Chapter 3
LAYNE
Icannot believe this is happening.
Yesterday was a roller coaster. It was a relief to discover that my boss isn't a total ass, just a bit of an idiot about communications. But apparently he really likes my work? And trusts me enough to take me on this assignment? My head is still spinning.
Then there was the slew of late emails quizzing me about dietary preferences, breakfast habits, what I drank, the whole bit. However, I did notice that now he included greetings and signoffs, unlike before. He also asked all my style preferences, so he could book appointments for me this morning.
Now, I’m almost finished with the three shops Mack sent me on today: hair, makeup, wardrobe.
My hair is the same rich brown, just…amplified, somehow? Like it's got its own photo filter going on. They only trimmed an inch off the length, but the way they cut into it, they made the bottom half lighter, so my natural waves bounce around my shoulders.
Since I’m supposed to be a trophy wife, I thought they’d give me lots of makeup. I’m usually just a tinted lip balm kinda gal.
I’d asked the makeup artist if I was going to look painted and she said, “No, darling, we’re going for the luxury high-class look.
Breezy. Minimal. As if you’ve just dashed back from Monaco and simply swiped on some mascara on your way out the door.
Pay attention – with the right products, and your lovely skin, you can do this yourself in five minutes. Trust me.”
It’s amazing what a bit of brown…sorry, “cafe latte”…eye shadow can do. I barely look like I’m wearing any makeup, yet suddenly I’m polished. My eyes are huge, and even though I’m not wearing lipstick, this liner defines everything. My lower lip looks utterly seductive. Wild.
After hair and makeup, I was directed to the next shop for wardrobe, where apparently they had already been pulling “looks”. I assumed they’d pour me into Spanx or some breath-stealing corset. Instead, everything is relatively comfortable, and accents my curves.
The stylist smiles into the mirror with me. “So much better. You were wearing the wrong bra, honey.”
“I was?”
“Yes. When the girls sit on a shelf, fabric drapes straight down and you’re wearing a tent. When things are fitted properly, you’ve got a waist.” She smiles. “Now your hips flare out like Marilyn’s. Va-va-va-voom!”
Two and a half hours. That's all it took to turn me from a too-casual, bordering-on-frumpy assistant to…whoever that woman is in the mirror.
The saleslady nods with approval. “So, we’ve got your driving there outfit, cocktails and dinner tonight, dressy-casual for Saturday morning, the wedding outfit, dressy-casual again for Sunday brunch, and driving home.
Then one extra cocktail dress just in case there’s a rogue glass of red wine situation, an extra dressy-casual outfit because why not, sleepwear, and lingerie for underneath everything. Done!”
I thank her profusely, wondering if she can see my cheeks flaming. Charging undies to the company I work for feels weird.
It was also weird how Mack was staring at me last night. I don’t even want to think about it. Those gorgeous dark eyes. That Greek god physique. The tingle I felt all the way down to my knees when he shook my hand.
The man is intense. And now it’s my job to be with him for the next three days? Yikes.
Mack pulls up in a flashy silver sports car just as the salespeople finish packing up all my things. My toiletries and personal items are in a shoulder bag, and I’m grateful I didn’t pack a suitcase, since the trunk is very small.
“Thank you for all of this. It seems like a lot,” I say nervously, looking up at him as the trunk snaps shut.
He freezes, staring at me in the knee-length, short-sleeved navy dress paired with chunky low-heeled boots that is my driving there outfit.
“Layne. You’re…” His hand reaches out to my hair, then snaps back.
But he doesn’t look away, allowing his gaze to drag slowly down to my cleavage, then my hips.
Both are much more noticeable than yesterday.
My heart flutters up into my throat. “Is this okay?”
Mack swallows. “You’re stunning. I’m sorry, I just…stunning.” His head shakes, then he grins. After reaching into his pocket, he takes my hand. “Do you, Layne Anderson, promise to be my wife for the weekend and to have a little fun with me on this assignment?”
I’m already laughing as he slips a ring onto my finger. “I do.” Looking down, it’s actually two rings: a massive diamond solitaire, and an emerald and diamond wedding band. I stare in disbelief, my hand starting to quiver.
He grabs my wrist. “Breathe. I got us fakes.” He waves his left ring finger in the air while his right thumb drags slowly along the length of my wrist in a way that is sweetly calming.
“Sorry. It’s all just a bit of a shock.”
“Definitely. Let’s talk about it.” He opens the door for me as we get in, which feels charmingly old-fashioned.
It's a two-hour drive, which is perfect for us to get to know each other a bit. We chat about driving music, and I'm impressed that he packed a traveler mug of black decaf for me, along with water. My boss is more thoughtful than I would have guessed. Sorry, my husband.
"Did you go over the updated assignment brief?" I ask. "They sent more details once everything was signed off."
"Yes, but since this is your first time in the field, why don't we go over it together?"
"Sure." I call up the file on my phone, not looking at it to be sure I remember everything.
"It’s a typical wedding weekend. Mr. Gillis is the father of the bride, Angela, who is marrying Steven.
At the previous two weddings, things have gone missing.
But because of the nature of his business, and some very gossipy relatives, he doesn't want anyone to hear about it.
He certainly doesn't want anyone to know that he's hired professional security this time.
" I shoot Mack a sideways glance. "Apparently there's a few people in particular who would call him paranoid. "
"Exactly. So we are just there for the party."
"Distant cousins Astor and Ryland are aware that we’re there in a professional capacity. Apparently the rest of the family kind of ignores them, so if we stick close to them the others will probably ignore us by association."
Mack chuckles. "We’ll socialize just enough to blend in. People always pretend to know everyone at these things."
"Right." I stare at the road ahead for a moment.
"Oh, right – we'll know them by their hair.
Mr. Gillis said he couldn't say what color it is because it changes weekly, but we can't miss them.
" I can't help but laugh. "Hopefully they’re cool art kids.
We're going to be at the party table, for sure. "
"Not too much of a party." He glances over sharply.
"Right. There are notes on the people who might be problem drinkers. We'll keep an eye on them so hopefully Mr. Gillis won't have to have a word with them."
"You'd better start calling him Ron, since we're family."
"Oh – sorry. Yes."
"Now, I would never let anyone come into the field without thorough safety training. This is a unique position where the odds of any physical danger are almost zero, but I’m still going to run over the basics."
For the next twenty minutes, Mack briefs me on everything from watching exits to spotting people who might be unstable to always keeping him in my line of sight.
Even though this just is a light overview, there's something in his voice that makes me pause.
Mack is going to be keeping an eye on me all weekend as well.
Being this close to him in the car makes me feel electrified. But I'm able to speak a lot more freely with him now, too.
"Does all of that make sense?" he finishes.
"Yes. Thank you."
"We'll both keep our phones on silent. We might have to chat without anyone knowing."
"Sure."
There’s a lull in the conversation for a moment, then I have to ask. “Why is it the Barrow Agency if your last name is Wentworth? It’s been bugging me.”
For such a serious guy, he has a very sexy chuckle.
“You were emailing with Christina. I think of her as a little sister since our moms are friends. She’s the one who originally told me that Warren, the owner of Barrow Security, was retiring to take some easy bodyguard gigs in the south.
I’d had some experience in various tactical training over the years, so I threw myself into it. ”
“Did you do anything else besides the tactical training?” I have no idea what that is, but it sounds…hot.
“I owned and ran several businesses, then took a year off until I realized that babysitting my investments wasn’t enough. I needed something different to sink my teeth into. And that’s how Mr. Wentworth came to run Barrow Security.”
Mack takes the offramp to a smaller highway, then looks over and catches my eye. "Layne, look… If we're married, I'm going to have to be close with you. Put my arm around you, hold your hand, give you a kiss on the forehead. Is that okay?"
Please don't let my cheeks be turning scarlet please don't let my cheeks be turning scarlet please don't let my cheeks be turning scarlet.
"Of course. That's part of the job."
His hand darts out to clasp mine. Just that one touch makes me flushed and tingly, but I take a slow breath and try to pretend it's normal, squeezing his fingers back. I look over to see him grinning.
"That was a test, just to make sure you didn't flinch," he says with a chuckle.
I laugh with him, then squeeze his fingers again before he releases my hand.
Playing the part of this man's classy wife shouldn’t be a problem. I look the part now.
But how am I going to control this fluttering in my lower belly, or keep my face from flushing every time we get close?