal increase in security for spring break, not special protection for one specific housekeeper.
As the staff disperses to their assigned floors, I follow at a distance, radioing the other security personnel to coordinate coverage. We’ve placed additional guards near the elevators and stairwells, ostensibly to manage intoxicated guests, but really to ensure Teddy has backup within reach if needed.
