Colton
“Idon’t know. He looks a little small to me,” I say to Fallon, nodding towards where Sadie is introducing one of the largest men I’ve ever seen in person to Harper.
Based on the sidepiece, cuffs, taser and baton draped at his sides, I’m guessing he’s the new personal bodyguard that Sadie insisted on after last night.
After about thirty minutes of watching Sadie and Harper throw yes and no back and forth like a tennis match, Harper eventually relented over the necessity of a personal bodyguard when Sadie started making comments about going over her head.
Who Sadie would go over her head to, was not something Harper was apparently willing to share with the class before leaving in a huff.
“Oh yeah, he’s tiny. Could lift him with my pinky,” Fallon laughs, regarding the newest member of the team before cocking her head. “He looks kind of familiar.”
“Doubt it. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been here before, working private security since he left the military.”
Fallon raises her brows in question, probably wondering how I learned so much about a stranger in such a little amount of time.
I didn’t care what he had done in his past, but it didn’t stop me from asking Sadie a thousand questions about his qualifications when I joined her this morning while she did her first walk through, stationing the extra security for the night throughout the club and explaining how their shifts would work and what territories were theirs to monitor.
Eventually, she got tired of my hovering and told me to beat it and let her focus, unless I wanted to have a matching wound on the other arm.
After the events of last night, Harper had stayed well into the night at Cirque, getting reports from the police department and reviewing security footage.
As had been suspected, nothing was usable.
Whoever it had been avoided looking up, hiding in possible blind spots that would have alerted the team.
I got a single-line text around 3 A.M. telling me she wouldn’t be at the gym in the morning, knowing that if she didn’t show up, I would panic. All I ended up doing was a brisk walk on the treadmill, not wanting to irritate the gash on my arm.
When I walked into the backstage area to shower and meet Marcus this morning, he insisted one of the medical staff on retainer come to take a look at it.
Apparently, he didn’t think the EMTs I was checked out by last night were as thorough as the retained medical team would be.
I was given the all-clear again and instructed to keep the area clean and monitor any irritation or swelling.
The same instructions I had received the night before, but I wasn’t about to complain about someone caring.
I finish helping Fallon and the rest of the team prepare for tonight, passing out duties and assignments. Fifteen guests in total, each with their own personal attendant, making sure their drinks are filled and providing private dances throughout the night as requested.
The preparation flies by in a blur, and I try to catch Harper’s gaze throughout it. She’s actively avoiding me, and I think a little part of her is relieved that she missed our morning workout, not having to rehash the events of last night. Any of the events.
Everyone is backstage getting dressed when the guests start to file in, meeting their attendants who take their coats and purses before bringing them over to the table.
Each setting was given a specially curated menu for the evening—one side displaying the specialty bride theme cocktails, the other displaying the lineup of performances for the night along with the different private themed rooms available for use throughout.
Since a lot of the guests for tonight had never actually been to Cirque, Harper wanted to make sure they knew what was available to them and what wasn’t.
In typical Harper fashion, each guest had to sign agreements listing out the rules of the establishment and NDAs before gaining entry.
Once everyone is seated and the guest of honor has a glass in her hand, Harper steps onto the stage for a quick toast to the glowing bride—which even sounds like she likes her—and to kick off the night with the first performance.
The evening carries on without a hitch, one act seamlessly flowing into the next, while the courses are served with flawless timing. Guests occasionally part from the group, guided by one or two of the dancers to a private room.
Declan and Fallon take the stage for the final act of the night, the picture of a happy couple on and off the stage.
He’s decked out in a navy pinstripe suit vest and matching dress slacks, rose in hand to gift his love.
Fallon waits across the stage in a light pink ensemble made of layered sheer fabric that sways and floats as she moves.
A single spotlight beams down, illuminating Stella as she hums the opening chords into the mic.
She barely performed tonight, as most of the songs requested happened to need the male vocalist, but she’s proving right now why that was a mistake.
Her blonde tresses are pinned up neatly with sweetheart curls kissing her forehead.
A white satin gown clings to her frame, curves accentuated by the plunging neckline.
She’s a bridal vision as she holds the mic close to her lips and slowly sings about casting spells, a slow, gravelly beat to accompany the aerial hoop act.
I look to where Harper is watching the performance at the back of the floor, against the newly fixed-up bar.
Instead of Harper, I find my eyes stuck on Wade, frozen like a statue beside her.
I didn’t think a man that big could be capable of being so still, but he looks as though he’s seen a ghost and is too frightened to move.
I follow his gaze, expecting some dire threat, to find his attention solely focused on Stella, the vision in white.
When I look back at Wade, his gaze is downcast, shaking his head as though trying to shake off some vivid hallucination before lifting them back up again. Right back to Stella.
Harper doesn’t seem to notice the exchange, or the haunted look on Wade’s face.
But Sadie does. She catches me watching the moment and winks before falling back into conversation with her sister.
I can hear the taunt now, I know something you don’t know, but that’s a distraction I can’t afford tonight.
My eyes drift back to Fallon and Declan, slowly approaching center stage as a large hoop is lowered between them, suspended from the ceiling by two thick ropes about shoulder-length apart.
He shifts the rose between his teeth, biting down to keep it in place as he unbuttons and removes the pinstripe vest to the hoots and collars of the rowdy crowd.
Fallon dances around him, letting the full skirt fall away to reveal a pink corseted bodysuit underneath.
With his vest discarded, Declan grasps Fallon’s waist, dipping her slow and low as he passes the rose from his lips to hers before lifting her to be perched above the hoop, between where the ropes are secured, one hand on each line.
The hoop starts to lift as she settles above, and Declan turns his back to the base of the hoop as it rises to meet him, letting it catch against his back as each arm curls around the sides.
He looks almost casual, how someone sits back against a couch after a long day, arms extended wide on either side.
Fallon leans back with him, back arching as she hooks each leg around one of the thick ropes, the hoop continuing its ascent, pulling the couple farther and farther from the stage floor.
Fallon bows her torso even more, shifting further down the hoop until she catches the edge with the curl of her knees.
The movement brings her face down to meet Declan’s, where he is keeping his body pin straight as he holds himself up from the bottom of the hoop.
The chemistry between the two is thick and heady, their faces only inches apart.
Their act is almost always a centerpiece of any given night.
It’s electric to watch them together, moving with a grace and efficiency most can’t achieve safely on the ground.
They effortlessly shift together, the applause reaching a fever pitch when Fallon is balanced by her neck and thigh on Declan’s feet while he is fully extended from the hoop, a feat of strength by both artists.
I wonder how many hours they spend together in the gym.
I pull myself out of the trance long enough to remember I’m supposed to be working and need to check on the people paying me to be here.
As I near Ms. Harlin, I peek to the back wall, where Harper, Sadie, and Wade have been watching and observing.
I’ve grown used to finding her across the open space, but this time when I look in her direction to catch her eye, I find she’s already watching me.
Even with no sleep and a hellish night, she looks stunning.
Her lips are pulled into a tight line as she converses with her sister and Wade, finding the hulking man standing at attention, probably working hard to keep his face blank at whatever the two ladies behind him are whispering about.
Harper continues speaking to her sister, but her eyes continue to shadow me as I walk to where our guest of honor waits.
Ms. Harlin, though slightly slurring in her speech, graciously thanks me and the rest of the staff for a wonderful and entertaining evening, letting the last few words weigh seductively as she leans on the table for support.
I give a polite smile of appreciation, wishing her a lovely evening for the remainder of her time at Cirque, and start to turn away and head back to my duties.
Cassie stands on wobbly heels as she peers around at the members of her entourage pairing off for the private rooms, and clutches onto my forearm before I can turn away.
I fight the urge to yank my arm out of her grasp, worried it will end up with her drunkenly sprawled on the floor.
If I didn’t think it would be a headache for Harper to have to deal with, I would happily watch this vapid creature fall on her ass.
She teeters on absurdly high heels, leaning a little more of her weight onto the hand that’s latched onto my arm. She steadies herself, taking a step into my space and bringing her other hand up to run a finger over the buttons of my shirt.
“I think I’m ready for my private show now,” she says in what I’m sure she thinks is a sensual purr, but ends up coming out sounding more like a drunken Muppet. She hiccups once, the severity of it shaking her thin frame.
“I’m not available, as I made clear the other day through your assistant,” I tell her, stepping back so her hand on my chest falls away.
When she doesn’t let me go, I gently pry her fingers off my arm, careful not to be too rough or jostle her enough that the Weeble finally wobbles her ass to the ground.
If I thought she was a good actor before, that illusion would have been shattered in seconds as I watch her face shift from confusion to embarrassment and embarrassment to anger.
Before she switches to entitlement and causes a scene that sees security tossing her over a shoulder and out the door, I make a last-ditch effort to let her down respectfully. But more importantly, firmly.
“I hope you have a lovely evening, Ms. Harlin, but there is only one person who gets private shows from me, and you are not her. Enjoy your night.” I turn away from her and make my way to where Sadie and Wade stand guard.
But no Harper in sight.
I turn to Sadie, a question in my eyes that I don’t get to vocalize before she’s giving the answer. “She decided to go down to the gym since she missed her earlier workout today,” she tells me, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth but still managing to look amused.
I shift to head to the stairwell that leads to the gym downstairs, when Wade shifts in front of me, stopping me dead. He shakes his head once, and I’m not sure if he’s letting me know I’m not getting by him, or warning me not to try to.
He’s wearing a black dress shirt and dress pants, but it does nothing to make him look less intimidating.
If anything, the stretch across his broad chest gives even more pause to those debating crossing him.
He has a few inches of height to my six foot three, black hair cut into a sharp and clean buzz cut, his skin a deep umber with chestnut eyes.
He isn’t just a large man; he’s a built man, his forearms corded where they are crossed over the expanse of his chest. He’s the type of strong that comes from not only hours honed in the gym but also a lifestyle and hobbies that built his frame over years.
I’ve always considered myself a guy who can hold their own in a fight. But I’m also not stupid.
In any other circumstance, his ability to intimidate without actually having to speak would be impressive and admirable.
Knowing he’s using all that brooding skill to protect my girl.
Unfortunately, I’m the one she’s decided she needs protecting from.
I’m also pretty sure she would be okay with him roughing me up a little just for referring to her as my girl.
“Ms. Mathers wanted me to advise that you shower. The doctor’s orders were to keep your wound clean.
” He pauses as we peer down together at my clean, white, pressed shirt, the shadow of gauze barely visible where it covers my wound.
Wade coughs, bringing my gaze back to him.
“You don’t know where her hands have been.
Her words, not mine,” he adds the last part quickly, doing his best to fend off a smirk. And failing.
I think we are going to be friends, Wade.
I nod my head, running my thumb across my bottom lip as I ponder the directive. I think Harper and I need to clear up a few things about whose hands belong on me.