Chapter 10
“W hat’s wrong with your shoes?”
“What’s wrong with them? Nothing is wrong with them. They’re off the runway, chosen straight from this year’s summer collection.”
Crue grimaces, making me realize I’ve done it again, acted like them , this time not on purpose but out of pure instinct.
“They hurt my feet,” I admit in a softer tone.
“I believe it. They hurt me just looking at them. Did you bring another pair to change into or do we need to stop by the manor first?”
I shake my head and gently set both high heels behind the driver’s seat. “I’ll put them on when we get to the store. I just don’t want to wear them any longer than I have to.”
My bodyguard continues to stare at me like I have three heads, and with an arrogant claim like the one I just spewed, I’m sure I sound like I do.
They are fantastic shoes though…even if I do hate them.
“If they hurt your feet so bad, can’t you just wear shoes without heels?”
“No?” Like, hello.
“Why not?”
“The aesthetic.”
“Yours?” He looks me up and down, his expression bordering on…mocking? “What about it?”
“Flats would clash.”
“But they would make you more comfortable.”
“Comfort isn’t the objective.” It’s never the objective.
“Do you wear heels when you’re cheering?”
A chuckle tickles my lips. “No.”
Crue starts up his Bronco and pulls out of the parking lot.
“When exactly is cheerleading season?” he asks after I give him directions.
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“Mostly what team you’re on, but for a lot of people, cheer is year-round.”
“Obviously you cheer for Littoral…”
“What makes it obvious?”
“The photos of you in a Littoral uniform all over your socials.”
My eyes skate over to his hand on the steering wheel, light and loose as he confidently drives one-handed.
“You follow me?”
“I don’t follow anyone.”
“You just stalk them online?”
“It’s not like that. I don’t go on social media at all…usually. I only did when I was researching this job. Not that I knew what this job was.” The last part is muttered, then louder he says, “All right, what else do I need to know?”
“About?”
“Cheerleading.”
“Why the sudden interest in cheer?”
“Because it’s important to you.”
My eyes fly to his but they’re focused on the road ahead.
He clears his throat and shifts in his seat, not looking quite so confident anymore. He even adjusts the hat on his head.
“And you’re my job.”
Yep. His job. I’m his job. I’ll only ever be just his job.
“So, what other kinds of cheerleading teams are there?”
I launch into a detailed explanation of how cheer works, along with the different types of teams and competitions there are. He doesn’t say much, only listens as he drives, but it’s more than what most people do the moment I start talking about the sport I’ve lived and breathed since I was a toddler. I’ll never understand why it’s so divisive. Just because it’s mostly female doesn’t make it less—less physically demanding, less entertaining, less powerful, less of a damn sport. Golf is less of all those and it gets far more respect than cheer.
“Are you on an all-stars team, too?”
“No, not anymore. Father made me quit when I started at Lit U. He believes collegiate teams are the only ones worth bragging about.”
Crue checks out the driver’s side window.
“Were you on any sports teams in college?” I ask.
“No,” he practically bites out.
“Did you…go to college?”
“Why the sudden interest?” he throws back at me. “And shouldn’t you already know everything about me from doing your own online stalking?”
“I didn’t…” My seat suddenly becomes uncomfortable, too. “I didn’t look into you that much. I only read about the accident. The rest of your life wasn’t—”
“The rest wasn’t worth bragging about. Not according to Arthur Munreaux’s standards…or to anyone else’s.”
The car comes to a stop, then he’s saying, “We’re here, miss,” while jumping out before I can say anything else.
I press my thumbs together as he rounds the front end, over to the passenger side to open my door. He doesn’t say a word or even look at me as he waits for me to get out.
So that’s it? He’s back to hating me again? I wasn’t even trying to offend him this time.
I need his walls to be lowered before we go inside, or this won’t work.
None of it will.
I retrieve my shoes from the back. While putting one on, I say, “Nobody meets my father’s impossibly high standards, not even me.” Especially not me. “Yeah, I’m on a collegiate team but it’s for something he doesn’t consider brag-worthy. If it was fencing, or crew, or…” I sit back and throw my hands up momentarily. “Golf even, then maybe he would.”
That’s a lie. Nothing I do will ever make that man proud.
With a sigh, I lean forward again to continue with the other shoe.
“I was going to say the rest of your life wasn’t relevant, so I didn’t bother looking it up. Whether you went to college or not, you still ended up working for the wealthiest man in Connecticut. Maybe you don’t meet anybody else’s standards because you’re too busy setting your own.”
When I’m finished, I peek up through my lashes, finding Crue watching me. This is how I wish I could talk to him all the time. No snobbery bullshit. Just real-life conversation.
After a moment, Crue holds out his hand for me, palm open.
“Your school has its own rowing team?”
I grin and slide my hand into his.
“Two. Men’s and women’s.”
We go into the store together—Crue opening the door for me—but cross paths when he goes to the women’s side and I head for the men’s.
“Oh. Um.” He kind of hesitates in the middle, his hands clasped in front of him as he pivots to keep an eye on me.
He’s so adorable. If spoiling him is half as fun as fighting him, then I’m in for a real treat.
“Miss Munreaux, we’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival,” the store manager, Thierry, comes right up to me and greets. “Your messages stated you’re looking to update some wardrobe staples. Will your companion be joining us or do you happen to know his measurements?”
Even out of the corner of my eye, I catch Crue’s shoulders squaring at the mention of my male companion. Always assuming I’m after the dick.
As much as I do like dick, it doesn’t rule me.
“He’s right here.”
Thierry’s eyes sweep the store, glossing right over Crue, who dips his head, clearly wanting to be missed.
“He is?”
“Yes, he is.” I walk over to Crue myself.
Crue looks behind him like a puppy who lost sight of his tail.
You, Crue. I’m talking about you.
How is anyone else going to take Crue seriously if he doesn’t even take himself seriously?
“I apologize for the confusion—”
“That’s quite all right, Miss Munreaux. We can wait until your—”
“—in my texts. I’d like him to get an entire new wardrobe, not just pieces.”
Despite the dollar signs lighting up his eyes, Thierry still refuses to so much as glance at Crue, so I rest my hand on my bodyguard’s forearm, forcing him to.
“This is Crue Brantley. He’ll need to be measured, then anything he wants—”
“Me? I don’t want anything. I thought we were here for you.”
Of course he doesn’t want anything. The price tags are too high for him to even allow himself to.
I glance from Crue to the manager. “Anything we choose for him, put it on my tab.”
“Absolutely.” He attempts to whisk Crue away. “If you’d allow me, Mr. Brantley.”
But Crue stays rooted, his arms now folded over his chest.
“It’s Crue, and no, I don’t allow you. Ever?”
He said it again. My name.
I can’t keep the smile off my face as I say, “Yes?”
“This isn’t…” His arms fall limp. “I don’t need…”
“You’re going to be by my side for the…” Just because he believes this assignment is for the next three years doesn’t mean it will be. “Foreseeable future, correct?”
He gives a stiff nod.
“Then I need you dressing the part. Besides, my father already gave his approval,” I say while waving my phone at him, its screen blank, its history completely void of any such communication.
Father should’ve given Crue a clothing allowance anyway. His own valet wears sixteen-hundred-dollar Valentino poplin shirts to putter around the manor. If Crue’s to acclimate to my lifestyle, accompany me to all aspects of it, then he can at least look like he belongs in it.
Goddess knows he doesn’t act like it.
All out of objections, he’s ushered toward the back of the store, allowing me to grab things I think will look good on him. He’s so handsome, and could probably pull off literally anything, that I end up with several armfuls of options for him to try on.
I meet the manager outside the dressing rooms.
“When you say entire wardrobe…”
“I mean entire wardrobe, down to his underwear.”
“Any preferences on style?”
“What’s wrong with the ones I’m wearing?” Crue asks from behind a partially closed curtain.
“If they’re anything like the pair I saw you in, they’re fraying at the edges, baggy, and faded.” I truly loathe boxers. They reveal nothing.
Lowering my voice, I tell Thierry, “Boxer briefs. Dark. No visible branding.”
The fifty-year-old trying to look thirty gives a knowing head bob, his glossy lips puckered. “Understated, yet sophisticated.”
“Exactly. Classic. In addition to the everyday staples I grabbed, he’ll also need several suits. Two-button, single-breasted. Black, possibly navy. Nothing flashy or colorful. No brown.”
“I have him trying on one right now you might like. The only thing I wasn’t sure of is if you’d want a tie or bowtie.”
“I don’t know how to tie either,” Crue says as he yanks the curtain to one side.
Both Thierry and I press a hand to our chests.
I barely hear him mutter an aghast, “Those are basic skills every man should possess.”
In a black suit and crisp white undershirt, Crue looks like he could waltz right into any ball, festival, or luncheon, no questions asked. He has a timeless quality about him. Drop him in any era and he’d fit right in. The fifties, nineties, today…he just fits.
Without looking away from him, I tell Thierry, “I can show him how.”
“If he’s going to wear a jacket, a semi-cutaway will sit properly with or without a tie.”
The invisible line between me and Crue grows tighter, drawing me closer to him even though I’m completely immobile, unable to move anything other than my head as I nod to Thierry.
“I’ll need an actual coat, too. Ever, can you pick one out?” Crue asks, causing my eyebrow to rise. I’m picking everything out.
“One coat, got it. Any accessories?” Thierry asks me.
“He doesn’t need any.”
“Agreed. However, a watch will make a nice point of interest while still giving an air of nonchalance.”
“I have a watch,” Crue argues.
Ignoring him, and that ugly thing on his wrist, I tell Thierry, “He’ll need two. One for casual, one for formal.”
“I’ll go pull some options.”
Thierry lingers a moment longer before disappearing from my periphery.
“You’re insane,” Crue says with a scan down his outfit.
“You’re worth it.”
He stops his perusal to look up at me, his eyebrows knitted together.
“Were you… Did you…” He shakes his head. “You didn’t go to Hide and Keep…did you?”
The line snaps, causing reality to come crashing down over me, and I stumble forward a step. That was stupid. So fucking stupid.
I give my own head a shake. “Hide and what?”
“Hide and Keep. You know, the thing down at Knot’s Family Corn Maze, where they give it over to college kids after Halloween, basically so they can fuck whoever they want while wearing a costume.”
“Sounds desperate. You went to it?”
“Not exactly. I worked security at it.”
Did you keep anyone? I yearn to ask because I have no idea what happened after I left. He could’ve.
Instead, I force a chuckle. “Goddess, look how far you’ve come.” I gesture at him, then me. “Now you’re Ever Munreaux’s bodyguard.”
After a long pause, he scoffs, saying, “Personal protection agent.”
“Whatever title you use, Major …”
Shaking his head at the nickname, he turns around to face the mirror, a small grin curving his lips.
“You represent the Munreauxs now. And with that, comes the expectation to be your best at all times.”
“What if I don’t know what my best is yet?” he asks while tugging on his sleeve.
“Then do what I do and settle for looking it.”
His eyes once again find mine in the reflection.
That was stupid, too. Or genius, if it lowered his defenses a little more.
“Well, at least you’re succeeding at that.”
“So you did notice?” I whisper, making us both laugh.
Crue’s the first to sober, saying seriously, “I’d have to be dead not to.”
Everyone assumes it’s credentials that open doors, and while they do most of the time, looks and charm can get you just as far, sometimes farther. Now that Crue has all three, he could get hired anywhere after this.
That’s what I tell myself as I sign the thirty-one-thousand-dollar bill. If I can’t save my own future, at least I can help his.