Chapter Two
Kenzie
"Please tell me that you're joking," I groan, flopping backward on my bed as dramatically as possible. A wayward shoe digs into my hip, gouging me. I quickly fish it out from beneath me and toss it to the floor. I don't even want to know how it ended up on the bed. Getting dressed this morning was a bit of a whirlwind like usual. My alarm and I are mortal enemies. "He seriously hired a freaking bodyguard?"
"Before you get all worked up," my best friend, Olive Banks, says from across the room, "I think it's a good idea."
Of course, she does. Said bodyguard won't be following her around, trying to tell her how to live her life. That'll be my cross to bear, thanks to her overprotective husband. Seriously, I did not know her getting hitched meant I'd be overprotected too. But Madden is working overtime for the best Husband of the Year award because he does just as much for me as he does for my best friend.
Well not exactly. He definitely doesn't do that. Gross.
But apparently, he does hire bodyguards.
I drag my phone out of my pocket and pull up my social media apps. I immediately scroll to his profile, ignoring the dozens of notifications waiting for my attention. I pretend not to see any of the photos or videos he's posted. He posts kink-positive content. He used to post thirst traps, but only does those now if they include Olive.
I hit the button to send him a private message, my fingers flying across my screen as I type it in.
"What are you doing?" Olive asks, amusement in her voice.
"Nothing," I lie. "Mind your business."
Dear Mr. Dad Bod, do you think my best friend will forgive me if I strangle her husband? Asking for a friend.
He responds immediately.
Mr. Dad Bod: Breath play should only be done with enthusiastic consent and with strict rules in place. I do not consent.
I respond with the middle finger emoji.
He sends back a crying laughing face.
Mr. Dad Bod: Sorry not sorry, Kenz. You're important to her. That makes you important to me.
I decide to ignore him. Mostly because he's being sweet, and I can't argue with sweet. How do you yell at someone who worships the ground your best friend walks on and goes out of his way to make sure everything in her world works perfectly? You can't! It's impossible.
"You threatened to kill him, didn't you?" Olive asks, fighting a smile.
"Maybe," I mumble. "Maybe not." I shove my phone under my butt to keep her from getting her hands on it. She's faster than she looks. The girl has only spent her entire life dancing. She can move in ways that I didn't know were possible. "Seriously, Ol. What am I supposed to do with a freaking bodyguard?"
My whole life has become incredibly bizarre. This time last year, no one knew my name. I was just Olive's social media manager, the girl behind the scenes who dealt with trolls and perverts so she could keep dancing.
Now, my face is everywhere. The social media manager had to hire a social media manager to keep up. My former business associate, Lyle Taggert, hates my newfound notoriety. Actually, he hates that he had nothing to do with it and isn't getting paid for it. He keeps trying to strongarm me into paying him a large percentage of what I make from brand deals and modeling gigs, as if he made me or something.
Part of me wants to just pay him so he'll go away and leave me alone. The bigger part, however, is far too stubborn for that. I may be new to fame, but I wasn't born yesterday. And I don't back down easily. I'm not inclined to let him take advantage of me just because he thinks he can. He's not getting a dime from me.
"Let him watch your back?" she suggests, picking her way across my room to settle onto the bed beside me. She reaches for my hand, offering me comfort. That's supposed to be my job. I'm supposed to be the one telling her everything will be okay. This role reversal isn't particularly fun. "It won't be nearly as bad as you think it will be. Besides, it'll only be for a few days. As soon as Madden's PI finds some dirt on Lyle, he'll crawl back into his hole and leave you alone."
A girl can only hope. Unfortunately, I know Lyle too well to have high hopes. He can be vicious. When he decides he wants something, he doesn't stop until he gets it. I never should have agreed to manage social media for any of his clients, but I wasn't in it for him. I was in it for them. They needed someone other than him in their corners, and I thought I could handle him.
That's my fatal flaw. I bite off more than I can chew and I'm too darn stubborn to admit it. Most of the time, I make it work. But sometimes, like now, it ends in disaster.
I'm my own worst enemy.
But we only have one life. I want to spend every moment of mine forging my own destiny even if I mess it up a thousand times along the way.
"Who did he hire?" I ask, giving in as gracefully as possible. I appreciate Madden for caring, even if I don't want to be saddled with a bodyguard. I'll just have to do what I do best. Fake it until I make it or until I drive the man so crazy he quits.
Huh. Now, that's a plan with merit.
"Um, I think someone from Carmichael Security," Olive says. "Zayne? Gideon? Zion? I don't know which brother it is, but one of them."
I don't know any of them, but Carmichael Security is one of the most highly respected firms in Nashville. They've guarded some of the most important people in the state. Which means they're probably going to be annoyingly professional. That's one thing I'm not. What you see is what you get, and my mouth never gets the memo.
This is going to go so well.
Yay for me.
My prison guard I mean, bodyguard puts in an appearance first thing the following morning. And by puts in an appearance, I mean I run face first into his stupid hard chest on my back porch. Precisely where no one is supposed to be at six in the morning.
"What the heck?" I jerk out of his arms before he gets them around me, my hands on my hips as I glare up and up and seriously, how tall is this man?! Cup at him. And then I gulp. The Bible left out the part about Goliath being hot as hell.
This man is gorgeous in a way that should be illegal in all fifty states. A prominent brow line slashes over piercing green eyes that bore into me. There's a haunted hardness there, as if he's seen things no one should and lived to talk about it. The stubble on his sharp jawline softens him a little. He can't be older than twenty-nine or thirty, but his eyes make him seem older.
He watches me intently, those eyes seemingly rooting all the way into my soul. He barely even breathes as he takes me apart and puts me back together from the inside out, but every little move he does make brings his muscles into screaming focus. The black suit encasing them hides nothing.
Does he live at the gym?
"Who are you, and what are you doing on my porch?" I gasp, trying to calm my racing heart. The questions are redundant, but I can't help but ask them anyway. Madden didn't send a bodyguard. He sent freaking Thor, God of my panties.
"Been here for half an hour already." His slow Southern drawl is sexy as hell. His eyes prowl down my body. Only then do I remember that I'm in a tiny pair of shorts, a tank top, and basically nothing else. He can see everything and he doesn't seem to mind the show.
Embarrassment stains my cheeks, but I plant my feet, refusing to turn and flee back into the house. This is my porch, dang it.
Focus, Kenzie, Focus!
"You have not."
He points at the far side of the porch, where a new security camera now hangs. "Put that up already." His expression is completely level as it shifts back to my face. "Put one up around front too."
"That does not answer any of my questions," I mutter, refusing to admit that I heard nothing. I doubt he'd be impressed by the admission, and I really don't want a lecture from Thor about safety when my ass is hanging out of my sleep shorts.
"Zion Carmichael. Upgrading your security. Yours is shit." He reaches for the camera overhead again, twisting it into place. He doesn't even have to extend his arm fully to reach it.
He says about as much as I'd expect a bodyguard to say which isn't a whole lot, frankly. He gives me exactly the info I wanted and nothing more.
"Aren't you supposed to, oh, I don't know, introduce yourself or ask before you just start changing stuff?"
"Would you have said yes?"
"I don't know." Probably not. I rent this place. The landlord complains every time I do anything, even though the value of the property has only climbed since I moved in. I don't think he has an issue with money. I think it's an issue with smart-ass, independent women. Who would have thought?
"Then, no."
"I see Madden sent me the pain in the butt brother," I sigh, scraping my hair back into a messy bun so I can verbally kick his butt. "How do I request an exchange?"
"Sorry. All hires are final. No returns, refunds, or exchanges."
"Oh, so you do have a sense of humor."
"Mmhmm." He twists to look at me over his shoulder. The earpiece in his ear glints in the early morning sunlight. "But cracking jokes isn't easy when you can't fucking think straight, angel baby." The heat in his eyes as they climb down my body makes no secret of what he's talking about. I'm making it hard for him to think. Me.
I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself, though I'm not cold. I feel rooted to the ground, frozen like a frightened little deer as he stares at me. Only, I don't think fear has my stomach quivering with nervous excitement. Or my nipples hard enough to cut glass.
It's desire like I've never felt before now. I think I like the way he looks at me as if he's trying to decide if he wants to eat me for dinner or fuck me up against a wall. I may model now, but I can count on no hands the number of times someone has looked at me like he is right now. It just doesn't happen.
I'm plus size and spunky. I say what's on my mind and don't shrink myself to fit whatever box they think I should sit in. I prefer living life in jeans and flannel, but never miss an opportunity to put on a little makeup and dress up. I don't fit a mold. I'm just Kenzie. According to my mother, that makes me intimidating. And men don't like intimidating women, also according to her.
I think this one might.
"You should go inside and let me finish up out here."
"Why?" I know exactly why, but I ask anyway.
"Because if you keep looking at me like that while wearing those fucking shorts, the only thing I'm going to be drilling into this wall is you. Get in the house, Makenzie."
Well I guess I asked for that, didn't I?
Wait a minute.
"Did you just call me Makenzie?" I growl.
"It's your name, isn't it?"
"No one calls me Makenzie."
A slow smile spreads across his face, wicked intent plain as day in his eyes. "Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not just anyone, isn't it, angel baby? Get in the house. We'll talk when I'm finished."
Any other day, I'd give him a piece of my mind for telling me what to do like he has the right. But apparently, today is not that day. He growls his order at me. And to my shock I obey.