Chapter 22
I sit right next to Ever in the back of the limo. Neither of us speaks to the other. She doesn’t even look in my direction, choosing to stare out the window instead. But we both keep a hand on the thighs closest to each other. Once the vehicle’s in motion, she reaches over to play with the beads of her bracelet. Each time she twists one, her fingertip grazes the underside of my wrist, the strokes on the thin skin creating goose bumps all over my body.
“Your dress is white,” I say to distract myself.
“Perceptive.”
“The dress your ordered a month ago was white.”
Ever doesn’t stop looking out the window but she does freeze her hand, her palm hovering centimeters over mine. If she were to lower it the slightest bit, we’d be holding hands.
“Maybe I ordered another white dress.”
“Maybe there never was another dress.”
It’s a full minute before she resumes toying with the bracelet, repeating softly, “Perceptive.”
So all that money did go toward my new wardrobe. She lied to…protect herself? Protect me?
“Carter.”
“Who?” I give her a scathing look…until I realize she’s talking about the teddy bear again.
“No.”
“Grant?”
I shake my head.
“King.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Arad?”
Forty minutes and at least fifteen more bear names later, we pull off the main road onto a long winding gravel one, passing several metal artistic structures along the way until we reach one that resembles a giant egg on its side. Judging by the lights inside, the egg is a house of some sort. Or at least a building.
The moment I’m out of the vehicle, the clones descend as if they’d been waiting for her in the goddamn bushes.
Paris gives me a friendly grin that I don’t return as I help Ever out of the limo. Ever glances at her friend, then me.
I give her the barest shake of my head. Paris doesn’t even register.
Fitting my hand to the small of her back, I guide Ever forward.
As we’re approaching the futuristic house, Bradford in the lead, an artificial female voice says, “Welcome, Bradford Hoffman,” then proceeds to greet each of Ever’s friends by first and last name. The blinking doorbell cam comes into view, greeting, “Welcome, Ever Munreaux,” and finally, “Welcome, guest,” to me.
“Facial recognition,” Topher says flatly. “We got that two years ago.”
I guess I wasn’t important enough to add to the list.
The front door floats open by itself.
That’s not possible…and yet nobody appears on the other side of it.
What in the horror movie shitshow is this? Swear to fuck if fog rolls in right now…
I tug on Ever’s elbow, getting in front of her and halting her advance to let the clones go in first. If they start dropping like flies, we’re out.
“What is it?”
“Safety protocol,” is all I say, watching as each clone crosses the threshold unharmed.
“It’s a smart house, Major. No human assistance required.” She sidesteps me with an equally unimpressed sigh like this is all so common. Maybe to her, but not to me. I’ve never seen a smart house. I didn’t even know that was a thing.
Following Ever inside, we pause in a grand foyer, under a shimmering chandelier that’s gotta be at least seven feet long. Interspersed between all the tuxes and gowns are several robotic servers with different selections of food and drinks on their trays. People grab from them without concern, like it’s also normal.
And now I’m feeling like I’m in a different kind of horror movie, one where robots take over the world and humans let them because if we’re too goddamn lazy to get the door, then we’re definitely not fit to battle machines.
“My dearest daughter,” Arthur croons, his eyes as sparkly as the light above us when he takes in his daughter’s appearance from head to toe and back. Arms out wide, he gives her a half hug that doesn’t even reach her back and a pair of cheek-to-cheek kisses that don’t make contact either.
It’s the happiest I’ve seen him around his successor and I have to wonder if it’s the fakest, too.
Holding Ever by the shoulders, Arthur tells her, “You look just like your mother,” with what might possibly be real emotion tinging his voice.
But all Ever does is give a tight smile, keeping her usual bitchiness to a minimum.
My boss doesn’t even acknowledge me, only Ever’s friends. After some small talk, the clones scatter into the sea of glamorous attire.
“Now.” Arthur straightens his jacket lapels before holding one elbow out for Ever, and so quietly I’d miss it if I weren’t standing so close, he whispers, “Showtime.”
He leads her around, making introduction after introduction. Meanwhile, I remain three to four feet behind them, my head down, eyes on the floor but out to the side, surreptitiously on Ever so I can gauge her comfort level. As soon as I see her hands go behind her back, I shuffle closer, bumping into her with a mumbled apology as if the crowd caused our collision.
She instantly grabs hold of my wrist and I have to pretend to contemplate the plate of hors d’oeuvres rolling by. Luckily, they look good—mini lobster rolls on single pieces of bibb lettuce and half-dollar-sized crab cakes—because I don’t know how I’d pull off being interested in caviar or steak tartar. Fucking yuck.
Since the robot waiter doesn’t stop and Ever hasn’t let go, I just pivot so we’re back to back, my arm between us. I look fucking stupid but Ever’s needs supersede my own and right now she needs her rocks.
The Munreauxs are talking to some gray-haired man named Penn Larson who hasn’t shut up since he approached.
“Ah, Mallory, come meet Ever,” I hear him say.
I’m just about to tune out when a male voice says, “My pleasure.”
Suddenly, Ever’s hand not only releases me, but pushes me away.
I turn to see a different guy kissing that same hand. Who the fuck is this? So far, all these wealthy fucks have kept it to just shaking Ever’s hand or doing the fake double-cheek-kiss thing, but this motherfucker’s really kissing her hand, his lips on her actual fucking skin.
“Mallory. Nice to finally meet,” Ever greets with a dip to her head. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
He’s Mallory? I assumed Mallory was a chick.
“And I you.” This is punctuated with another kiss to Ever’s hand before he returns to his full height. “Although…gossip didn’t do you nearly the justice it should’ve. You’re positively resplendent.” He follows that up with a head-to-toe scan, much like Arthur’s, but with a hollowing of his cheeks as well.
He’s practically fucking her with his eyes right in front of everyone and I, for one, don’t like it. I hate it. In fact, I find myself wanting to rip his head off his body.
“I apologize if that was too forward,” he says to Ever, but I’d prefer he say it to my fucking ass—that’s how much I don’t care to hear it.
But apparently, Ever doesn’t feel the same because she tilts her head in a manner that even though I can’t see her eyes, I know she’s eye-fucking him right back as she purrs, “No, not at all.”
Damn it, heads are about to roll.
“In fact, I was thinking the same thing about you.”
She was? Ever is resplendent. That’s a fact. An understated one, but a fact nonetheless. But this guy Mallory? He looks like every other asshole in attendance here tonight, only younger. His hair’s darker than Ever’s, sure. And he’s tall, at least an inch or two taller than my 6’3”. But his face is just as forgettably flawless as everybody else’s, mine being the only exception. No matter how hard I try to blend in, I still catch the lingering looks on my cheek, the marred skin under my eye burning from the scrutiny.
Beside the pair, Penn and Arthur have gone awfully quiet, each of their eyebrows in varied states as they watch their offspring interact.
What? Are they hoping for some kind of connection between the two? Mallory’s too old for Ever. Being younger than this crowd isn’t difficult when everyone’s in their sixties. He’s still older than both me and Ever, probably in his early to mid-thirties. She needs someone younger, someone who can keep up with her.
But not too young, like those sluggish clones of hers.
Mallory holds out a hand to Ever. “Care to dance?”
Ever turns her head side to side, surveying their surroundings—their non-dance floor surroundings—giving me a glimpse of her lips. They’re pulled high in a smile. She’s happy. This guy is making her happy.
I don’t know why that makes my intestines twist, but it does.
“Everyone will look at us,” Ever responds in a shy tone. Is she flirting with him? Does she like him?
Doesn’t mean I have to like him. If anything, I should like him even less. Her father hired me to keep fuckboys away from her. I don’t care how old he is or how expensive his suit is, as far as I can tell, Mallory Larson could very well be a fuckboy.
“Everyone’s already looking at you. Might as well give them something to talk about while they’re at it.”
That was so fucking cheesy. She better not go for—
Placing her hand in his, Ever lets Mallory pull her into an embrace, then their bodies begin swaying to the barely audible music.
She went for it. And I…can’t be close to her. Shit. She needs her rocks.
Or she did before Mallory Larson showed up.
An arm wraps around my shoulder, and with his face so close to mine I can smell the seafood on his breath, Arthur Munreaux says, “What do you say? Time for a much-needed break?”
No.
“But Miss Mun—”
“She’s fine. She’s in good hands.”
“The best,” Penn Larson agrees.
Arthur’s turning me away from the slow-dancing duo before I can come up with a halfway decent excuse for why I should stay and keep an eye on my protectee. “Because I want to” won’t cut it. It’s true though. I do want to. She might need my help. Penn Larson giving his son a glowing recommendation means absolutely fuck-all to me. Every parent talks up their kid. It doesn’t mean shit. What if he says something that upsets her? What if he rubs his stiff cock on her? By Arthur’s standards, Mallory’s better than a frat bro. But in my opinion, it doesn’t fucking matter who or what he’s better than, he’s still not good enough for Ever.
“Explore the grounds. See the art. Enjoy a moment of solitude.”
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t get paid to—”
“You get paid to do whatever the hell I tell you to do. Take a walk.” Arthur shoves me in a way that isn’t obvious to anyone but me, forcing my feet to move in the opposite direction than the rest of my body wants to go. Fuck.
I stride past sequins and cashmere, feathers and fur.
Fuck!
It’s a job. It’s just a fucking job.
So what if she’s dancing with someone? They’re in full view of Arthur, the man who writes my checks. It’s his concern. She’s his concern. Ever needs something, she can run to Daddy.
I deserve a break and I could use some fresh air away from all this stuffy-ass bullshit.
The open bifold back doors in sight, I swivel at the last second and head for the kitchen instead. Arthur hired me to protect his daughter’s reputation. I chose to protect her body. But Ever needs me to protect the rest of her. That’s exactly what I’m going to do…with or without my boss’s permission.