Page 41 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
“Oh, it’ll stick. But guys like David? They don’t stop because someone tells them to.”
He nods slowly, like he already knows where my head’s at.
“I’m not saying I’m gonna do anything,” I add. “Yet. But if he touches Jessica or Bailey or the kids? Then I end him.”
Sean studies me. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to talk me down. He just says, “Keep it legal. You know the rules.”
I nod and turn to go. But inside, I’m already drawing lines in blood. Because there’s a difference between protecting someone and owning them. David doesn’t know the difference.
I do. And I’ll be damned if I let him put his hands on any of them again.
13
BAILEY
The elevator doorsopen to a different world. Soft lighting, gold accents, live string quartet playing some dramatic, modern twist on Radiohead. Everyone’s dressed like their tuxedos have credits in Oscar-winning films. Floor-to-ceiling windows show off the glittering sprawl of Los Angeles, stretching out like a promise beneath us.
This is the kind of party that makes careers. And I amsoready to be made.
I step out into the room and let the energy hit me—champagne flutes, air kisses, names dropped just loudly enough to be recognized. The ballroom is high-gloss, top-floor, and humming with that strange, electric tension that only happens when everyone in the room wants something.
I want this role. More than I’ve wanted anything in years.
I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirrored column—classic black gown, slit high on my left thigh, neckline low, hair slicked back like I’m channeling Old Hollywood with a knife hidden in my garter. I lookright.Like I belong here.
“Eyes up, Bailey,” Wesley murmurs from behind me, voice light. “You’re about to cause a scene.”
I don’t turn, but I smile. “You mean the scene I was born to cause?”
Sean steps up to my right, all sharp lines and quiet presence. “We stick to the wall unless you say otherwise.”
“Copy that,” Huck grunts, scanning the crowd like he’s looking for someone to punch in the face. He’s wearing a tux that shouldn’t fit as well as it does and looks about two minutes from growling at someone for breathing near me.
It’s…annoying. And kind of hot. All three of them dressed to the nines is too much for my libido to take. I roll my eyes and murmur, “You know, I used to be allowed to pee without security.”
“Used to,” Sean says without missing a beat. They fan out behind me as I step into the ballroom. It’s showtime.
I spot Friedburg by the bar.
Short, balding but still silver-haired at the edges, wearing what can only be described as golf attire, with a glass of something aged in his hand and two studio execs hanging on his every nod. He looks exactly how I’ve always seen him in the news—barely managed chaos. And everyone loves him for it. His kooky reputation is the stuff of Hollywood legend, and since he’s hosting the party, I’m betting no one told him he should dress up.
I take a step in his direction, plotting my opening line.
That’s when I feel it. A prickle. A shift in the room’s energy. The kind of instinct you only develop after years of pretending to smile through clenched teeth.
I turn my head. And there he is. My fucking shadow. David. Slipping through the crowd like raw sewage water through cracked streets.
He’s dressed for the occasion—black suit, slightly rumpled collar, perfect amount of stubble to look “harmless.” And he’s already walking toward me.
Sean sees him first. He stiffens across the room. Wesley glances my way, his expression tightening. Huck’s hands curl into fists, and I swear he growls. They start to move, almost in sync.
I lift one hand.Stop.They freeze. Thank God. I don’t need them to make a scene here. They’re supposed to blend in, as much as they ever could.
“You keep your dogs on a leash, huh?” he murmurs as he approaches.
“Still mistaking protectiveness for obedience, huh?”
He doesn’t laugh. Just holds out a hand. “Dance with me.”
