5. Cash
5
CASH
S omething about the Monroe Blue sends a surge of energy into a crowd. Her beauty and allure are clearly part of it, but she has an otherworldly, magnetic appeal. It’s sexual, almost spiritual, and incredibly addictive. The air surrounding her is heavy with it. I can almost feel it brush against my skin.
Something sparks alive inside of her when she’s in the spotlight, like a different side of her awakens, with a bright smile and perfect sway in her hips. When she’s out of the public eye, she’s still animated and friendly, smiling and laughing with her staff, until she seems to hit a wall and crash. She’s fallen asleep in a room filled with people more than once, which boggles my mind. I can’t sleep with other people around, unless it’s my family and I have absolutely no other choice. I can’t tear my eyes from her angelic face when she’s sleeping. It’s the only time I really allow myself to study her.
She waves at her fans, blows them kisses, takes photographs, and signs whatever scrap of paper, piece of clothing, or body part is shoved at her. The flashing cameras and screams of affection, her name, and even obscenities don’t faze her.
By the start of the second week as her bodyguard, my nerves are shot. Constantly scanning the crowd for threats and observing everyone in her life to determine who might be attempting to take advantage of her are wearing me down fast. The sheer amount of people I’ve had to be around is diabolical.
I have no idea how the fuck she deals with so much adoration and obsession on a regular basis. If it were me and that many people were clamoring for my attention, for a piece of me, I’d be throwing punches left and right.
After having a day off, I receive a message that Monroe and her boyfriend, Zade, are going out to dinner and to a nightclub opening. Zade will have his own bodyguards, but another guy from Monroe’s team and I will guard her. There’s expected to be heavy paparazzi and fan presence at both locations.
The other bodyguard for the night looks young, but his stance betrays his military background. While we both wait outside Monroe’s front door, I turn to him with an outstretched hand.
“Cash Redford.”
He glances down at my hand before gripping it firmly in a handshake. “Brooks Brandt.”
“How long you been on this detail?” I ask.
“About a month.”
I nod. He has a military haircut and rigid shoulders .
“What branch?”
He blinks. “Army. You?”
I form a half smirk. “Same.”
“What station?”
“Green Beret,” I answer, scanning the driveway as a red Lamborghini pulls in.
“Shit. Respect, man,” Brooks says, his voice in awe.
I nod toward the sports car. “Who’s this?”
“That’s her boyfriend, Zade Byron. The 007 guy.”
A black SUV pulls up behind the sports car. I shift my weight back to face the front door. The new security system prevents us from entering until the start of our shift without tripping the alarm. The bodyguard on duty will be off in the next two minutes, and the system will generate a new security code.
Monroe started sleeping at home again two nights ago. It would’ve been my choice for her to stay at a hotel until the tour, but she claimed she wanted some time at home before traveling for half of the year.
“His security team is good, so with four of us, it shouldn’t be too rough, but when they go out together, the fans go even more wild. We’ve had a few instances of photographers really getting aggressive about getting that perfect shot. Zade likes letting them get a good one in, which can cause a problem if he starts signing autographs. The crowd grows like wildfire once they quit moving.”
I give a curt nod, thankful for the heads-up. Sounds like it’s going to be a long night.
The front door finally opens. The bodyguard getting off duty acknowledges us with a nod before walking toward the side of the house, where his car is parked.
We both take a step toward the door, but then more people start pouring out in a cloud of perfume and hair spray. They’re chatting about their upcoming night and ignoring us. The suitcases they’re dragging behind them are spilling over with black cords and shimmery fabric as they head to their vehicles. The stylist team will be on tour with us, I was told.
I glance at the sports car again, wondering if he intends to greet her at the door.
Next comes Ember with her violet-red hair.
She smiles at us, offering a little wave before also heading toward the side parking area of the house. “Good night, gentlemen. Have fun. This is only the beginning of the madness!”
Brooks’s gaze follows her for a few seconds before he turns back to face the front door.
Finally, Monroe exits the house. My muscles tense up for a moment at the sight of her. Her makeup is flawless, and her deep red lips curve into a practiced smile. She’s wearing a shimmery gold dress that dips down into her cleavage. It’s tiny, clinging to every curve of her body.
Most lingerie would leave more to the imagination.
I flex my jaw, taking a step back to allow her room to pass by. As she comes out, I see that the slit on the side goes all the way up to the top of her hip, revealing the side of her tanned leg and almost her ass. If she moves the wrong way, everything will spill out. She’s the most stunning creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. I can’t look away .
“Gentlemen,” she purrs.
She meets my eyes briefly before letting her gaze roam toward the Lambo. She walks toward it with purpose, her legs exposed and elongated by the six-inch gold heels with red bottoms. Brooks and I stay about five feet behind her. I exhale slowly when I see that the dress is also completely backless.
What the fuck do we even do if someone gets close enough to tear it off of her?
It wouldn’t take much.
I release a deep exhale, steadying myself for the endless night ahead.
Her pale blonde hair is piled up on her head in a mass of curls, mysteriously looking fuller and thicker than ever. She clutches a tiny red purse in her hand, along with her phone.
Her jackass of a boyfriend finally gets out of the car. “Well, hot damn. I knew you had to be taking forever for a reason. At least warn me the next time a goddess is joining me for dinner.”
He comes around his car, pulls out his phone, and holds it up to take a photo of her in front of it. She does a little twirl for him. He grins, snapping photos and videos before pocketing the phone and returning to the driver’s side.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes as he neglects to open the door for her. Right before she reaches his car, I step in front of her to grab the handle, tugging on it until I feel the mechanism release, and open it the rest of the way toward the sky.
She peers up at me, her eyes an unreadable mask. “Thanks,” she murmurs .
She climbs into the low-bodied car. My gaze rises to meet Zade’s hard stare.
“New guy?” he asks.
I remain rigid, not stepping back from the passenger side of the car as Monroe settles in. He chuckles and shakes his head before climbing into the car.
Brooks and I ride in the black SUV with Zade’s bodyguards. The driver stays close behind the sports car until Zade hits the gas pedal and speeds ahead of us. I shift on the leather seat. The back of my collar starts to irritate my skin.
Finally, we pull up behind them at the front of the restaurant, a team of paparazzi and fans already out front in anticipation of celebrity presence. The valet opens the door for Zade, another one getting Monroe’s. I step out of the SUV with Brooks on my heels. She starts to climb out right as we reach her door. I extend a hand, which she grasps tightly before expertly maneuvering so that she doesn’t reveal anything to the cameras.
The glamorous smile on her face is instantly lit up by a hundred flashing lights. Her slim fingers grip my hand tightly until Zade finally comes to her side and offers her his arm. She takes it, releasing me, and they walk toward the door. I remain close to her, shielding her from the swarm.
My heart rate finally slows as I watch her from four feet away from their dinner table. My eyes sweep the restaurant occasionally.
Zade orders a five-hundred-dollar bottle of wine. He takes another photo of Monroe holding up her glass. I study him more closely than necessary, unable to shake the uneasiness in my gut. He treats her like she’s a prop in his world. She plays the part perfectly, but it’s the same version of her the fans get. I wonder which one is real.
Something about the way he looks at her makes me not want to let him leave my sight. When he asks for the check, she’s laughing at something he said and finishing her wine. Her eyes briefly meet mine before she stands and turns. I follow her toward the back of the restaurant. People gawk at her as she passes, whispering among themselves.
I wait outside the door of the ladies’ room for her. When she exits, another woman is with her, latched on to her arm. Monroe is chatting with her animatedly, gesturing with her hands.
The woman looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place her name. She has long, rich brown hair and is wearing a scandalous top, which barely covers her nipples, with sheer, loose pants. The woman eyes me like I’m up for auction, her gaze trailing up and down my body before she turns to Monroe.
“Who’s the newb? I want a bite.”
She reaches out toward my forearm like she wants to touch me. I back away from her before she makes contact.
Monroe tilts her head to look up at me with her bright blue eyes. “He’s mine. Sorry.”
Her melodic voice washes over me. I like the sound of her claiming me way too damn much.
I stare back into her steady gaze until she smirks and continues sashaying back to the table.
“Lucky bitch,” her friend groans.
Once they finish up, we head toward the nightclub. It’s not far, and when we pull up, the crowd of onlookers is much bigger and more animated. They’re clamoring over each other for a better viewing position.
“He told all his followers they were going to be here together tonight,” one of Zade’s bodyguards mutters.
A growing headache spreads from the back of my skull. I reach for the pistol at my hip. Feeling the blunt, hard metal underneath the fabric soothes my anxious mind a fraction.
This is just like any other mission. Secure the target.
I’m out of practice, but switching back to a military-mode mindset is the only way I can get through this. The biggest difference is, the things I did as a Green Beret weren’t in a crowd of people holding cameras in my face.
As soon as they reach the front entrance, Zade stops the car and opens both doors. The fans go wild when he exits the flashy red car. They surround it and him, begging for his attention and reaching their phones out to take selfies with him.
They won’t move out of the way so that our SUV can pull up behind them. At least twenty feet stretches between us and them. When I see Monroe start exiting her side of the car, I open up the door to the SUV, and the other bodyguards follow, realizing we’ll have to shove our way through the crowd. I don’t waste time, pushing through the people grappling for the star couple like it’s their last day on earth.
“Hey!” a man shouts at us as Brooks and I force our way through.
“Watch it, asshole!” another one calls.
I keep my eyes trained on Monroe. She turns with a bright smile toward a fan who wants a selfie, but soon realizes there are too many of them clawing for her attention. They’re pushing in, so close that not even Zade can get around the car. His bodyguards are trying to get to him and failing due to the mass of people.
Panic begins to rise inside me when I’m still six feet and ten bodies away from her. I see the alarm in her wide eyes as she scans the faces. I’m a head taller than most of them, and once she meets my gaze, I surge forward quickly, but to no avail. The crowd doesn’t part; they only squeeze in on her more closely.
Get back in the car , I mouth to her, knowing she won’t hear me even if I shout.
A woman boldly reaches out to caress the fabric of her gold dress, but Monroe jerks away from the contact and slides back into the car. She tries shutting the door, but it senses the prying arms and hands and automatically goes back up.
I grab the person in front of me by the shoulders and physically haul them to the side despite a roar of protest. The next one is a male photographer. I snatch the strap of his camera, yanking him back until he nearly falls. I keep moving forward, using brute strength and bulldozing my way through the crowd as if they were a herd of cattle surrounding a pile of cubes.
They’re no better than animals.
One woman rears back and slaps me in the face when I grasp her shoulders and set her down to the side.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” she screeches.
I continue forward until I finally reach the door of the car where Monroe is seated, one camera shoved fully inside the vehicle, snapping close-up pictures of her face. Her hand is covering the lens, but the man won’t pull back the camera.
I jerk the strap on the man’s arm, intentionally letting the camera fall and nearly hit the ground before he snatches it back up.
“Motherfucker!” he shrieks. “Who the hell do you think you are?” His eyes are red with rage, lips peeled back from his snarling teeth. His expression reminds me of a wild coyote eating a dead carcass.
I lean down into his face. “I’m not from around here, but back where I’m from, you’d be laid out on the pavement with more than a black eye and a busted lip for getting that far up in someone’s personal business, especially a lady’s.” I stand up to my full height. “Now. Back. The. Fuck. Up.”
I jerk his camera strap one more time for emphasis before he finally does what I said, eyes crazed. Brooks shoves his way next to me, and we both turn to force the crowd back with spread arms. They have no choice but to give us a wide berth of a few feet.
“Miss Blue will be leaving this event now if you fuckers don’t start behaving,” I bark.
The ones near me are silent, mouths gaping at me. The staff from the nightclub finally reaches us with their own bouncers and metal stands with red ropes, tying them together to create a pathway.
“So sorry, Mr. Byron and Miss Blue! We got the time of your arrival wrong, and we didn’t expect such crowds to?—”
I ignore the blubbering man in a red velvet suit, instead turning to bend down in front of the passenger seat, where Monroe is still waiting .
She’s exhaling slowly, her hands gripping her mid-thighs. Her lower lip is slightly trembling as she meets my eyes, blinking quickly like she might cry.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I lean closer, resisting the urge to grab her hand and squeeze it. Instead, I grip the side of the leather seat. “Don’t ever get out of the car without me directly in front of it—you understand?”
She nods, holding back the tears building with calculated blinks. Her dress is slightly pulled to the side, revealing more of her breast and almost her nipple. She realizes it, reaching down to adjust the flimsy gold fabric to cover herself more. I watch her, trying to decide if I should just take her to the SUV and drive her home now before something happens. She seems shaken up. I grit my teeth, feeling the urge to send a message with my fists to her moron of a boyfriend for putting her in that situation.
“Did someone touch you?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I’m okay. I—I didn’t realize he was going to open the door before you were close.” She blinks slower, her thick lashes brushing against her pink cheeks.
The shift in her emotion-filled gaze is swift, like a wave covering a sandy shore. One second, she was terrified and vulnerable, and the next, she looks camera-ready and every bit the emotionless superstar they expect her to be.
I wonder which one is the real her.
I look down at my hand, seeing her fingers slowly inch toward mine on the cream leather.
Before she touches me, Zade finally makes his way around the car and is bending down toward her.
“Sorry, baby. That was a mess. Here, let me help you.” His hand comes down between us.
She looks up at me, a flicker of yearning in her ocean eyes. I’ve had way too many dreams about those eyes in the last year. I slowly nod, brushing the back of my knuckles against her lower calf muscle, near her ankle. Her breath catches at the contact, red lips slightly parted.
“I’m right here,” I assure her, the back of my coarse fingers still grazing her smooth skin.
She nods before gripping Zade’s hand, letting him pull her from the car.