Bodied

1. Wesley

CHAPTER 1

WESLEY

E very time Wesley Pierce put on a formal suit for his new job, it felt like the first time. He was convinced he would never get used to it. Too much of his life had been spent in a military uniform for him to be comfortable in formal wear like this — at least, not on the job. If he were attending a ceremonial event where he wouldn’t be expected to be on guard, maybe this sort of thing made sense. But tonight, he’d be expected to protect the newly elected senator Anne Bartlett with his life, and he was expected to do so in formal attire. It was ridiculous.

His boss acted like limiting his freedom of movement with a coat like this one, for example, wouldn’t even slow him down. But in the world of politics, image mattered as much as anything else. So he was expected to risk his life in a tailored suit rather than fatigues.

“Just consider it a deliberate challenge,” his roommate said, seeing the face Wesley made in the mirror. “Like running in heels.”

Jon had lived with Wesley for the last five years. He also worked in security, but for celebrities rather than politicians. Sometimes Wesley envied him. His job seemed far more exciting and far less stressful. He got paid to attend concerts, while Wesley got stuck with charity dinners and the like. At least tonight’s event was celebratory. Anne Bartlett had just won her election, and she was expected to schmooze with donors and other supporters. Wesley and the others in his team were there to make sure none of Senator Bartlett’s supporters were wolves in sheep’s clothing.

“Running in heels is only a useful skill if you go around wearing heels all the time,” Wesley countered, securing his cufflinks with a smirk. “Well, do you?”

Jon laughed. “Only on very special occasions.”

Wesley’s roommate had always been his polar opposite. Where Jon was tall and thin, Wesley was burly with a broad chest and shoulders. Where Jon had dark, curly hair that he styled daily, Wesley’s was buzzed short. And where Jon was an incurable jokester, Wesley rarely cracked a smile. They balanced each other out perfectly, but Wesley knew it wasn’t to last. Soon, Jon would find a girl and settle down, and Wesley would have to find a new roommate because settling down was not something he ever planned to do. However many people trusted Wesley with their lives, he could never trust anyone with his.

He triple-checked that his weapons were in place and properly secured. Then he buttoned his jacket and pocketed his wallet and keys. His cell phone rang before he managed to get his shoes on. It had to be work calling, primarily because no one else ever actually called — they texted. For some reason, Anne Bartlett insisted that every security conversation, however mundane, be off the record, which meant actual calls. Wesley suspected that, deep down, she was just a bit old-fashioned and preferred the idea of more personal contact among those in her employ.

“Pierce,” said the voice on the other end of the line. It was his boss, which was no surprise. “I have an assignment for you.”

Wesley frowned into the receiver. “I’m already on my way to the gala,” he said. “I won’t be available for another assignment unless you’ve covered my position.”

“This is a related assignment,” Eva said. There was no hint of humor in her voice. “Senator Bartlett wants you to pick up her daughter and accompany her to the gala.”

“I’m sorry?” Wesley couldn’t help scowling. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. “I’m not a taxi or a babysitter.”

“You are tonight, Pierce.” Eva sighed on the other line. “Her name is Lauren Bartlett. I’ll send you the address. Listen, just do the job. I know you’re used to pulling rank to some degree, but now isn’t the time for it. Senator Bartlett is worried for her daughter. There have been whisperings that a fringe group is unhappy about her election, and it’s put her on edge. Part of what we do is to make our clients feel comfortable, and if that means sending a former marine to get her daughter to the gala safely, then that’s what we’ll do. Do you understand?”

Wesley took a deep breath and agreed, though it felt like he was being sidelined due to his newness. He supposed, if this was a test, he’d just have to pass it with flying colors to prove himself worthy. After hanging up, he mumbled, “I guess I’m a taxi, after all.”

“What’s that?” Jon asked. “You driving someone?”

“The senator’s daughter.” Wesley sat to tie his shoes. “A likely spoiled princess, in my experience. Who would target the daughter? It makes no sense. More likely, she just couldn’t get another ride.”

Jon sniggered at the unintended innuendo. “That’s what she?—”

“Don’t.” Wesley cut in before his roommate could make his worst and unfortunately favorite joke. “Don’t say it.”

Jon just shrugged. “Maybe she’s cute.”

“She could be a supermodel — it won’t change the fact that she’s annoying as hell.”

“You haven’t even met her. Give the kid a chance.” Jon was always on the optimistic side of their arguments. He was also usually wrong.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” When Jon rolled his eyes, Wesley added, “Don’t worry, I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt for the first fifteen minutes.”

Jon laughed as Wesley made his way out the front door. “You’re too brutal, man. Lighten up a little!”

But Wesley never felt like lightening up was something he could do. He’d been on guard his whole life, from his parents’ divorce to his time in the military. His being hyper-vigilant had always been the one thing he seemed to get right. It was part of why he’d been given this job in the first place, despite how badly he felt it was treating him now. No, there was no room for relaxation in his life. Maybe one day, but not yet. Not today.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after pulling up to Lauren Bartlett’s apartment building, Wesley withdrew the benefit of the doubt. They were late, and the girl hadn’t even made an appearance — no text message, no phone call, nothing to indicate she knew she was late and would be down soon. He’d waited so long that he’d been forced to find street parking rather than wait outside the main entrance. It was all highly unusual.

Wesley ground his teeth and put his car in park. The vehicle had been provided by his job. With unassuming black paint and darkly tinted windows, it was meant to blend in. Wesley disagreed that it served its purpose, but the tinted windows were nice. It looked exactly like the sort of car someone highly important might be traveling in. Unfortunately, today, that wouldn’t be the case.

He made his way across the street to the building. The lobby was one of those fancy ones he never really felt comfortable in. All the surfaces were marble and gold, and all the ceilings were vaulted. His own footsteps echoed in the space as he made his way across the lobby to the elevators. There didn’t appear to be a button to push to call an elevator down — just some panel. Wesley waved his hand in front of it, but nothing changed. Lauren Bartlett lived on the tenth floor, and he was beginning to suspect she didn’t even know he’d been sent to pick her up.

“Can I help you?” the man at the front desk asked. “Those elevators require a key card.”

“Of course they do,” Wesley muttered as he made his way to the front desk. He pulled out his identification and showed the concierge his credentials. “I need to get to the tenth floor, please. I have a client waiting.”

“Do you live here?”

Wesley pushed his identification and credentials closer as a not-so-subtle hint to the man behind the counter. “I’m personal security, sir. Call my company if you need confirmation. My client is waiting on the tenth floor. I wasn’t informed that I required a key.”

He waited while the concierge took his cards and made some phone calls, drumming his fingers on the counter the entire time. This was ridiculous. Now he was going to be blamed for bringing the senator’s daughter late to the gala. He just knew it. People like her were never blamed for anything. It always trickled down to the hired hands, or help, or bodyguards, or whatever.

Wesley would have something to say to his boss when all this was said and done. How could he be expected to do his job without all the necessary clearances?

Finally, the concierge circled around the counter and gestured for Wesley to follow him. The concierge passed his own key over the sensor and waited for the elevator doors to open. Then he pressed the button for the tenth floor and held his key to another sensor on the inside. “The lobby button is always unlocked,” he said. “So if you find your client isn’t where she’s supposed to be, you’ll be able to get back down.”

Wesley let out a sharp laugh. “Familiar with this one, are you?”

The concierge shrugged with a wry smile and said, “Good luck,” just as the doors were closing between them.

Like most elevators, this one didn’t move nearly fast enough. “Should’ve taken the stairs,” Wesley muttered. She would live on the tenth floor.

The elevator finally stopped, and the doors slid open, and he made his way down the hall, double-checking the apartment number as he went. The place was gorgeous, if you liked that sort of thing. Every surface was cream-colored, except the accents, which were still muted. It was the kind of décor that only served to prove the owner could afford to have the place cleaned three times a day. Wesley hated it.

Before knocking on his client’s door, he straightened his jacket and checked his posture. Whether or not this was a spoiled princess, he still had to make a good impression. Ms. Bartlett very likely spoke to her mother regularly, and her mother’s opinion mattered even more than management’s. He knocked aggressively, and a voice from inside the apartment said, “Come in. It’s open.”

“Good grief. She’s begging to get kidnapped,” Wesley muttered. No wonder her mother didn’t trust her to get to the event in one piece.

He opened the door and stepped inside, expecting to find a young woman in a formal dress that would better suit someone twice her age, running around her apartment in a tizzy about being late. When he finally saw her standing in front of her vanity, she was the opposite of everything he had expected her to be.

She was a tiny thing with pixie-short, chocolate-colored hair that she was currently attempting to tame. It curled out at the ends, giving her a wild look despite the style being relatively reserved. She also had wide, bright green eyes, and a perfectly modern black dress with a flared skirt that ended mid-thigh. She was barefoot and standing on her toes as though doing so would give her a better view of herself in the mirror.

After giving up on an unruly lock of hair, she turned to him and smiled a charming smile. “You must be Mom’s little gift.” She held out her hand. “I’m Lauren.”

He shook it and cleared his throat. “Wesley Pierce. And we’re late.”

Lauren shrugged. “Mom will live. It’s not like I’m giving a speech or anything.” She picked up one dress shoe and waved it in front of his face. “If you want to get us out of here faster, I seem to be missing the pair to this puppy. Can you help me look for it?”

Wesley stood with his mouth hanging open for a second before he remembered to act professional. How could she be so irresponsible? But of course, she would be. She was exactly the sort of person he had initially expected her to be. Maybe a little cuter. He couldn’t deny she looked like exactly the kind of girl he would fall for if he was at all interested in a relationship. Luckily he wasn’t. Because she was also exactly the kind of book that shouldn’t be judged by its cover. Inside that adorable exterior, she was spoiled, careless, and a likely narcissist. If he ever had made the terrible mistake of dating someone like her, he had no doubt she would have his head on a platter within the first month, metaphorically speaking. Or not.

Currently, she was on her knees with her head under her bed, and Wesley was struggling to not notice the way the muscles in her thighs flexed just past the hem of her skirt. She was gorgeous. But, he reminded himself, she probably knew it and used it to get her way all the time.

“Ah, there it is!” she cried, pulling a shoe out from under her bed and holding it over her head like some kind of trophy. Then she sat at the edge of her bed and started to strap her shoes on.

Wesley leaned back against a doorframe and sighed. She really didn’t care at all. Typical. His job could be on the line, and it probably never even occurred to her.

He cleared his throat. “We’re still late,” he reminded her.

She laughed. “Are you always this uptight, or only when my mom’s on the other end of your leash?”

Wesley bristled. “I’m not on the end of anyone’s leash.”

“Well…” she said with a shrug. “Then maybe try to relax a little. Mom knows I’m not dependable. She’ll blame me first, and I won’t argue with her. As long as I show up sober…”

“Uh…” Wesley arched an eyebrow at her. “Do you have a habit of not showing up sober?”

Lauren grinned. “Not anymore. Wow, you haven’t read the tabloids in a while, have you?”

“Try never.” Wesley folded his arms over his chest.

“Lucky me, I guess.” She grabbed a clutch purse and headed for her front door. “Let’s head out, then.”

“You’ll want a coat. It’s cold out.”

She bit her lip and gave him a sly look. “You mean you’re not going to offer me yours after you see me shivering? Boo. Not romantic.”

Wesley glared at her. “Choose a coat or I’ll choose one for you, and it definitely won’t go with your outfit. That’s one thing I know for sure. I do uniforms, not fashion.”

Lauren rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t kid yourself, uniforms are fashion.” But she went to her coat closet and selected a long coat to wear.

They left the apartment and took the elevator down to the lobby. Wesley refused to look at his client’s daughter for the entire ride down. On the way out the main entrance, he nodded once to the concierge, if only to get some acknowledgement that he was telling the truth about why he’d come. The concierge just shrugged.

When they got into his car, Wesley unlocked the doors and opened the back for Lauren, but she walked right past him to sit in the front passenger seat. He gave her a stern look, and she smiled back.

“I know, I know,” she said. “Highly unusual, but you’ll have to get used to it. I tend to be highly unusual as often as I can. Life under my mom’s thumb is such a bore. By the way, are we stopping for a snack on the way?”

Wesley took a deep breath before getting into the driver seat and starting the car. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that he may have gotten himself in way over his head this time.