Chapter Three
Did the universe mean to tell Zoey that this hunk was her bodyguard?
She’d expected a middle-aged, burly, balding fatherly type with a gut.
Instead, this handsome devil with jet-black hair, dressed in a suit and tie and speaking with a light Italian accent had arrived like some kind of early Sweetheart Day gift.
She couldn’t stop chatting, which was her fallback when nervous.
Mami, are you messing with me from heaven?
She’d been envying the lucky lady he’d come in to shop for, wondering why she had never met a man like this.
But he was here for her. Well, not here for her.
Here to perform a job for her father. Like most men she met, he was already indebted to her father.
This time through actual employment and not hero worship, but either way. Indebted.
“There’s been a mistake,” Zoey said.
“I do not think so.” He clasped his hands in front of him and slowly shook his head. “No mistake.”
She held up a finger. “Let me make a call. I’ll be right with you.”
Her father answered on the first ring. “How are you, my baby gir—”
“Don’t you ‘baby girl’ me! This man just showed up to my boutique saying he’s my bodyguard. Arthur—”
“Archer,” Archer said, having followed her to the counter. He pulled on the lapels of his jacket. “Archer Rossi.”
Of course, he’d said that, but she forgot because her brain tended to go on hiatus when her hormones went into overdrive.
And of course he had to have a cool name like Archer.
What kind of name was that? Then she thought of her favorite archer, the mythical winged cupid, based on the Greek god Eros, who shot arrows of love at intended targets.
Surely this was some kind of cosmic joke.
“That’s who they assigned to your case. I didn’t have a choice. It was whomever had availability.” Her father paused. “Why? Are you worried about him? Should we ask him to be reassigned? Is he leering at you? Is that dirty old man checking you out?”
She wished…
“No! He is definitely not either one of those.”
Archer’s eyebrow arched…well, maybe it quirked.
“Because if you feel unsafe for one instant, I’ll find someone else. All it takes is a phone call. But this agency comes highly recommended. It’s run by former military men. I didn’t think they’d send some old creep over.”
No, indeed. And Zoey couldn’t be responsible for this man being reassigned simply because she found him good-looking, and hence, a little intimidating.
Then there was that accent…
“Of course, not. That’s not what I’m saying. He’s definitely not a…”
Archer cocked his head.
“Okay, then, if I’m hearing you right, you’re still not happy I hired a bodyguard. Well, too bad.” She heard someone yell “Fore!” and her father cursed. “Time to tee up. Love you.”
Zoey was still holding the phone when her father hung up.
“Is there a problem?” Archer said.
“Not really.” Zoey put the phone away. “You’re in the right place.”
“But?”
“I just…to be honest, my father is overprotective. Simply put, I don’t need a bodyguard but he got me one anyway.”
“He sounds like my father,” Archer said. “I have four sisters and he is very protective.”
“Four sisters? Four?”
“We are Italian.” He shrugged. “I am an American citizen, but my family came to this country when I was twelve. I was not born here, but three of my four sisters were. They act like they are better than the rest of us.”
“Oh, no,” Zoey said.
“That is a joke,” Archer said with a slow, easy smile.
“Ah…hahaha.” Zoey laughed while thinking, God, I hope you’re single.
“Maybe you don’t mind me here for a couple of weeks?” he said, and he adjusted his tie. “By then your father will feel more comfortable with your safety.”
“Actually,” Zoey said, a bit shamelessly. “I’m worried, too. A little. This guy I dated, for like a month, won’t give up on me. But it’s just texts and emails. Flowers. How can you arrest someone for being nice?”
“He is not being nice. It is about control. I can make sure this man gets the message,” Archer said, and of this, she had no doubt.
“You’re going to ask him to stop sending me flowers?”
“If that is what you want. But my main job is to make sure he does not come anywhere near you.”
“I guess this is going to work after all.” Time to go on a fishing expedition. “Where is your wife staying while you’re in town with me? It must be hard for her when you go away on these assignments.”
“What wife?” He shook his head, put up a palm. “No, I do not have a wife, so do not worry.”
“Oh, I’m not worried.” Zoey smiled.
“Good. I am not, either.”
He smiled back, and this time his eyes crinkled. It was almost as if he knew. Zoey hoped not to make it so obvious she was crushing hard on this man.
She’d work on that.
* * *
For the rest of the afternoon, Archer stood like a sentry at the entrance to the shop. And, she realized, he was going to be great for business. Women had been coming in and out all day, mostly to browse, but they left with smiles on their faces.
“Oh, helloooo!” said Debbie, the head waitress at the Salty Dog Bar and Grill. “Are you new here?”
“Yes, I am.” Archer nodded. “Archer Rossi, at your service.”
The only thing lacking from the scenario was for him to bend at the waist and kiss her hand, but Debbie melted anyway.
“Hi, Debbie. Can I help you find something?” Zoey came around from behind the counter where she’d been counting receipts.
Debbie leaned over and whispered, “I had to come see for myself what all the fuss was about. I know you’re a wiz at marketing, but this is genius. How much did it set you back to hire a model?”
If Zoey had been drinking anything, she would have spewed it out of her mouth.
“He’s not a model.”
“Oh, an actor looking for employment? He looks like that guy who was in the Housemaid movie and he has an accent. Oh, swoon!” Debbie fanned herself.
“Calm down,” Zoey whispered. “And please, don’t tell anybody, but…he’s my bodyguard.”
Debbie’s eyes widened. “You have a bodyguard?”
“Unfortunately, yes. For now, anyway. You know my father?”
“That’s like asking if I know who the Dallas Cowboys are,” Debbie said. “Yes, I know Patch Lambert.”
“He thinks I need a bodyguard because of Scott, and of course he’s overreacting. But what can you do?”
Debbie took another scan of Archer and sighed. “Just grin and bear it, I guess.”
“Exactly.”
She and Debbie both turned at once and stared at Archer’s backside. He stood, ramrod straight, as if he was guarding the president of the United States. Zoey admired a man who didn’t think any job was too small to take seriously.
“Christmas came early,” Debbie said.
“Preach.” Zoey held out her fist to bump Debbie’s.
When it was time to close up shop, Archer walked Zoey to her sedan so he could follow her home. Her car was a royal blue BMW, a gift from her father, of course. If Archer was impressed, he didn’t say anything, which she appreciated.
From time to time Zoey felt embarrassed about all the nice things she owned because of her father.
Throughout his football career, Patch had endured several concussions, back and shoulder surgery, knee surgery three times, and now had a permanently bad back.
But he never complained, because in the process of wrecking his body he’d made millions in endorsement deals.
As a proud Black man, he was far too aware that many men who looked like him weren’t as lucky.
But he’d had a gift and love for the game from the time he was a kid and honed it with hours and years on the field.
She was extremely proud of her father and his legacy.
But it wasn’t her legacy.
She wanted her own. Like her father, Zoey had used her attributes to the best of her ability and worked them.
She’d been gifted with a tall, svelte body and flawless skin.
Her hair was a mix of her mother’s thick waves and her father’s kinky curls.
Zoey had dark brown ringlets everyone thought she paid to have.
She’d accidentally fallen into modeling at sixteen when a fashion agent attended one of her father’s Super Bowl parties.
It helped that, like her mother, she loved clothes.
Before her mother got sick, she accompanied Zoey all over the world as she modeled for Donna Karan and others.
They’d had some of the best times of their lives drinking espresso in Rome and eating pastries in Paris. Plenty of memories.
But once her mother died, Zoey lost the heart for modeling and the travel involved.
Her father, too, was despondent and didn’t want Zoey going anywhere.
They both went into a deep depression born from grief and retreated to his ranch on the outskirts of Amarillo.
A dear friend of her mother’s pulled Zoey out of her depression when she suggested she find her own dream.
If it would no longer be high fashion and modeling, it could be something adjacent.
And it was on a yacht trip along the Gulf Coast of Mexico with her father a couple of years later that she took a day to go off on her own.
She drove along the coastal road in Texas and discovered the town of Charming.
Though she’d been all over the world, Zoey found Charming unique.
She found a spirit of friendship and comradery in this small town, as well as a beautiful bay and beach, a renovated lighthouse and quaint little shops.
There was a family-owned bookstore like the one in You’ve Got Mail, and an art gallery.
She wandered into a boutique on that auspicious day and met a woman who wanted to retire.
This became the seed of a dream; this would be her legacy.
She renamed the boutique Glamtique and envisioned a place where haute couture met affordable fashion and was available to women from all economic walks of life.
Soon, Zoey had a business plan even her father’s financial manager approved.
She moved to Charming, obtaining her father’s blessing only when he could buy a “suitable” home for his only child.
A safe place where he wouldn’t have to worry.
She wound up on the outskirts of town, where many doctors and lawyers had vacation homes.
The house was beautiful, one glass window from top to bottom, facing the view of the bay.
She had four bathrooms and five bedrooms. Zoey was a little embarrassed by it all, since she hadn’t worked to earn any of it.
Again, she was benefiting from her father’s legacy.
But legacies took time to build, she could almost hear her mother say, and it wasn’t wrong to please her father.
Scouring estate sales and using her contacts in the fashion world, Zoey found one-of-a-kind clothing.
Many of these items would have wound up at an auction were it not for her network of buyers.
The boutique initially succeeded mostly by word of mouth and her contacts with the other small-town shopkeepers, like her best friend, Twyla.
But a year ago, when local advertising executive Lauren Montez became a rabid fan, the boutique’s sales tripled.
Women discovered they could look like Lauren and not spend the month’s grocery bill to do it.
Zoey hoped that her mami would be proud of her.
So much of what she did was in honor of her mother.
Conchita Lambert had always found haute couture overpriced.
In those early years with Patch, when he was a college player, her mother had to make do with what she could piece together, and nothing pleased her more than finding a bargain.
Last year, Zoey found an underserved market in secondhand designer wedding dresses.
She wanted to carry more of them, but needed more room, so last year she’d bought the storefront next door and created an annex.
She’d started her own legacy, one to complement the one established by her father.