5. Anastasia #2
“Jacelyn is sober and she’s driving my way. I can ask if she has a spare seat?—”
I pull her arm before she can go looking. “No. I’m in the opposite direction from you anyway. There’ll be an Uber soon, I’m sure.”
“Okay, but if the wait is long, come back inside,” she says, hugging me.
Nodding, I make my way out a little clumsily through the crowds.
When the night air hits me it’s both bliss for my lungs and suddenly freezing. I didn’t think to bring a jacket. I rub my arms, patting my pockets for my cell and blinking in panic when I don’t feel it.
A hand enters my vision, holding exactly what I was looking for, and I reach for it in confusion.
Tapping the screen, I confirm it’s mine when the wallpaper displays a picture of me and Riley from last Christmas.
I smile at the memory, even giggle at the antics we got up to that night.
I look at this photo every day, yet right now the full reel of that night decides to take me away from gravity. My footing stumbles.
“Ana,” Rhett says, slightly pained. I realize his arm is around me. He’s so warm but stiff, as if he wants to let me go but doubts my stability. “Where are your car keys?”
For a second I’m once again irrationally insecure over why he can’t stand to touch me, but his question steals my focus and I try to think. Patting the pockets at my hips again, I feel the small distortion.
“Aha!” I say as if it’s a grand discovery. My hand struggles before retrieving the fob. “Are you suggesting I drive under the influence?” I accuse, pointing it at him.
His stern face doesn’t flinch as he snatches the key and begins to lead me down the garden path. He finds the Porsche easily, and if I were in my sober mind I might be unnerved.
Rhett opens the passenger door, waiting. I fold my arms.
“How did you get here?” I ask.
“Uber.”
He’s so cold and grumpy that it’s dampening my night.
“Sounds more appealing than a car ride with you.” Unlocking my phone, I barely get to open the dial screen before it’s plucked from my grip.
“Get in the car, Ana,” he says in a rather hot command. Especially in the way he uses my name.
I do want to get home. Sleep sounds so good right now, but at the same time a headache is beginning to form, which turns my stomach, and I fear the motion of the car.
Why did I drink so much?
It’s been so long since I’ve been this irresponsible.
“You have ten more seconds before the alternative is throwing you over my shoulder and walking.”
My eyes narrow and my arms fold. “It’s a forty-minute walk.”
Those blue eyes swim with a dark challenge and his silence enforces it.
He wouldn’t . . .
Rhett leans down a fraction and my adrenaline spikes.
“Okay!” I concede.
So he’s a man of commitment, no matter how absurd.
Getting into the car, Rhett starts the engine while I tug at my seat belt. It keeps jamming.
Stupid. Damn. Belt.
With a long sigh, he reaches over before I can react, fastening me in. While I would protest to being taken care of like a child, his proximity and the sexy way he did it flushes my body.
Get a grip, Ana.
My feet slip out of my flats as I tuck my knees up, settling as comfortably as I can and leaning into the door.
“You’re lucky I’m not concerned for you sitting against all car safety regulations,” he grumbles.
“Because you’re an excellent driver? Is there anything you’re not good at?”
“You haven’t discovered anything I am good at yet. Thanks for ditching me earlier. You missed out on an incredible dinner, by the way.”
I rub my stomach with the thought. Shit, I haven’t eaten. I blame that for making my drunk situation worse.
“Do you always drink so much?” he asks. If I didn’t know any better I’d think he was genuinely concerned.
“Not really,” I say sleepily.
“What happened tonight?”
I shrug, slipping my eyes closed.
“There were a lot of people, music, I don’t know. After the past week and meeting you, I just needed the thoughts to stop and my body to relax.”
“Did meeting me upset you that much?”
“This whole situation is stupid. I don’t need to be the talk of school with a bodyguard trailing after me like some precious princess.”
“You’re only worried what people will think?”
“I don’t want the attention,” I confess, not sure why it feels safe to open up to him.
“I’ll try my best to not make it so apparent, I promise.”
I don’t expect the soft sincerity. My head tips back against the seat to look at him, focused on the road he’s speeding through.
“You’re the opposite of a person who can blend in,” I observe. “Agent Ross was far more qualified for that—handsome, but very ordinary-looking.”
Rhett’s knuckles flex around the wheel and I wonder if I’ve offended him. I notice several pale scars across the tanned skin of his knuckles and think about asking what caused them, but I should start at the beginning if I’m going to figure him out.
“How did you get handed the shitty job of babysitting some senator’s daughter anyway?” I divert. Then I add, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight. And I requested the position.”
“Fieldwork getting boring for you?”
“Something like that.”
I hum, and when we pull up around the glowing fountain in my parents’ front yard I don’t want to get out. I’ve gotten warm and comfortable in the car.
Rhett doesn’t linger for a second, cutting the ignition and getting out. I manage to unclip myself with a reluctant groan, and then, when my door swings open, I scowl at Rhett, hugging myself at the sudden wrap of cold.
He hesitates, jaw locking, but offers his hand to help me out. A crash of embarrassment at his clear discomfort makes me refuse. I get out, albeit a little wobbly, and push his chest to get around him. I’m about to march inside when my impulse to spin around wins.
“What is your problem?” I demand.
“I have a problem?”
“Clearly. You can barely stand to be around me, and god forbid someone tries to attack me and you have to touch me.”
He seems taken aback that I even noticed his clear distaste. It makes me question why he would desire a position that requires being close to me.
Rhett takes a tentative step toward me and I blanch.
What is he doing?
Oh no, I’ve provoked something.
I don’t know what, but when the distance closes more I’m too rooted in intrigue to move. When his hand meets my waist and slips around my back I think I stop breathing. Then he leans down to my ear and my heart races too fast.
“It’s my job to protect your body. There is no obstacle to that. No one will get within ten feet of you before they hit the ground, and I will take pleasure in it for them ever even thinking of harming you. That’s my promise, Miss Kinsley. I’m yours.”
He lingers, not releasing me immediately, and my brazen, alcohol-infused mind wishes he would draw me even closer to bring our bodies flush.
A succession of snaps breaks my inappropriate thoughts, and Rhett backs away swiftly, but his hand switches to curve back around me as he scans the area with a lethal focus. His other hand lingers under his jacket.
Holy shit, was he armed with a gun the whole time?
I should have expected it, but somehow it slams the reality of who Rhett is, what he’s trained and willing to do in the face of any live threat, into me at full force.
“Let’s get inside,” he says, keeping a laser focus on our surroundings while guiding me in.
He relaxes indoors. I do too. Neither of us speaks on the way up to our rooms through the huge mansion, but I can’t stop thinking about his hand on the small of my back, likely just waiting for my balance to topple at any second.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I murmur. The walls are tilting.
“You’re already in trouble with your parents. Best not give them more reason if you’re sick all over the hallway,” he says, pushing me along faster.
I get to my room and run to the bathroom, heaving the moment my knees meet the ground, and I brace myself on the toilet seat. I throw up alcohol and party snacks until it pains my chest.
I’m leaning my forehead on my arm to catch my breath when I flush. I think I’m alone until I see Rhett’s shoes and his knees, crouching by me.
I wanted to get my guard to quit, and I might have just succeeded with this epic first impression.
“Regretting your decision to take this job yet?” I mutter, unable to peel my head up.
“Not even slightly.”
I huff, finding the will to straighten up. He’s holding a glass of water and a hand towel.
“This isn’t part of your job. Which, I repeat, hasn’t even started yet.”
“It started the moment I met you. And your body is in danger of alcohol poisoning—I’d consider that my concern.”
“You’re not getting paid yet,” I point out.
He merely prompts me to take the glass and towel. I do, sitting back against the vanity unit and gulping the cool water greedily.
“I’ll consider this an induction.”
I give a breathy laugh. “You’ll quit soon.”
“If that’s what you think. It’s not me who needs to get more comfortable with this arrangement.”
Whatever. He’s bound to get bored, or I’ll test his limits too far and he’ll request a transfer.
“You can go. I’m safe now, Agent. Mission of retrieval successful.” I loll my head against the cabinet to look at him again. “How did you find me?”
“You must have mentioned the party to your parents. They seemed to realize that was where you’d gone.”
I rack my brain, almost certain I didn’t tell them about it for the very reason I was sure they’d refuse to let me go with tensions about my safety running high.
He stands and I snuff out the inkling of disappointment that he’s actually leaving. There’s something relaxing about his company even though it’s tense, often scarily so, and pretty cold.
“The number of accidents you could get into in your state from here to the bed requires me to stay,” he says.
My skin flushes, and I give a sheepish smile. The buzz of excitement is wearing off, leaving me in a sorry, sad predicament.
“Day one and you’re already taking this role far too seriously,” I say, pushing myself up.
Looking in the mirror, the thought of removing makeup feels like too much of a burden. So I only brush my teeth before heading into my room and fishing out some short pajamas.
“If you don’t want to be scandalized too, you’d better turn around.”
He already has, occupying himself with various items and photos on my dresser.
For a moment I scan the beige walls of my room with more scrutiny than ever.
My mom decorated it with some purple accents on the bedding and decor, and for the first time I realize there’s very little in here to leave a true impression of who I am.
I’ve never had the heart to tell her the color doesn’t feel like . .. me.
I change quickly, my nerves building even being naked for a moment with him in the same room. My pajamas are only a thin-strap tank top and shorts, and right now that feels as good as underwear. Before he can turn around I fold myself under the duvet.
“Perfectly safe and cushioned against accident,” I sing. My bed has never felt so comfortable.
“You play violin?” he asks, holding up a photo frame.
I can just about tell from the vague shape in my blurry vision that it’s a photo of me at my parents’ annual Christmas party seven years ago.
The first and only time I performed to people, and right after I was sick from the nerves.
But at the same time, it’s something I yearn to do again.
I’ve just never gathered the courage when in the moment it was magical.
“Kind of. I used to. Only to myself now.” I grow nervous at the personal things he wants to know. “It’s not in your job description to study the unimportant details about me.”
“I want you to stop mentioning my job,” he says. “You’re a person above anything, and not what I expected.”
That clenches my stomach with a want to ask what he means by that. What was he expecting? I must already be a disappointment, not the proper, easy person he wanted to be in charge of protecting.
“You’re wasting your time,” I sigh, cozying into my pillow. “You’ll be gone soon. Even if you stick the full six months, it’s not worth the extra homework when we’ll never see each other again after that.”
I listen to him approach the door, but just before he leaves I shiver at his parting promise.
“I’m not going anywhere.”