Chapter 4
FOUR
JAVI
The next day, I do my best to stay out of Teddy’s way and let her work. As Preston’s bodyguard, I was always in the background, assessing threats and keeping watch. It didn’t matter if people noticed me.
But he wasn’t playing housekeeper like Teddy is.
Which makes my job of keeping an eye on her without being obvious more challenging. I can only walk the perimeter of the Sandpiper so many times before someone figures out that Theresa Holden isn’t who she’s supposed to be.
But that’s not really what’s bothering me. What’s bothering me is what happened on the beach—when I stared into her eyes too long and let my fingers linger on her cheek. I can’t shake the memory, the softness of her skin under my fingertips, the way her eyes widened at my touch. It was unprofessional, dangerous even.
And totally not like me.
I’m a professional, damn it, and allowing myself to get distracted is not in my job description.
The hotel is eerily quiet when I arrive at 0600 hours, just as the housekeeping staff begin their shifts. I change into the standard-issue Sandpiper security uniform, the hotel logo embroidered on the breast pocket. The fabric is stiff and scratchy compared to the tailored suits I’ve grown accustomed to wearing as Preston’s security detail.
Another reminder of my temporary demotion.
As I button the uniform shirt, I catch a glimpse of myself in the locker room mirror. The man staring back looks annoyed, tired, and—if I’m being honest—bored out of his mind.
Three days of watching Teddy Hollister push cleaning carts and make beds isn’t exactly the kind of assignment that gets the adrenaline pumping.
Yet, surprisingly, she’s still here. Most people in her position would have quit after seeing the first trashed room. But she hasn’t. Not only has she stuck it out, but she’s thrown herself into the work with unexpected dedication.
It’s... confusing.
I head to the staff room for the morning briefing and see that Carmen, the head of housekeeping, is already there, arranging schedules on a whiteboard.
“Morning, Conrad,” she greets me, barely looking up from her paperwork. “Your girl’s on third-floor rotation today.”
I feel a flare of irritation at the phrasing. “She’s not ‘my girl.’ I’m just security.”
Carmen gives me a knowing look that I choose to ignore. “Whatever you say. But you might want to check room 317. Night security reported loud parties until 3 AM. Could be messy.”
I nod my thanks for the information, moving to the coffee station in the corner. As I pour a cup of the industrial-strength brew, staff members begin filtering in. Miguel, one of the veteran housekeepers, gives me a respectful nod. I’ve worked with him before during hotel security reviews, and he’s sharp—probably knows exactly who “Theresa Holden” really is, though he hasn’t said anything directly.
Teddy arrives last, slipping in just as Carmen begins the briefing. Despite having seen her in this disguise for several days now, something about her still catches me off-guard.
The uniform does nothing for her figure, but somehow that makes the moments when I catch glimpses of the woman beneath more striking. The way she tucks her hair—several shades darker now thanks to what I suspect is temporary color—behind her ear. The curve of her neck when she bends to write something down.
The transformation goes beyond physical appearance. There’s a quiet focus to her now, a determination that’s completely at odds with the carefree socialite I’d glimpsed at Preston’s events. It’s as if stripping away the designer clothes and perfect makeup has revealed someone entirely different—or perhaps someone who was always there, hidden beneath the polished surface.
Carmen runs through room assignments, pairing Teddy with Miguel for the third floor—a smart move, putting the newcomer with the most experienced staff member. As the meeting breaks up, I catch fragments of excited conversations about spring break guests.
“Remember the group that filled the bathtub with Jell-O?” one housekeeper laughs.
“Or the mini-golf course they built using towels and ice buckets?” another adds.
The camaraderie among them is evident—the kind that comes from shared challenges. For a moment, I see Teddy watching them, a flicker of something like longing crossing her face before she composes herself and moves toward Miguel to prepare their cleaning carts.
I hang back, monitoring the room without being obvious about it. My assignment is to keep Teddy safe, not to hover so closely that I draw attention to her. The goal, according to Preston, is for this to seem like a normal increase in security for spring break, not special protection for one specific housekeeper.
As the staff disperses to their assigned floors, I follow at a distance, radioing the other security personnel to coordinate coverage. We’ve placed additional guards near the elevators and stairwells, ostensibly to manage intoxicated guests, but really to ensure Teddy has backup within reach if needed.
I take the service elevator to the third floor, arriving before the housekeeping team. The hallway already bears the marks of spring break revelry—empty pizza boxes stacked outside doors, the carpet damp in places from what I hope is just spilled drinks. From room 317, I can hear the muffled sounds of several people still sleeping off what was likely a substantial night of partying.
Perfect. Just perfect.
I position myself at the far end of the hallway, ostensibly checking a maintenance panel while waiting for Teddy and Miguel to arrive. They emerge from the service elevator moments later, pushing their heavily laden carts. Teddy’s face is already flushed from the exertion, a tendril of hair escaping her braid to curl against her neck.
“Rule number one—knock loudly. Rule number two—wait longer than you think you need to before entering. Rule number three—be prepared for anything,” I overhear Miguel saying as Teddy nods earnestly, pushing her glasses up her nose with a finger that shows the beginning of a callus.
I watch them tackle the first few rooms without incident—standard post-party chaos, nothing they can’t handle. Miguel works with impressive efficiency, and Teddy follows his lead, her movements becoming more confident with each room.
Then they reach room 317.
Miguel knocks firmly, waiting a full minute before using his keycard. As the door swings open, I catch a glimpse of the disaster inside—furniture overturned, bedding everywhere, empty bottles scattered across every surface. Even from down the hallway, I can smell the distinctive aroma of stale beer and vomit.
Teddy hesitates for just a moment before following Miguel inside. I move closer, positioning myself where I can monitor the situation without being obvious about it. Through the open door, I can see her surveying the damage, her expression a mixture of disbelief and determination.
A groan emerges from a pile of blankets on the floor, revealing a young man with disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes.
“Dude,” he croaks, squinting at Teddy and Miguel. “What time is it?”
“Nearly nine,” Miguel answers calmly. “We need to clean the room, sir.”
The young man blinks slowly. “Can you, like, come back? Brad and Trent are still sleeping.”
I tense, ready to intervene if necessary. These situations can escalate quickly, especially when entitled college kids feel inconvenienced.
Miguel handles it professionally, explaining hotel policy about required daily cleaning. But the kid isn’t having it, his tone becoming increasingly dismissive as he argues. I can see Teddy shifting her weight, her body language revealing her discomfort even as she maintains a neutral expression.
That’s my cue. I step into the doorway, deliberately filling the frame with my presence.
“Is there a problem here?” I ask, keeping my voice level but authoritative.
The effect is immediate. The young man’s demeanor changes, moving from entitled to apologetic in seconds. “Uh, no sir. No problem.”
“Good,” I say firmly. “Because hotel policy requires rooms to be cleaned daily. You and your friends need to clear out. Now.”
There’s a sudden flurry of activity as two more young men emerge from the bathroom, hastily gathering their belongings. They stumble past us with mumbled apologies, not quite meeting my eyes.
Once they’re gone, Teddy exhales. “Thank you,” she says, our eyes meeting briefly.
I nod, maintaining my professional demeanor. “I’ll be nearby if you need anything else.” But something shifts in that moment of eye contact—a current of understanding, perhaps, or appreciation that goes beyond our assigned roles of protected and protector.
As I turn to leave, I catch Miguel giving Teddy a knowing look. “I think your bodyguard likes you, Miss Holden,” he says, just loud enough for me to hear.
I pretend not to have heard, continuing down the hallway with measured steps. But Miguel’s observation lingers uncomfortably in my mind. Have I been that transparent? Is my focus on Teddy exceeding what would be expected for standard security coverage?
It’s not that I like her, exactly. It’s more that I’m... intrigued. The woman scrubbing bathroom tiles and changing sheets with quiet determination is nothing like the frivolous socialite I’d expected. There’s something genuine about her effort, something that doesn’t fit with the narrative I’ve constructed about who Theodora Hollister is supposed to be.
My radio crackles with a call about a situation in the north stairwell and I respond, grateful for the distraction from my increasingly complicated thoughts.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of minor security issues—spring breakers trying to access restricted areas, noise complaints, a couple attempting to sneak into the hotel pool without being guests. Routine problems with simple solutions.
Yet I keep finding myself circling back to the third floor, drawn like a compass needle to its true north. I tell myself it’s just part of my assigned duty to keep Teddy safe, but I know there’s more to it than that.
Around noon, I spot her emerging from a room, struggling with an overfilled trash bag. The exertion has brought a flush to her cheeks, and I can’t help but notice the way the uniform clings to her curves as she maneuvers the heavy load. There’s something undeniably appealing about the authenticity of her in this moment—hair coming loose from her braid, face free of makeup, strain evident in the set of her shoulders. It’s real in a way the Instagram-perfect Teddy Hollister I’d glimpsed in society pages never was.
Before I can think better of it, I’m moving to help her, taking the bag from her hands. Our fingers brush momentarily, and that strange electric awareness sparks between us again.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says, but there’s no real protest in her voice.
“Consider it part of increased security presence,” I reply, keeping my tone light. “Can’t have hazardous waste cluttering the hallways.”
A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Is that what they’re calling empty beer cans these days?”
“Among other things.” I glance down the hallway to where Miguel is dusting the ice machine alcove, tactfully giving us space. “How’s it going so far?”
Teddy pushes a stray strand of hair from her forehead, leaving a smudge of cleaning solution on her skin. Without thinking, I reach out to wipe it away, my thumb grazing her temple. She goes still beneath my touch, her eyes widening. At this proximity, I discover for the first time that her eyes aren’t just blue—they’re flecked with hints of gold around the pupils, giving them a depth I hadn’t observed before.
“Sorry,” I mutter, dropping my hand. “You had something...”
“It’s fine,” she says, her voice softer than before. “And to answer your question, it’s going... surprisingly well, actually. Miguel’s been teaching me all his tricks. Did you know you can use dryer sheets to clean shower doors?”
The simple delight in her voice catches me off guard. This is a woman who could buy and sell the entire hotel without blinking, yet she’s genuinely excited about learning housekeeping hacks.
“I did not know that,” I admit, finding myself strangely charmed by her enthusiasm.
“Life-changing,” she declares with mock seriousness, then glances over her shoulder at the hallway of rooms awaiting her attention. “I should get back to it. Lots more spring break debauchery to clean up.”
I nod, reluctantly stepping back. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”
As she turns to go, I’m struck by the difference between the woman before me now and the one I thought I knew. Her uniform is already wrinkled, there’s a smudge of something on her sleeve, and her practical braid is coming loose—yet somehow, she seems more authentic, more real than I’ve ever seen her before.
“Teddy,” I say impulsively, my voice low enough that only she can hear. She pauses, looking back at me. “You’re doing good work here.”
The smile that spreads across her face is like a sunrise breaking over the ocean—genuine, warm, and unexpectedly beautiful. It hits me right in the chest, leaving me momentarily breathless.
“Thank you, Javi,” she says simply. “That means a lot.”
As I watch her rejoin Miguel, resuming her duties with surprising competence, I’m forced to confront an uncomfortable truth—nothing about this assignment is going the way I expected. Teddy Hollister is proving to be far more complex, far more capable than the spoiled socialite I’d assumed her to be.
And the professional boundaries I’ve maintained throughout my career are growing more tenuous by the day.
I need to get a grip. This is just a three-week assignment—babysitting duty before I can return to my real job protecting Preston.
I’m here to keep Teddy safe while she plays at being a housekeeper, nothing more.
But as I watch her bend to retrieve a fallen towel, the grace in her movement belying the exhaustion I know she must feel, I realize I’m lying to myself. Her disguise may have changed her appearance, but it’s the glimpses of who she really is beneath the surface—determined, adaptable, and resilient—that I find myself increasingly drawn to.
And that realization is more dangerous than any spring break security threat I’ve been assigned to manage.