3. Wesley
CHAPTER 3
WESLEY
T he new assignment caught Wesley off guard, and he couldn’t help reacting to it. He hoped he’d managed to stamp his reaction out fast enough that it hadn’t been noticed. But being forced into personally guarding the senator’s daughter was not what he’d signed up for. How was he supposed to advance or prove himself when he was given such a useless position? Who in their right mind would go after a politician’s kid? Did Anne Bartlett not trust him to do his job well? Was this just busywork?
He gritted his teeth and accepted the assignment as the necessary evil it probably was.
“Let’s get out of here,” Lauren said when they’d finally gotten back to the ballroom. She wore her perfect smile all the way to the car, but he could feel her seething underneath it all. Her mask was slipping, so it was no wonder she wanted to leave early.
They drove back to her apartment in relative silence. Lauren slouched in her seat with her arms crossed over her chest, pouting like a child. Wesley instinctively wanted to both scold and comfort her, but he wasn’t sure how, nor was he sure it was his place. Regardless, the longer they drove, the more awkward the silence got until Wesley couldn’t help himself anymore. “Do you want to get more doughnuts? Will that make the torture that is my presence more bearable to you?”
She turned and narrowed her eyes at him. “You know what? Now you owe me food. Screw doughnuts, though. We’re getting burgers.”
“We?”
“We’re stuck together, aren’t we? I’m not going to let you starve. How would a starving bodyguard be any good at his job?”
Wesley smirked at her. “Thanks for caring, princess, but if you don’t want fast food I can swing something a little more classy. I’m not that broke.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I don’t want fast food for your sake. I’m not that sweet, you know.”
“Oh, I’d never make the mistake of assuming you were sweet.”
She glared hard and flipped him off as soon as he glanced back her way. “Jerk.”
“What?” He shrugged. “You’re like two different people. I’m assuming this non-sweet version is the more authentic one, right? So… I mean, I like the spicy version of you better, if it helps.”
“It doesn’t.” She went back to pouting, but a quick little smile on her face told him she wasn’t being entirely honest.
They ordered food at a drive-through and pulled up to the window to pay. But before Wesley could even get his wallet out, Lauren leaned across the driver’s seat and thrust a credit card at the cashier. Wesley grunted his protest. “What are you doing?”
“Paying for the food I made you get,” she said, slipping back into her seat. Wesley tried not to notice how good her body felt sliding across his, but he wound up involuntarily clearing his throat regardless. She smirked back at him from her seat while they waited for their food. “I’m just not convinced you’re ‘not that broke’ is all.”
“Oh, you would try to get a rise out of me, wouldn’t you?” He pulled out of the drive-through after collecting their food and handing it over to her. “But it won’t work, princess.”
The interaction felt almost friendly, which eased Wesley’s tension a little. At the very least, when Lauren was her authentic self, she didn’t take herself too seriously. She seemed to take his teasing in stride, which was unexpected for sure.
He began to think more optimistically about their upcoming days together. If she could surprise him this one time, maybe she’d do it again, and he suddenly wanted to see how.
* * *
Once they were outside her apartment, Lauren grabbed her bag of food and left the car without looking back. Wesley followed. Halfway to the entrance to her building, she turned back and gave him a confused look. “You’re not spending the night here, are you? I mean, that’s not a question. You’re not spending the night inside my apartment. I don’t care what my mother said.”
“I’m not spending the night,” he assured her. “But I do need to sweep your apartment before I leave.”
She heaved a huge sigh and spun on her heel, heading straight back to his car.
“What?” he said, still following her. “It’s just one sweep.”
“You forgot your food.” She got to the car and waited for him to unlock it. “It’s going to get cold, so you’re eating it here.”
“That’s highly unusual,” Wesley said, but he unlocked the doors anyway.
“This whole situation is highly unusual. We’ll have to make up the rules as we go along. Anyway, I made you buy some trash food — I’m not going to make you eat it cold, too.” She snatched his food from the back seat and started back toward the main entrance of her building. Wesley followed in a shocked daze. She was surprising him, not behaving as much like the spoiled little princess he expected her to be.
They passed the doorman and the concierge, who didn’t even look up, much to Wesley’s disappointment. He was hoping to be recognized so that next time he had to come and fetch Lauren, he wouldn’t have the same problem getting access to her apartment. The ride in the elevator was unnaturally quiet. Wesley had no idea what to say to her. Thank you seemed wrong considering she was forcing all this kindness onto him. Insulting seemed equally wrong, considering she was being more thoughtful than most of his clients ever were.
While she set their food at a breakfast bar that separated her kitchen from her living room, Wesley went around checking the rest of her apartment. He looked in all the closets, behind the doors, and even under her bed. He never expected to find anyone there because, again, who would go after a senator’s daughter? It just seemed so unlikely.
He returned to the living room to find Lauren had taken his food out of the packaging and put it on a plate for him. “Don’t worry, I washed my hands and everything,” she said when she saw how he looked at her.
He didn’t bother to correct her assumption about the meaning behind his look. It was her thoughtfulness that was shocking and confusing him. But sure, let her believe he was worried about sanitation. He tried to remind himself that she was Anne Bartlett’s daughter, rich, and spoiled. “Thanks, I guess,” he muttered and sat down to eat. Now that it was all laid out for him, what choice did he even have? Wesley was often cold, but not that cold.
Lauren stood in her kitchen across from him, took a huge bite of her burger, and washed it down with a gulp of soda. “Hope you weren’t on a diet or anything,” she said. “I was just needing some comfort food.”
“This is comfort food?” He looked up in time to see her swallow another bite.
“It’s nostalgic.” She shrugged. “Reminds me of being a teenager, you know? I was kind of a mess, but at least I was having fun. Late nights at the club. Fast food after with friends. It was a good time most of the time, even if I was just trying to piss my mom off.” She stared past him for a moment, remembering. “I felt… more free in those days.”
“I think we all did,” Wesley added. “When everything seemed possible, and there weren’t so many walls and rules.”
“Right?” She perked up when he empathized with her. “I feel like I’m in some kind of glass prison these days. My mom’s career and the entire country being her audience completely controls my life.”
“Speaking of walls and prisons and your mother’s career.” He set his burger back on the plate. “We have to lay down some ground rules.”
“Excuse me?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Ground rules?”
“I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are.”
“I thought you were just going to stalk me until you’re job was done.” She didn’t even look at him as she said it, and Wesley got the impression this was going to be a point of contention with her.
“I do have to sleep, you know,” he said. “You’ll have a replacement detail just outside the building overnight, but it won’t be me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Bummer.”
He did his best to ignore her attitude. “You won’t be able to leave your building after ten p.m. And you shouldn’t go anywhere without informing your detail first. So give me a call in the morning, and at night, before ten p.m., you’ll call this number.” He handed her a card, which she immediately tore in half and threw in the trash. Wesley dropped his head into his hand and groaned. “And we were starting to get along so well.”
“Don’t mistake my being nice to you as us getting along.” She waved a French fry around like it was some kind of laser pointer. “I’m civil because I know you’re only here because my mom is forcing you, and you’re just doing your job. I feel bad for you, that’s all. Just not bad enough to accept a curfew and sanctioned stalking. I go where I want when I want. I’m a twenty-six-year-old woman, not a teenager.”
“You’re not being treated like a teenager.” Wesley took the last bite of his burger and washed it down. “You’re being treated like the daughter of a politician who may have just made some unhinged enemies by winning an election.” Convincing his client’s daughter to accept the protection she was being offered was not in his job description, but if he could manage just that, it was sure to make his job easier. So, he gave it his best shot. “You don’t want to end up like… Jane Simpson.”
“Who?” She gave him a doubtful look.
“The daughter of Harry Simpson, the representative. He’s been retired for some years now, but he had enemies. No one could have predicted they would go after his daughter. Even so, her parents gave her a strict curfew, just in case. But she was stubborn and rebellious, and her best friend was throwing a house party while her parents were out of town. So, Jane snuck out after midnight to go to her best friend’s party, only she never showed up. Her friend assumed she’d gotten caught by her parents, and her parents thought she was safe and sound in bed. She was gone all night without anyone really missing her. They didn’t find most of her until a week later.” He let his voice rumble low and menacing. “It took another month to locate her head.”
Lauren immediately spit out her drink, and for a moment, Wesley thought he’d really gotten through to her. It turned out she was just laughing maniacally. Wesley frowned across the bar at her while she cackled at him.
“I’ll take ‘stories that never happened’ for two hundred, Alex,” she said when she’d caught her breath. “Nice try, though. Really, that was a super entertaining campfire story.”
“It happened,” he insisted.
“Not a chance,” she said with a smile that was far too charming for how much of a brat she was being right now. “Bring the receipts.”
“Huh?” Wesley had no idea what she was talking about.
She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “Proof. I mean, that must have been a pretty big deal when it happened. Some newspaper or magazine or online rag must have covered it. So break it out. I want to read all about it. C’mon, you have a phone. Show me.” She gestured to his phone, which he’d taken from his pocket and laid on the counter when he sat down to eat, just in case his replacement needed to contact him.
Wesley racked his brain to come up with an excuse as to why he would not be able to produce these “receipts” she demanded. The truth was every word of the story was a lie he’d made up on the spot to try to get through to her. Apparently, Lauren was more savvy than he had originally assumed. “They were trying to keep it under wraps,” he said.
“Bull.” She leaned across the table and tapped his phone. “Receipts or it didn’t happen.”
He sucked up the last of his soda and heaved a deep sigh. “Fine. It didn’t happen.”
“Ha!” She thrust a finger into his face. “That’s what I thought!”
“But something like it may have happened. I bet I could find an incident if I really looked for one. Even if it didn’t, you could be the first. Do you really want that to be your legacy?”
She planted her elbows on the counter. “You know, scaring me into behaving never really works. Just ask my mom.”
Wesley shrugged and tried not to care about how quickly his plan had failed. “Well, it was worth a try.”
“Can’t fault you for the effort,” she said with a grin. “Look, it’s pretty obvious neither one of us is getting out of this arrangement anytime soon, so let’s strike a deal. We’ll promise to be civil to each other while we’re stuck together and not make the other person’s life harder than it hast to be.” She extended a hand to him.
He shook his head and her hand, too, pleased they had at least come to some kind of agreement. Lauren Bartlett kept surprising him. No matter how irritating this job may seem to him, at least it wouldn’t be boring. He could be assured of that. “I can agree to that,” he said, taking his hand back.
“Good.” She scooped his trash off the table and threw it away. “So, you want to stay for dessert? I have a frozen pie I’ve been meaning to bake, but it’s way too big for one person. I just couldn’t resist it, you know? Blueberry-rhubarb isn’t a combo I’ve seen around much.”
“No thank you.” He stood, put on his coat, and slid his phone back into his pocket. “But I will see you tomorrow.”
“Your loss.” She walked him to the door and let him out. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”
“You will, at eight a.m. sharp.”
He walked back to his car thinking hard about how the evening had gone. It would be idiotic not to at least admit to himself that he had massively misjudged Anne Bartlett’s daughter. He’d assumed she was a spoiled little princess, and while that may have been partly true, there was definitely more to her.
As angry as he wanted to be about his current assignment, Wesley found a silver lining in getting to figure out what made this girl tick. The curiosity was starting to get to him, and at least this assignment would give him the time he needed to figure her out. Whether he had a good time doing it was another story.