2. Ivory
IVORY
The elevator doors slide shut with a soft whoosh, sealing me alone with the man who’s supposed to keep me safe.
For a second, my stomach twists into a knot so tight I want to melt through the floor and escape this suffocating box.
My heart pounds way too loud, and my hands are already clammy.
I tuck them behind my back, hoping he won’t notice.
Hudson is unlike any man I’ve ever seen, and he’s sure as hell not a guy my father would allow me to be alone with without a chaperone.
He’s huge. Just him alone almost fills up the entirety of the small space, making everything seem smaller.
Even the awkward, stiff air between us. Not to mention he’s hot as hell.
He stands with his hands hanging loose at his sides, but the way he holds himself…
shoulders set, jaw clenched, eyes roaming over everything, makes him seem like he’s ready for anything that could go wrong.
He has that look, the one I’ve seen on the men who work for my father, one that says they’ve seen too much and trust no one.
But there’s something different about this guy.
He’s young, but still a good bit older than me.
But something is predatory about the way he moves, as if he’s waiting for trouble to pop up out of nowhere.
His muscles are tense and body set, ready to spring into action when the time comes.
I force my eyes down to my shoes, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.
My chest feels too tight, and I can’t get a full breath.
Being this close to someone who isn't part of our regular staff makes my skin prickle with awareness.
He actually looks at me like I'm a real person, and not just another piece of property he’s paid to protect.
He clears his throat. “Since your father wasn’t any help, I’ll ask you. Are there any current threats I should know about?”
His words surprise me. Everyone always assumes I’m some rich, spoiled princess who has no clue about anything that’s going on in her world.
But for the first time ever, someone’s asking me directly.
I shake my head, trying to remember how to talk.
“Um, not that I know of. I…I don’t really…
I mean, I don’t go out much, unless it’s on the schedule. I mostly stay in and to myself.”
He stares at me, his face unreadable. “So there’s no one who might be angry with you for any reason, who might seek revenge? No trouble at school? Old friends with grudges?”
I swallow. “No, nothing like that.”
He studies my face, then looks away, noticing how his jaw is working. “Any angry exes I should keep an eye out for?”
My face heats up instantly. I can’t help the small, embarrassed laugh that escapes my lips. “No. No exes at all. I’ve never…I mean, I’ve never really been on a date.”
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches, making the space between us feel thick and awkward. I wish I could crawl into my hole right about now.
The elevator chimes. Finally.
I rush out as soon as the doors open, my heels sinking into the plush carpet as I make my way down the long hallway.
My heart’s pounding as I fumble for the room key, trying to look like I have my shit together.
Hudson follows, staying silent but close, and I can feel his presence like it’s my own shadow.
I know I’m supposed to feel safe, but with him, I feel exposed. Transparent.
We step inside, and the immaculate suite is huge, with its marble foyer, big windows, and too many places for secrets to hide. I set my purse on the entryway table while trying to stay calm and remember to breathe.
I gesture toward the hallway. “Um, this way,” I say, and it’s barely above a whisper.
He follows as I lead him through the suite. Past the double doors to my bedroom, then past the living area with its unused fireplace and dining table set for eight. Which is absurd, considering I always eat alone. I point at the guest room at the end of the hall.
“You’ll be here,” I managed to get out. “There’s a bathroom attached. You can lock it if you want. I don’t…”
I stop myself, realizing how ridiculous I sound.
He simply nods.
Hudson steps inside the space and immediately starts doing a quick sweep of the bedroom.
He checks the windows, the closet, and even the gap between the bed and the wall.
He opens drawers and tests the locks, all without saying a word.
His process is efficient, as if he’s working from a checklist that only he knows.
I hover in the doorway, hands clasped behind my back.
I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help it. When Hudson bends down to look under the bed, his shirt pulls tight across his back, showing off muscles I didn’t even know guys could have in real life.
It’s… distracting. My fingers twitch, and I have to curl them into my palms to keep from fidgeting.
He’s so broad, so solid, like he was built to shove the whole world out of my way.
My mouth goes dry, and I feel this weird, heavy flutter low in my belly, causing all kinds of feelings to wake up inside me.
I’ve read about this kind of thing in books, but it’s never felt real until now.
He moves, and I swear I can hear the fabric strain over his shoulders. I wonder what his skin would feel like underneath. Would he even notice if I reached out? Probably. He notices everything.
The thought sends heat rushing through me like wildfire, burning my cheeks and pooling low in my belly.
I have to look away because my breath caught in my throat.
I've never felt anything like this before, a desperate, consuming need to watch him move, wanting badly to see what’s under that shirt, to trace every hard line of muscle with my fingertips.
The way my body reacts is something I've never experienced before. Honestly, I’ve never even dared to imagine I could even have these types of feelings toward another person, and it terrifies me as much as it thrills me.
His actions are controlled and confident. There’s no second-guessing. I wonder what it would feel like to be that sure about something, to have a purpose in whatever space you’re in, instead of trying to blend into your surroundings and go unnoticed, to be so sure of your place in the world.
He turns suddenly and catches me staring, and my breath catches. His eyes are dark and focused, with something softer added to the mix. He holds eye contact a moment longer than necessary before clearing his throat and straightening.
“Everything checks out,” he says. “Have you ever had problems with housekeeping or has anything weird happened here?”
I shake my head, “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”
He nods. “Good.”
I step back, suddenly feeling awkward. “Um… I was going to order room service. Is there anything you want in particular?”
He studies me, really studies me, and I feel like he can see how nervous I am. Then his lips twitch, just a fraction. “Surprise me,” he answers, with a wink.
My throat suddenly goes dry. I nod and all but run to the living room, grabbing the menu with trembling hands. I spend way too long agonizing over what would be the right thing to get for him. I wonder if he eats steak. Duh, Ivory. What man doesn’t like steak? What about salad?
Not wanting to seem too presumptuous, I order two of the chef’s specials and a bottle of sparkling water, hoping that sounds manly enough.
While we wait, I sit on the edge of the sofa, fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve.
Hudson stands near the window, arms crossed, looking out over the city.
He doesn’t speak, and I don’t attempt to make small talk, not even knowing what I would say.
I wonder what he thinks of me. My leg bounces, and I keep biting the inside of my cheek to give my nerves somewhere to go.
Does he pity me, or does he just see another spoiled kid trapped in a glass box?
After what seems like forever, our food finally arrives on a silver cart, and I’m grateful for something to do.
I set the plates at the big table, feeling ridiculous as the white linen and crystal glasses swallow our little dinner.
Hudson takes a seat across from me, filling the end of the table with his presence.
I attempt to break the silence by trying my hand at small talk. “So, um… have you been doing this a long time?”
He barely glances up. “You could say that.”
“Oh…okay. Do you like it?”
He shrugs. “It’s a job.”
I nod, feeling the conversation start to die a slow death. I poke at my food, trying again. “Where are you from?”
He sighs, then sets down his fork. “Look, maybe it’s best if we don’t nose into each other’s personal shit. Client-employee, alright?”
The words sting more than I expect them to. I force a smile, nodding quickly. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
He picks up his fork again, and I stare at the tablecloth, wishing I could be anywhere but here. I wonder what it would be like to have a real conversation with someone and not feel so invisible in my own life.
Silence continues to stretch between us, broken only by the distant hum of city noise beyond the glass. The table feels even bigger with someone sitting across from me…bigger and emptier at the same time.
I happen to glance up and find him watching me, and instantly avert my eyes.
I wish I knew what he was thinking. Or maybe I don’t want to.
He eats with quiet efficiency, not making a sound, every movement precise.
Every so often, his eyes flick toward the door, the windows, as if danger might crawl out from behind the curtains at any moment.
I almost envy that certainty, the way he takes up space without apology, never given limits to what he could and couldn’t claim.
I must be a glutton for punishment, but I decide to give the whole conversation thing another try, unable to help myself. “Is there anything you want to do while you’re here? I mean, besides work.”
Hudson’s mouth twitches, and it’s almost a half-smile, or just a tic. “I’ll be wherever you are. That’s the job.” His rough voice sounds final, and he never makes eye contact.
I nod, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My face is warm. Why do I always sound so ridiculous? If I had the balls, I’d ask him something real. I’d ask him what he saw when he looked at me; if I looked like a child, or a burden.
I wonder if he notices how I barely eat, or how I keep folding and unfolding my napkin, buying time. I glance up again, and this time he’s not looking at me, but out the window, jaw clenched like he’s chewing on something sour.
I want to tell him about my grandmother, or my old dog, or the way my father’s voice echoes in my head long after he’s left the room. But I don’t. I stay quiet, chew, swallow, and pretend I’m not so pathetically eager for anyone’s approval.
The meal ends with a clatter of silverware. I stand, collecting plates, needing something to keep my hands busy. My hands shake so hard I almost drop a fork. I hate how obvious my nervous energy is right now.
He surprises me by standing too, moving so quietly the chair barely scrapes across the floor. “You don’t have to clean up.”
“I know.” My voice is thin. “But I like things to be neat.”
He hesitates, running a hand through his short dark hair.
“Okay,” he says before stepping aside to let me stack the plates and set them by the door for room service to collect.
For a moment, I feel his gaze on the back of my neck, and it makes goose bumps trail down my arms. I wonder if he thinks I’m being ridiculous.
Or if he understands why I’m the way that I am.
He moves to the living room, scanning the space like he has every other nook and cranny in this place.
I hang back in the dining area, staring at the empty table.
I think about how he said we shouldn’t ask personal questions.
I wonder if that means he doesn’t want to know me, or if he’s scared of what he might find out if he does.
Eventually, I turn off the lights and walk toward the hallway. He follows, of course, his footsteps quiet against the thick carpet.
“I’ll do a sweep before bed,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Lock up behind me, okay?” I nod, not trusting myself to say another word.
Watching as he disappears down the hall, I noticed how unhurried and silent he moves.
I listen to the doors open and close, the faint jangle of keys.
I imagine a life where this isn’t normal; a life where I don’t need protecting, where men like Hudson aren’t forced to orbit my world at arm’s length.
When he returns, I’m waiting at my bedroom door, twisting the ring on my finger.
“All clear,” he advises. “You get some rest. I’ll be right down the hall.”
I nod, trying not to look disappointed that protection is all he offers, not comfort. I slip into my room, close the door, and rest my forehead against the wood. I listen for his footsteps retreating, slow and heavy, before I let myself breathe out everything I’ve been holding in.
Sliding into bed, I look up at the city light painting colorful designs on the ceiling.
Sleep is definitely not going to come easy tonight, not with him so close yet so far.
My mind doesn’t stop, replaying everything I didn’t say, and things I’ll never say.
I wonder what Hudson dreams of, if he’s ever let himself want something he can’t have.
I wonder if he sees me at all, or am I just another job.
I wish I had the guts to ask him if he wanted to hang out, not as my bodyguard but as someone who might understand what it feels like to be lonely in a room full of people. Maybe I’ll muster enough courage before the week’s up.
So I settle for lying in the dark, listening to the city below, hoping tomorrow will be easier.