Chapter 7
SEVEN
TEDDY
I wake to sunlight streaming through my floor-to-ceiling windows, momentarily disoriented by the lack of an alarm. Then I remember—it’s my day off.
Rolling over, I wince as my muscles protest the movement. Despite Javi’s magical hands last night, my body still feels like I’ve gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champion.
But the muscle pain isn’t what keeps replaying in my mind.
Instead, I find myself reliving those moments on my couch—the gentle pressure of Javi’s hands working the knots from my shoulders, the unexpected intimacy of his fingers against my skin, and most of all, that kiss. The kiss that changed everything between us.
I press my fingers to my lips, still feeling the ghost of his touch. What was I thinking?
And that right there is the problem—I wasn’t thinking at all.
One minute I was joking about payment for ice cream, and the next I was pouring everything I’d been feeling into a kiss that crossed every professional boundary we’d established. The way he’d held me afterward as we watched the sunset, neither of us speaking, just existing in a moment of unexpected connection—it had felt more real than anything I’d experienced in years.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and my heart jumps, wondering if it’s him. Instead, Preston’s name flashes on the screen. Guilt washes over me. My cousin has trusted me with this experiment, assigned his best security officer to protect me; and how have I repaid that trust? By seducing said security officer with ice cream and sob stories about my lonely life.
I answer the call, trying to sound normal. “Morning, Preston.”
“Good morning, Teddy,” he greets. “Weekly check-in. How’s The Sandpiper treating you?”
I sit up in bed, running a hand through my tangled hair. “It’s... educational. Spring break is exactly as chaotic as you warned.”
“And you’re still committed to seeing this through?” There’s a note of surprise in his voice. He really didn’t expect me to last this long.
“Absolutely,” I say, with more confidence than I feel. “I’ve learned more in five days of housekeeping than in a month of shadowing Charlie.”
Preston makes a noncommittal sound. “That’s... good to hear. And Javi? Is he providing adequate security?”
The question sends heat rushing to my face. Adequate security?
More like adequate back massages and mind-blowing kisses.
“He’s very... thorough,” I manage, grateful this isn’t a video call.
“Excellent. I’ve asked him to provide daily reports, but they’ve been unusually brief. No issues to report, I take it?”
I freeze. Daily reports? Of course—Javi works for Preston, reports to him directly. Which means he’s been documenting his observations of me. Has he already reported our kiss? The back massage? The intimate conversation?
“Teddy?” Preston prompts when I don’t answer right away.
“Sorry, dropped something,” I lie. “No issues. Everything’s... fine.”
“Good,” Preston says, though he sounds suspicious. “I’ll expect a comprehensive report when your three weeks are up. Brogan sends his regards.”
The call ends, and I flop back onto my pillows, anxiety churning in my stomach. What have I done? Javi’s job, his professional reputation, his relationship with Preston—I’ve put all of that at risk because I couldn’t control my impulses.
Just like my mother would have done.
The thought hits me like a bucket of ice water. My mother, with her destructive patterns, her inability to think beyond immediate gratification, her talent for complicating situations that were already complicated enough.
Am I following in her footsteps after all?
My phone buzzes again, this time with a text.
Javi:
Good morning. How’s the back feeling today?
Simple, professional words that give nothing away. But they’re enough to make my heart race again. There’s something about seeing his name on my screen that creates a fluttering sensation in my stomach I haven’t felt since my first crush in boarding school.
I stare at the screen, unsure how to respond. What are the protocols for texting someone after you’ve kissed them on your couch while they were supposed to be protecting you?
Finally, I type:
Better, thanks to you. The patches worked wonders.
Neutral enough, I hope. A response comes almost immediately.
Javi:
Good to hear. About last night...
I hold my breath, waiting for the rest of his message, but nothing follows. It’s as if he started to write something and then thought better of it. Or maybe he’s struggling with the same uncertainty I am.
After a long moment, I type:
We should probably talk about that.
Javi:
Agreed. In person. Coffee later?
I hesitate. Meeting outside the hotel feels like another boundary crossed, another complication in an already complicated situation. But we do need to talk, to figure out where we stand before we see each other at work tomorrow. And if I’m being honest with myself, the prospect of seeing him again makes my pulse quicken in ways that have nothing to do with anxiety.
Teddy:
There’s a place called Beachside Brew three blocks from my building. 2pm?
Javi:
I’ll be there.
I set my phone down, forcing myself to breathe deeply. Whatever happens with Javi, I still have a job to do at The Sandpiper. And I have another complication to deal with—the thefts at the hotel that started right around when I arrived. As the newest employee with the thinnest background story, I’d be the obvious person to blame if someone wanted a scapegoat.
The photo I took of Carmen’s notebook is still on my phone. I pull it up, studying the list of stolen items in the light of day. All from upper floors—the fourth floor especially—and all during housekeeping hours. The pattern is clear enough that I can’t help but feel like someone might be setting up a patsy. And who better than the mysterious new hire with the thin background?
Because that’s what this feels like now—not random thefts that coincidentally started when I arrived, but a deliberate attempt to create a scapegoat.
Someone is stealing valuables and needs a convenient fall person. The new girl would be perfect.
But who? And why?
I spend the next hour creating a makeshift investigation board on my dining room table, writing down everything I know about the thefts, the rooms involved, the staff who had access, and the timeline. Putting my business degree to work, I create a matrix of opportunity and motive, trying to narrow down suspects.
Carmen has access to all floors, but she’s been with the Hollisters for years. What motive would she have? Miguel works primarily on the third floor now, but he has seniority and could easily access other floors without raising suspicions. The other housekeepers—Lisa, Eduardo, Jenn—all have assigned floors but could potentially move between them during shift changes.
And then there’s Roberts himself. As a manager, he has master key access to the entire hotel.
A master key.
By the time I need to get ready for coffee with Javi, I’ve narrowed my suspects down to three possibilities: Roberts, with his master key access and urgent need to find a culprit; Lisa, who works primarily on the fourth floor where most thefts occurred; and Eduardo, who I’ve noticed spending time on floors he’s not assigned to, often during breaks when he should be in the staff room. I’d have added Miguel since he had a master keycard, too, but he’s been with me the last few days and he was nowhere on the fourth floor.
I shower and dress carefully, choosing an outfit that’s neither too casual nor too formal for coffee with... what? My bodyguard? My colleague? The man who kissed me senseless on my couch and then held me like I was something precious as the sun set over Love Beach?
Standing before my closet, I find myself agonizing over choices in a way I haven’t since high school. I want to look good for him—not the polished, Instagram-perfect Teddy Hollister of my old life, but someone more authentic. Someone who reflects who I’m becoming.
I settle on jeans and a simple blue blouse—nicer than Theresa would wear, but not the designer clothes Teddy Hollister usually favors. A middle ground for this middle-ground meeting. The blouse brings out my eyes, and when I look in the mirror, I find myself hoping Javi will notice.
This is ridiculous. I’m acting like a teenager with a crush, not a grown woman meeting her security detail. But there’s something about Javi that strips away all my practiced sophistication, leaving me refreshingly, terrifyingly vulnerable.
Beachside Brew is busy when I arrive, tourists and locals alike seeking caffeine and air conditioning on this warm spring day. I spot Javi, sitting at a corner table with his back to the wall, sight lines to both exits. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL, I suppose.
He sees me at the same moment, and the way his expression changes—a subtle softening around his eyes that might be imperceptible to anyone who hasn’t been studying his face as closely as I have this past week—sends a flutter through my chest.
He stands as I approach, and there’s an awkward moment where neither of us quite knows how to greet the other. A handshake seems too formal after last night, but a kiss would be too familiar for this public setting. We settle for an awkward half-hug that satisfies neither option.
“I ordered you a latte,” he says as we sit. “Miguel mentioned it was your usual from the break room.”
The fact that he’s noticed such a detail, that he’s paid attention to my preferences, brings a warmth to my chest that I try to ignore. “Thank you. That’s perfect.”
An uncomfortable silence falls between us, the weight of last night’s kiss hanging in the air. Then, we both speak at once.
“About last night?—”
“I’ve been thinking?—”
We stop, share a small smile, and Javi gestures for me to continue.
I take a deep breath. “About last night. I want to apologize if I put you in an awkward position. You were just doing your job, helping me with the muscle patches, and I... I crossed a line.”
Javi’s expression is unreadable, his dark eyes studying me intently. “You didn’t cross it alone, Teddy. I was a willing participant.”
“Still,” I persist, “you’re supposed to be protecting me, not... whatever happened on my couch.”
A hint of a smile touches his lips. “I believe it’s called kissing. And while it wasn’t part of my original assignment, I don’t regret it.”
His directness catches me off guard. I’d expected professional distance, maybe even regret, not this calm acknowledgment.
“You don’t?” I ask, hating how vulnerable I sound.
“No.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t complicated. I report to Preston. You’re his cousin. There are professional boundaries that exist for good reasons.”
I nod, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. “So we pretend it never happened.”
“I didn’t say that.” Javi leans forward, his voice dropping lower. “I said it’s complicated, not impossible. But we need to be careful, especially with what’s happening at the hotel.”
The reminder of the thefts pulls me back to my other pressing concern. “About that. I think someone is deliberately setting up a scapegoat for the thefts.”
Javi’s expression sharpens. “You know about the thefts?”
I glance around to ensure no one is within earshot before continuing. “I saw Carmen’s notebook—she’s been keeping track of all the incidents. They’re too concentrated, too similar in timing. As the newest employee, I’d be the perfect fall person.”
Javi hesitates, then leans in closer. “You might be right to worry. Roberts has been asking questions about you specifically. He’s looking into your background and seems convinced you’re involved.”
“What?” My stomach drops. “How do you know that?”
“He approached me yesterday,” Javi explains, his voice low. “Asked if I’d noticed anything suspicious about your behavior. He’s pushing hard to build a case against you, despite having no real evidence.”
“So my instincts were right,” I murmur. “Do you think Roberts himself could be behind the thefts?”
“Roberts?” Javi asks, his voice neutral but his eyes alert.
“He’s on my suspect list,” I admit. “Along with Lisa from fourth-floor housekeeping and Eduardo, who seems to wander between floors a lot.”
Javi’s eyebrows raise. “You have a suspect list?”
I feel my cheeks warm. “I might have created a makeshift investigation board this morning.”
To my surprise, he smiles—a genuine, warm smile that transforms his usually serious face. “Of course you did. Preston always said you had a sharp mind for patterns and details. It’s why he was considering you for the assistant manager position despite... everything else.”
The casual acknowledgment that Preston has spoken about me—positively—to Javi is unexpected. “He said that? To you?”
Javi nods. “He’s harder on you because he sees your potential. So does Brogan. They just…”
“Say it,” I say as he exhales.
“They worry you’ll follow your mother’s pattern of taking shortcuts.”
The assessment stings, but it’s fair. “That’s partly why this housekeeping experiment is so important to me. I need to prove I can do the hard work, not just coast on the Hollister name.”
Something shifts in Javi’s expression—a softening, perhaps even admiration. “You’re already proving that. Five straight days in housekeeping during spring break is more than most people could handle.”
His words warm me more than they should. “Thanks. But it won’t matter if I get framed for theft and fired before my three weeks are up.”
“So what’s your plan?” Javi asks, leaning forward with interest.
I hesitate. “I’m not sure you’ll approve. It’s not exactly by the book.”
“Try me,” he challenges, a glint in his eye that suggests he might be more open to bending rules than his stern demeanor usually implies.
“I need to catch the real thief,” I explain. “Set a trap. But I’ll need help—someone with security clearance and access to areas I can’t reach.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. “You want me to help you investigate.”
“It would be off the record,” I hurry to add. “Nothing that would compromise your position with Preston or the security firm. Just... help me figure out who’s really behind this before Roberts builds a case against Theresa Holden.”
As I explain my thoughts, I can’t help noticing the way his eyes never leave mine, intense and focused. There’s something incredibly attractive about the way he listens—truly listens—to what I’m saying.
Javi is silent for a long moment, as if he’s weighing options, considering angles. I can almost see the tactical assessment happening behind his eyes. When he’s deep in thought like this, a small line appears between his brows that I have a sudden, irrational urge to smooth away with my fingertip.
“It’s risky,” he finally says. “If we’re caught investigating on our own, Roberts could use it against both of us.”
“I know,” I acknowledge. “But if we do nothing, I’m the perfect scapegoat. New hire, limited background, working during all the theft timeframes. Can you imagine the PR nightmare my cousins would have to deal with... again?”
He studies me intently, those dark eyes seeing more than I’m comfortable revealing. “This matters to you. Finishing the three weeks, proving yourself.”
“More than I expected it to,” I admit. “I thought this would just be about showing Preston and Brogan I can handle responsibility. But it’s become something more—learning how the hotel runs, understanding what the staff deals with, being part of something real instead of just the superficial world I’ve been living in.”
Javi reaches across the table, his fingers brushing mine briefly. The simple contact sends warmth spreading up my arm. “Okay. I’ll help you investigate. But we do this smart, we do this careful, and at the first sign of serious trouble, we bring in Preston.”
Relief washes over me. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warns. “This could get complicated fast. Speaking of complicated...” His eyes meet mine, and the shift in topic is clear. “About us.”
My heart skips. “Is there an us?”
“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “Last night happened. I don’t regret it. But mixing personal feelings with professional responsibilities rarely ends well.”
“So we keep things strictly professional until my three weeks are up?”
Javi runs a hand through his short dark hair, his gaze dropping momentarily to my lips before meeting my eyes again. The way his focus lingers makes heat bloom beneath my skin.
“It would be recommended, yes, but…”
“But?” I prompt as he reaches across the table, his fingers finding mine. The simple touch sends electricity through me, his thumb tracing small circles on my palm—deliberate, intimate—a stark contrast to the public setting of the café.
“This,” he says quietly, eyes never leaving mine. “This is why we can’t pretend nothing’s happening.”
“So what do we do?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as Javi’s fingers intertwine with mine more fully.
He shifts closer, our knees touching under the table as his free hand reaches up to brush a strand of hair behind my ear, fingertips lingering against my cheek. “We focus on solving the theft problem first.”
“And after?” I manage in a whisper.
“When your three weeks are up, we figure it out.” He withdraws his hand reluctantly, a muscle working in his jaw. “Then I go back to executive protection for Preston.”
The sudden absence of his touch feels colder than it should. “Back to your real job.”
A shadow crosses his face as he sits back in his chair, creating a distance that feels both necessary and unbearable.
The message is clear without him saying it—Whatever is developing between us comes with an expiration date.
“We need to focus on one problem at a time then,” I say, trying to keep disappointment from my voice. “Starting with finding the real thief.”
He nods, but his gaze lingers on my face a beat too long.
“I have some ideas about that. The hotel’s security system has blind spots I’ve noticed during my rounds. If someone knows the camera layouts, they could move between floors without being seen.”
As he speaks, his professional demeanor returns, but the undercurrent between us remains. I find myself studying the strong line of his jaw, the way his hands gesture precisely as he explains his security insights, remembering how those hands felt against my skin last night.
“How do we use that to catch them?”
“We need bait,” he says. “Something valuable enough to tempt our thief, but traceable. And we need to set it up in a way that narrows down our suspect list.”
An idea begins to form in my mind. “What if we plant something in multiple rooms—identical items with some kind of tracking? Then we could see which one disappears first and track it to the thief.”
As he leans closer, the spark of approval in his gaze sends a disproportionate rush of pleasure through me. “That could work. We’d need something small but valuable-looking. And we’d need a way to track it that isn’t obvious.”
“I have some costume jewelry that looks expensive but isn’t,” I offer. “We could hide tiny trackers inside—the kind people use for keys or luggage.”
“Smart thinking,” he says, voice dropping lower.
We spend the next hour plotting our trap, our plan taking shape despite the distractions of our shoulders touching, his breath warm against my cheek, the way he watches me with those dark eyes.
Plant the modified jewelry in four different rooms, one on each floor. Then monitor the trackers and see which item disappears and where it goes.
By the time we finish our second round of coffee, we have a solid plan. I don’t even mind that my desire to be alone with Javi has been replaced by the focused energy that comes with collaboration. It almost feels natural. It feels good.
As we prepare to leave, Javi’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through the crowded café. The touch is protective, possessive even, the heat of his palm sending a shiver up my spine despite the warmth of the day.
Outside, in the shadow of the building where the sidewalk is momentarily empty, he pulls me gently into the small alcove of a closed shop front. My back meets the cool brick wall as he steps closer, his body shielding mine from the view of the street.
“Be careful tomorrow,” he says, voice low and rough. “Whoever is behind this has a lot to lose if they’re caught.”
Instead of answering, I reach up, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer. For a heartbeat, we both hesitate—a final acknowledgment of every professional boundary we’re demolishing.
Then his resolve breaks.
“God, Teddy,” Javi groans as his lips find mine with none of the tentative exploration of last night’s kiss. This time, there is heat and certainty and barely restrained need. As my hands slide up to his shoulders, I can feel the tension coiled in them. But it’s his kiss that completely disarms me, revealing an ache that goes straight to my core.
When we finally pull away, both breathing harder, his forehead rests against mine. No words of warning or complication—the recklessness of what we’re doing is written in the tight set of his shoulders, the struggle evident in his eyes.
“That wasn’t very careful,” I whisper, my hands still on his chest.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a rare smile. “I never claimed to be perfect.” He steps back reluctantly, putting professional distance between us once more. “See you tomorrow, Theresa.”
The use of my alias serves as a jarring reminder—tomorrow we return to our roles, with all the complications and pretenses they require.
As Javi walks away, I touch my lips, still feeling the imprint of his kiss. I might regret letting my feelings take over when I should be focusing on proving to my cousins that I’ve changed, but for the first time in my life, I want something real more than I fear the consequences of reaching for it.