Chapter 3
THREE
TEDDY
The afternoon sun slants through the windows of room 214 as I strip the bed. I’ve lost count of how many rooms I’ve cleaned today, but I’m sure my check sheet will tell me later. Right now, I’ve got a fitted sheet to wrestle off the bed while trying to stop thinking about that lunch on the beach two days ago.
Like the warmth of Javier’s fingers against my cheek.
I yank at the stubborn fitted sheet, determined to focus on the task rather than the memory of that fleeting touch. I’m here to prove myself, not develop a crush on a man who clearly views me as nothing more than an assignment. A man who, until two days ago, could barely conceal his disapproval of me.
The sheet finally surrenders, and I ball it up for the laundry cart, wincing as my shoulders protest the movement.
Three days into my experiment in humility, and I’m already conflicted. Not from the work—that’s hard but satisfying in a way I never expected. No, I’m wavering because of dark eyes that see too much and rare moments of kindness that make me forget why I’m here.
A knock at the door nearly makes me jump out of my skin. “Five minutes until the staff meeting,” Carmen, the head housekeeper, calls through the door. “Don’t be late, Theresa.”
Right. Theresa. My alias. Another reminder that I’m here under false pretenses, trying to prove I can be more than just the family disappointment. Getting involved with security personnel—especially someone as observant and unflinching as Javier—would only prove Preston and Brogan right about me.
The staff room is already crowded when I arrive, the air thick with the scent of industrial cleaning supplies and someone’s leftover lunch. I slip into a seat near the back, aware of the sideways glances from my coworkers.
“Spring break officially starts tomorrow,” Carmen announces, her voice cutting through the murmur of conversation. “That means full occupancy, more mess, and zero tolerance for delays. The Sandpiper might be smaller than our sister properties, but we maintain the same standards.”
I sense Javier’s presence before I see him, a shadow in the doorway. I haven’t seen much of him since that day on the beach, but I know he’s around. I can feel him.
Or maybe it’s wishful thinking; who knows? He looks good in his hotel-issued shirt and dark pants, far from the usual dark suit he usually wore when guarding my cousin. But then, I’m sure Javi looks good in everything he decides to put on.
“Additionally,” Carmen continues as I force myself to pay attention, “we’ve had reports of items going missing from rooms on the third floor. Nothing major yet—phone chargers, small electronics—but security will be increasing patrols.”
I frown. That’s not good. Certainly not when I just started working at the Sandpiper.
“Miss Holden,” Carmen’s voice snaps me back to attention. “You’ll be moving to third-floor rotation starting tomorrow.”
“Sure,” I say as Carmen calls on another employee with their new assignment. After all, I’m game for anything. With eighteen days left to prove myself, I need to be the best that I can be. I need to show Preston and Brogan—and myself—that I’m serious about earning my place in the family business.
* * *
After my shift, I stop at HarmonyWorks, one of the boutiques in Seaside Square. My infamous rent-tripling fiasco had nearly shuttered this place—Uncle Thomas’ first commercial property that he purchased with his own money decades ago. The shopping center holds special meaning for Aunt Elaine, something I’d overlooked in my misguided attempt to impress Preston and Brogan by boosting the family’s bottom line.
Ironically, my PR disaster had an unexpected silver lining. While negotiating a solution with the shop owners, Preston fell in love with Crystal Francia, HarmonyWorks’ determined proprietor. Their initial clash over lease terms somehow transformed into romance, and now she’s my cousin’s girlfriend—and my friend. Not best friend, mind you, for that spot’s reserved for her longtime friend Wilhelmina “Willy” Genaro who just happens to be engaged to Brogan.
The Hollister men certainly have a type—strong-willed businesswomen who don’t take any nonsense.
Crystal greets me with a warm smile as I enter, the scent of lavender and sandalwood enveloping me. “Teddy! I didn’t expect to see you today. How’s the grand experiment going?”
I sink into a plush armchair, muscles screaming in protest. “It’s... enlightening. I never realized how much work goes into maintaining a hotel. Or how many ways there are to fold a towel.”
Crystal perches on the edge of her desk, studying me. “But how are you really doing? This can’t be easy for you.”
“My body feels like it’s been hit by a truck,” I admit, rubbing my lower back. “But there’s something satisfying about it too. Seeing a messy room transform into something pristine and welcoming.”
“You’re learning empathy,” Crystal says. “Seeing firsthand what it’s like to be on the other side of the Hollister empire.”
I bite my lip, guilt gnawing at me. Guilt for my past thoughtlessness, for the privilege I’ve taken for granted. “I just don’t understand why I have to have someone following me around though.”
Crystal tilts her head as she thinks. “You mean Javi?” When I nod, she adds, “He’s mainly for your protection, not to monitor your performance. You’re still a Hollister, after all.”
“I’m sure he’ll survive the indignity of babysitting the family disappointment for a few weeks.”
Crystal’s expression softens. “That’s not how Preston sees you, you know. He admires your decision to do this.”
I fidget with a loose thread on my sleeve. “I just... I need to prove I can do this.”
She studies me, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think you can’t?”
The question catches me off guard. “It’s not that I think I can’t,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s that I’m afraid of what it means if I can.”
Crystal’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“If I can do this—really do it, without shortcuts or special treatment—then what does that say about everything else in my life? All the times I’ve taken the easy way out?” I run a hand through my hair, wincing as my fingers catch on tangles. “What if I’ve been capable of so much more this whole time, and I’ve just been too scared to try?”
Crystal squeezes my shoulder gently. “Oh, Teddy. That’s not something to be afraid of. It’s something to celebrate.”
The shop bell rings, announcing the arrival of a customer. Crystal gives me an apologetic look as she moves to greet them.
“I should get going anyway,” I say, rising from the chair with effort. “Thanks for the chat.”
“Remember, you’re doing great,” she calls after me as I step out into the cooling evening air.
* * *
The drive home takes longer than usual. Love Beach traffic is picking up as tourist season shifts into full gear, and I find myself drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, impatient for a hot bath and muscle relaxers. Three days of housekeeping has introduced me to new categories of pain.
When I turn onto my street, the familiar sight of luxury townhomes with their manicured landscapes offers a jarring contrast to the service corridors and staff rooms where I’ve spent my days. Two worlds, completely separate yet now somehow both mine.
As I pull into my private drive, my headlights illuminate a familiar dark sedan parked across the street. And leaning against it, arms crossed and expression unreadable in the evening shadows, is Javi.
My heartbeat quickens as I park and step out, suddenly conscious of my wrinkled uniform, messy ponytail, and the lingering scent of industrial cleaner.
“Let me guess,” I call out, aiming for casual. “Preston’s orders?”
Javi straightens, his military posture making even the simple act of standing look dignified. “Standard protocol. Ensure the protectee arrives safely at their destination.”
“Well,” I gesture toward my front door with a theatrical flourish, “as you can see, I’ve arrived without incident. Safe and sound, if a bit worse for wear.”
His eyes scan me with that assessing gaze that seems to catalog every detail. “You’re favoring your right side. Lower back?”
I blink, surprised by his observation. “How did you?—”
“It’s the most common injury for new housekeeping staff,” he says simply. “Improper lifting technique.”
“Let me guess—bend at the knees, not at the waist?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the technique you use for lifting heavy objects or just picking up women at bars?”
His expression shifts from professional concern to startled amusement, a flash of surprise that he quickly masks behind his stoic facade. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve gone too far.
“I don’t frequent bars,” he replies. “And I assure you, Miss Hollister, I’ve never ‘picked up’ anyone.”
I can’t help my laugh, though it comes out more like a tired sigh. “Of course you haven’t. Let me guess, you’ve memorized an entire manual on housekeeping injuries instead?”
The corner of his mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but perhaps its distant cousin. “Just observation. You should ice it.”
An awkward silence falls between us, neither of us quite sure how to proceed. He’s done his duty—I’m home safe. Logic says he should leave, and I should go inside. Yet neither of us moves.
“Would you...” I hesitate, then push forward. “Would you like to come in for a drink? As a thank-you for keeping me safe from all those dangerous... pillowcases and toilet brushes.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that wise?”
“Probably not,” I admit with a small smile. “But I have excellent scotch, and you look like you could use one as much as I could.”
For a moment, I think he might accept. Something flickers in his eyes—interest, perhaps, or curiosity. Then his professional mask slides firmly back into place as he straightens his shoulders.
“I should maintain appropriate boundaries, Miss Hollister,” he says, his tone formal again. “But thank you for the offer.”
I try not to let my disappointment show. “Right. Professional boundaries. Very important when protecting someone from the dangers of cleaning supplies.”
A hint of amusement crosses his face. “Even cleaning supplies can be hazardous in the wrong hands.”
“Is that SEAL training talking?” I tease, grateful for the slight warming in his demeanor.
“Common sense,” he counters, but there’s less edge to his voice than usual. His eyes drop briefly to my posture. “Ice that back when you get inside. Twenty minutes on, twenty off.”
I’m touched by his concern despite myself. “Yes, sir, Commander Conrad.”
He shakes his head at my mock salute, but I catch the ghost of a smile. “Get some rest, Miss Hollister. Six AM comes early.”
“Don’t I know it,” I sigh. “Goodnight, Javi.”
“Goodnight, Teddy,” he replies, the use of my nickname catching me by surprise. It sounds different when he says it—less like a childhood diminutive and more like something personal, something real.
As he turns to go, I find myself speaking again. “My father was a marine biologist.”
He pauses, looking back at me with curiosity. “Was he?”
I nod, not sure why I’m sharing this with him. “He died when I was twelve. Diving accident.” I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly chilled in the night air. “I wanted to follow in his footsteps once. Before I became a proper Hollister.”
Javi studies me for a long moment, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. “What did you love about it? The marine biology?”
The question catches me off guard—not dismissal or polite sympathy, but genuine interest. “The discovery,” I answer honestly. “Finding entire worlds most people never see. Dad said the ocean was the last true wilderness, full of mysteries greater than ourselves.”
Something shifts in Javi’s eyes—recognition, perhaps, or understanding. “That’s a good reason to love something.”
“What about you?” I ask, suddenly emboldened. “Did little Javier Conrad always dream of being a bodyguard?”
He shakes his head, a rueful expression crossing his face. “Architect.”
“Architect?” I repeat, genuinely surprised. “Really?”
“Buildings last,” he says simply. “Or they can, if they’re built right.”
There’s something in the way he says it—a philosophy more than a career aspiration—that makes me wonder about the man beneath the security professional facade. Before I can pursue it further, he checks his watch.
“Early shift tomorrow,” he reminds me, stepping back toward his car. “You should get that ice on your back.”
I nod, reluctantly accepting the end of this unexpected moment of connection. “Goodnight, Javi.”
“Goodnight, Teddy,” he says again, his voice softer than before. “Now go inside so I can leave.”
The words are still professional, still maintaining that boundary, but there’s something in his tone—a gentleness that wasn’t there before—that follows me into the house long after I’ve closed the door.