Idol AU (Because Canon Sucks #5)

Rowan

He doesn’t wait for my reply before disappearing into his office. After ten years of working together, Price knows not to expect one from me for something as simple as following an order.

I excel at taking orders, especially when it comes to the work at Guardian Solutions. It’s one of the first things Price drills into the trainees when they join our company. In our line of business, following an order could sometimes mean the difference between life and death.

It’s one of the reasons we’re one of the top security firms in New York City, and high-profile clients choose us over the competition.

Before heading in, I finish writing the report I’m working on. It’s one of the more tedious parts of the job, but I’m good at details, and my last assignment was a routine case that didn’t call for a complicated summary.

It only takes me a few more minutes to submit my report, and then I head to Price’s office.

He looks up from what he’s writing and nods. “Close the door behind you,” he says.

I raise a curious brow at the order, though I do as he says, nevertheless. Privacy is the core of what we do here at Guardian Solutions, but most assignments don’t require a personal sit-down like this with the boss.

“Am I in trouble?” I ask and take my place in the leather chair across from him.

“No, nothing like that,” Price replies with a slight shake of his head.

He pulls out a manila folder from one of the tall stacks at the edge of his desk. I don’t know how he knows what’s what in the unorganized piles of documents he has throughout his office.

“New client?”

Price nods, and I open the folder and am greeted with a photo of a man who looks too ethereal for this world, with hair so blond it looks almost white. Probably bleached, I conclude.

From his picture-perfect smile and put-together outfit, I instantly peg him as a celebrity.

I’ve seen it countless times while working with all the other clients we have in the entertainment industry.

They are some of our primary clientele here in New York City, especially during New York Fashion Week, when celebrities from all over the world come to our city and hire local bodyguards for the duration of their stay.

I figure it’s the same for this guy. He looks familiar enough that I’ve probably seen him somewhere before.

But I can’t put a name to his face, which isn’t much of a surprise since the only celebrity following I do comes mainly from my teenage niece, Reagan.

She blabs to me about all the celebrity happenings as if she’s a gossip magazine.

Despite my being the one in close range of these people, Reagan has better intel than I do.

“He’s a local?” I ask when I see he’s requesting a long-term bodyguard.

“Yes, and he’s hoping to find someone discreet,” Price says, sliding the NDA over to me.

I nod and pick up the pen. This isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Most clients we work with have a secret or two they need to keep under wraps, and it’s our job to pretend we’re blind to their dealings.

See no evil, hear no evil.

Price looks over my signature, then glances at me. I wait for him to speak and tell me the real reason he’s being so hush-hush about all of this.

“Milo is paying a handsome sum for a bodyguard, but he’s a bit…quirky,” Price starts.

There we go.

“Quirky how?” I ask and lean forward with my elbows on my knees. Is he a secret sadist who likes to abuse the “staff”? He wouldn’t be the first client to have those inclinations, but it’s always better to go into the job with full details.

“It’s nothing like what you’re thinking,” Price quickly says.

He’s used to the varied temperaments of our clients. Just recently, there was a really bad case of a celebrity client throwing objects at my coworker, causing him to cut his eyebrow open.

Because of incidents like these, Price had added a special clause in all the client contracts that prohibited violence against the bodyguard—which this client had obviously broken—and would make them liable for breach of contract and therefore open to lawsuit.

My coworker hadn’t wanted all that hassle and was happy with the hefty settlement and Price banning the client for life.

If this Milo dude isn’t violent, then what sort of secret is he so intent on keeping? Price doesn’t keep me guessing for long.

“The client is very particular about whom he keeps around him. He’s passed on a handful of guards already and wants to keep you on a trial basis for now. If you pass his ‘vibe check’”—he says the words as he air quotes with his fingers—“then you’ll be kept on as his protection detail full-time.”

“So I just have to pass some arbitrary test, huh?” I say with amusement.

“Exactly. Piece of cake, right?” he teases.

I snort and gather up the files to take back to my desk to study.

“Easy as pie,” I deadpan and take my exit.

“Be ready to pick him up from the airport tomorrow!” Price calls after me through his chuckles. I wave in reply and return to my desk.

We get guys like Milo every so often. Some think their staff need to “earn” the right to work with them, while others like to shop around.

Whether Milo chooses our company or not, it’s no skin off my nose. We’re kept busy enough that there will always be other work. Although a long-term assignment with a local did mean I wouldn’t be put with out-of-towners, and not having to travel all the time is a huge plus for me.

As I always do, I spend the rest of the afternoon researching my potential new client.

I know he’s a big deal when I’m able to find him just by searching his first name.

Adding his last name rewards me with easily thousands of articles and videos that seem to have tracked Milo’s life from the start of his singing career with a boy band called MYTHS.

I remember the news of their breakup caused a huge uproar that year, but I hadn’t heard much about their members since.

That isn’t surprising since I don’t keep up with celebrity news as much as I probably should, considering I’m around celebrities more often than I want to be, if I’m being completely honest.

Nothing against them, but after years of hovering in their sphere, I’ve come to realize just how different our worlds are. I would even say those who thrive in that kind of life are made of something different. It takes a certain kind of tenacity to be under constant scrutiny.

I certainly don’t have that kind of drive. The spotlight can stay far away from me. I want to blend into the background, which aligns with my job perfectly. The best security is the one that goes unnoticed…or is as intimidating as hell to keep the unwanted away.

And as much as I wish to go unnoticed, I sit firmly in the second category.

It’s the “serial-killer vibes” I give off.

Or as my sister says, my default expression screams “fuck around and find out,” and I guess I should be thankful it’s kept one or two overzealous fans/haters away from whichever high-profile client I was protecting that day.

It does suck in daily life when I’m not trying to drive people away. There’s something about me that gives off a cold and uninviting vibe, and I can’t pinpoint exactly what. My sister Riley would say it’s the psycho killer in me. I love her, but she’s full of shit.

Speaking of, the oldest of us, Raina, demanded a family dinner at her place tonight, and she’ll have strong words if any of us are late.

I quickly pack up my items and wish my coworkers a good night. I wave to Price, who’s head-deep in paperwork inside his office. He shoots me a two-finger salute before refocusing on his work.

Working in the field with clients isn’t the most glamorous, but I’ll take that over paperwork any day.

My car is parked in the underground garage, a block away from the office.

Despite my apartment being only two train stops away, I’ve gotten used to driving to the office in case I need to pick up a client.

Upbeat music plays on the radio as I brave the Manhattan traffic. An accident on the side of the road causes the rest of us to crawl at a snail’s pace. It’s days like today that I wonder how anyone can drive in the city. Then I remember that I am one of those people.

My finger taps on the wheel to the beat of the tune, and a smooth male voice serenades my ears about love.

I’m not sure if I believe love is possible, at least for me, but the person singing makes me want to believe that I’m not as emotionally unavailable as my exes claim I am.

It’s an unfamiliar song, but one I’d like to hear again.

I glance at my phone and see the artist is none other than my new client, Milo Tobitt. I swear our phones are listening to us, and Milo popping onto my playlist just proves my point. I guess I can’t be too mad this time, considering I had already planned to listen to some of his songs.

I click on a playlist that only has his songs and continue my drive.

His music is mostly pop, with a couple songs that I consider leaning into the pop-rock category.

Most of his lyrics focus on longing and love, and there’s something about his voice that makes me want to believe in the love he sings about.

And I’m someone who doesn’t know if that kind of love is even for me.

By the time I reach my sister’s, I can see why he’s popular. He’s magnetic, I’ll give him that, but you kinda have to be to make it in his industry. The way he’s able to convey his emotions through his singing is certainly a talent.

My nieces are outside playing with the thin layer of snow that’s built up in their yard. There’s a projected snowstorm tonight that hasn’t started yet, so they’re probably trying to get the most out of the outdoors before it hits.