CHAPTER ONE
I couldn’t have been more tired if I tried.
It felt like a billion hours of traveling cross country for a two-day shoot.
And it hadn’t helped that I was modelling winter clothes on the streets of New Orleans during the middle of their hot, wet summer.
Honest to God, I was ready to lie down and die.
Or at least snooze for a really long time, Sleeping Beauty style.
Once I got up to my new apartment, of course.
After so many years of my life being in a constant state of flux, it was beyond nice to have a home.
“Miss Cooper,” said Leonard, the concierge/security guard, with a smile. He was a big strong man in his fifties, if I had to guess. Not someone you’d want to mess with. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks.”
“How was your trip?”
“Good. How’s your week been?”
“Fine, miss,” he said. “A parcel came for you. I’ll just grab it.”
“Thanks, Leonard.”
He headed for a door behind the counter as I set my LV Keepall Bandouliére on the floor. One day I would learn not to overpack. Probably not anytime soon, however. I rolled my shoulder back a few times then forward. It didn’t help the ache.
Finding exactly the right place to put down roots hadn’t been easy.
The apartment block sat in the middle of the Pearl District.
Right in the heart of a heap of great shops and restaurants.
I loved it. New York and Los Angeles might be more fashion world relevant, but Portland was my hometown.
Art deco stonework surrounded the front door and the lobby was all shiny surfaces.
The building had lots of old world charm.
Lots of rock stars too, what with rising star Adam Dillon and half the members of the world famous Stage Dive band taking up the top two floors.
They were the cause of occasional fans lurking outside.
Thankfully I wasn’t the one drawing crowds, which was how I liked it.
Live next to someone more famous than yourself and you’re bound to be left in peace—most of the time.
Leonard stepped out of the back room with a box in his hands and a frown on his face. “Something’s leaking.”
“Oh no.” A drop of red fell onto the white marble floor. The box was the wrong size for a bottle of wine and I highly doubted someone would have sent me tomatoes. “What the hell?”
He set it on the counter. Several of his fingers were smeared with the stuff. We both stared in growing horror as more of the red stuff oozed from a corner of the unopened box and the scent of copper filled the air.
“I-I think it’s blood.” I swallowed hard. “Leonard, can you please call the police?”
“I don’t want a bodyguard.”
“Around about the time someone sends you a dead cow’s heart with a knife stabbed through it, you’ve kind of lost that option.” Lena Ferris laid down the law while daintily pushing her red acrylic glasses further up her nose.
She had a point. Not that I was yet ready to admit it. My head fell back against the couch. “But I enjoy being on my own. I like my privacy.”
“Oh, please. This is just another side effect of your chosen vocation. You said goodbye to a percentage of privacy when you hit the cover of a certain sports magazine in a tiny black bikini, my dear,” she continued.
“Five million Instagram followers, some of whom are sending you damn creepy messages, says you need to compromise. It’s your safety at stake. ”
Another valid point from Lena. Dammit.
I’d first met Lena, photographer and wife to the lead singer of Stage Dive, about a year ago on a shoot.
We’d bonded immediately. Not only were we both curvy brunettes, we shared a somewhat skewed sense of humor and general appreciation for sarcasm.
And given how long and boring shoots can be, the woman was a godsend to work with.
It was her recommendation that I look at the apartment that became my home.
“You’re not really going to be difficult about this, are you?” she asked, sitting opposite me with a cup of coffee in hand. “I deal enough with big famous babies thanks to my husband and twin daughters.”
“No.” I sighed. “It’s just so…man, it makes me angry that someone gets to mess with my life like this. And I’m too tired to argue with you, especially when I know you’re talking sense.”
“How much sleep have you had in the last forty-eight hours?”
I sighed. “The detective questioned me until early in the morning. Then, when I finally got up to my apartment, I just kept staring at the bedroom ceiling trying to figure out who’d be deranged enough to do something like this.”
“It’s probably not someone you know.”
“Probably.”
“They just think they have a relationship with you because they’re crazy.”
I frowned. “I mean, an actual heart. It’s so gross.”
“Agreed,” she said. “At any rate, I already called Sam and one of his people is on their way over, so suck it up.”
I gave her a small smile. “You know, I do appreciate your help.”
“I know. And if someone had sent me a stabbed offal, I’d be upset and angry and all cranky-pants too.”
“If this doesn’t make me a vegetarian, I’ll be heartily surprised. Get it? Heartily.”
Lena just gave me a look.
“Bad joke. I know. It was good of your friend to find me someone so fast.”
“Sam gets that the situation is urgent. He’s one of the good ones. He’d have to be to put up with Martha. She’s not exactly low maintenance.” Her cell phone chimed. After reading a text message, she grinned and her fingers moved across the screen. “Jimmy wants to know what I’m wearing.”
“What are you telling him?”
“A skimpy red silk nightie and a naughty smile.”
“You two are so happy and in love.” I sighed. Jealousy was a bitch. “I’m sick of you living your best life.”
“Sorry. Not.”
“Makes me almost miss being in a relationship.”
“Ooh, I could set you up with someone! There’s this guy–”
“No, thank you.”
“Spoilsport. You ruin everything, dude.”
“Awesome. Thanks for the feedback.”
Lena snorted and I smiled. A little levity felt damn good.
Then someone knocked at the door. Ever so slowly, I dragged my oily-haired, yoga pants-wearing, general mess of a self over to answer.
A couple hours of shitty broken sleep and a stalker didn’t bring out the best in me. Who could have guessed?
I opened the door and…stopped.
“Miss Cooper?” he asked in a deep voice.
I blinked.
He waited.
Say something. “Ah, yes. Hi. That’s me.”
Over six foot worth of tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome stood before me.
And while I was falling apart, he seemed so put together it hurt.
My messy bun and spandex clad ass were not anywhere up to dealing with this today.
Whoever he was, he needed to leave and come back another time.
Preferably when I was rocking one of my best outfits and actually had a clue.
Or had at least had a shower. Deodorant could really only go so far.
“I’m Ziggy Thayer,” he said. “Samuel Rhodes sent me over.”
“He did?”
“Yes.”
“Y-you’re going to be my bodyguard?”
“Close protection officer, yes.”
“Huh.”
He tipped his chin. “Is there a problem, miss?”
“I, um…”
Was there a problem? Hell yes. This was a fucking disaster.
My brain refused to function, all synapses had stalled.
I didn’t know if it was the immaculate black suit, general air of badassery, or his stone-faced expression.
But whatever it was, he needed to cease and desist with the hotness immediately.
It’s not like I wasn’t used to being around beautiful people.
It’s part of my job, after all. And he wasn’t even beautiful exactly, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop staring.
“Mae, you’re being weird. Let him in,” ordered Lena from the couch. As friends go, Lena and her bluntness occasionally sucked. This was clearly one of those occasions.
“Sorry.” I stepped back, heat creeping up my neck. “Please, come in, Mr. Thayer.”
“Ziggy will be fine,” he said.
“Oh. Then call me Mae.”
“He’ll call you Miss Cooper,” said Lena. “Don’t fight it. We’ve all tried to train the formality out of him, but it never sticks. Does it, Ziggy?”
Not even a hint of an expression or friendly smile from the man. He took resting bitch face to the next level. “No, ma’am.”
“Marines.” Lena shrugged. “What can you do?”
I shut the door behind him, feeling all types of awkward.
This potent example of the male species was going to follow me around for the bulk of my waking hours?
No. Not going to happen. Maybe they had someone else they could send over.
Someone who didn’t take up so much room or make me stop and stare quite so often.
That would be good. Drooling in public was never cool and could play havoc with a girl’s lip gloss.
Wasn’t I dealing with enough? Insert heavy sigh here.
Halfway through my self-indulgent sigh, I managed to convert it into a steadying breath.
Because I could pull my shit together and be professional.
It would be done. In all likelihood, I just needed to get laid.
It’d been months since me and the ex had called it quits, an entirely necessary and mutual decision.
I needed to be free, to find some balance when my career and focus changed gears as I hit my thirties.
And he apparently needed to be free to have sex with every barely legal football player fangirl who crossed his path.
Especially the ones who liked to film themselves having sex with him and post it on the internet. Those were his favorite. Such is life.
Lena raised a hand. “Hey, Ziggy.”
“Mrs. Ferris.”
“Mae’s just tired and a little freaked out. Get her to sleep for a few hours and clean herself up, and she’ll be fine.”
He said nothing. Just stood there with a flinty gaze.
Meanwhile, I looked around for something to seal Lena’s lips shut. For at least the duration of her visit would be nice. Electrical tape maybe. Needle and thread seemed extreme, but not entirely out of the question.
Ziggy cleared his throat. “Miss Cooper, I notice you didn’t engage the deadlock or the security system. We’ll need to discuss that.”
“Ruh roh,” said Lena. “You’re getting spanked already. That was fast.”
My face flamed.
“I better leave you guys to it.”
“You’re going?” Hard to gauge what I was most afraid of, being left alone with the close protection officer, or waiting to hear what Lena said next. Both, perhaps.
“Jimmy has a big charity thing on tonight. I need to go get myself sorted out.” She wandered over and smacked a kiss on my cheek. “Try not to worry, Mae. Everything’s going to be fine. Call me if you need anything, okay?”
I managed a smile. “I will. Thank you again.”
“Anytime. See you tomorrow.”
And she was gone.
Leaving me alone with him.
“So,” I said with a hesitant smile. In these situations, normal people with a functioning brain were often polite. Maybe I should try it out. “Shall we sit? Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thank you, miss.”
That was really going to take some getting used to. Being called “miss” all the time.
He took the freshly vacated seat opposite me, sitting on the edge of the couch.
Ready to launch into action at any moment, no doubt.
Everything about him screamed big, scary, and capable.
Though I’m sure he was a nice guy at heart.
Probably an absolute delight at parties.
Loved puppies and made origami cranes in his spare time.
Or maybe not. I sat and curled my feet up beneath me, making myself as small a target as possible.
Guess I was just feeling vulnerable for some reason.
Not that I was afraid of him or anything. Hell no. Just because.
I squared my shoulders and sat up straighter. “So…where do we start?”