Chapter 3
Harper
I can’t believe I’m here.
Sure, I’m exhausted, and I spent the first hour of my ride sweating to death in an enormous jacket before I finally got the courage to take it off. My dress is a filthy mess, and I’m sneaking back into my hometown like some secret agent on a mission. But I’m here.
I’m finally here.
I roll down my window, thrusting an arm out to let the Cupid City air stream through my fingers.
“Limbs inside the vehicle,” my driver barks.
“Oh, sorry.” I settle back into my seat, enjoying the rush of fresh air across my face, but then I remember this wig’s not pinned on securely—a good gust could whip it straight off my head.
Begrudgingly, I roll the window back up as my driver stops for a light.
He rubs his eyes. We’ve been driving all night.
He must be tired. When he cranes his neck to watch for cross traffic, I take the opportunity to check myself in the mirror.
The wig is extra blown out now, but I’m still proud of what I was able to throw together on short notice.
So far my driver seems none the wiser as to my true identity.
One of my hits came on the radio, and he didn’t even glance up.
It made me bold, and when we stopped for gas twenty minutes ago, I decided to push my luck and actually set foot inside the little store.
I even purchased a protein bar and a coffee with my credit card.
Yes, some people were staring, but not in that usual wide-eyed, can’t-stop-blinking-I’m-so-starstruck way. It was more like what-the-hell-am-I-looking-at-right-now, and I loved every second of it.
We pass a chain diner restaurant with a large decorative statue of a boy out front, and it tickles my brain. I was only eight when my mom moved us to Los Angeles to get me into show business—halfway through second grade—so my memories are fuzzy, but this statue seems familiar.
Most of all I remember going to school and having friends. Being normal.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever feel that way again, or if too much has changed since then.
“We’re in Cupid City. I need your destination, ma’am.
” My driver peers at me in the mirror. He’s asked for it a couple of times already, but I explained I couldn’t say yet.
I don’t have much real-world experience—any real-world experience, to be honest—but I’m smart enough to know I should keep this on the down-low.
“It’s Heartline Security Group.”
I catch an eye roll as he taps it into his device. That’s fine. He doesn’t understand how careful I need to be. But once I get my new bodyguard, I’ll be safe.
We drive along a narrow, wooded road, and I spot my old elementary school.
“Oh my gosh.”
Hidden Creek Elementary. It looks small, with its orange brick facade and grids of square windows. Much smaller than I remember. I must have been pretty tiny back then. A couple of kids are milling around the flagpole out front, and a tall woman with a toddler on her hip is talking to them.
It makes me smile. A regular parent and regular kids, living their normal lives. Life is still going on here, just like it was before.
The only thing that’s changed is me.
We pull into the lot at Heartline, and I swipe my card once again for the total charge. Just under $1,600. Worth every penny.
He steps out, then yawns as he opens the door for me.
“Thank you for the ride.” I wrap myself back in my jacket, then grab my things and shuffle out. “Was that one of your longer trips?”
He blinks at me with bleary eyes. “Only by about seven hours.”
“Oh, no.” I didn’t realize it was so out of the ordinary. No wonder he’s exhausted. “Could I pay for a hotel so you can get some rest?” I reach for my wallet. “It’s the least I can do.”
“No, thanks.”
I nod, but he’s holding out his hand like maybe he does want the money?
“Sorry, did you want the hotel? I’m happy to pay for it.”
“No. I need to get home.”
Of course. He needs to get back to his family. I feel so bad for dragging him out all this way.
“Look, are you gonna tip or what?” His tone is sharp.
“Oh! Gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was supposed to.” I pull out five hundred-dollar bills. “Is this enough?”
His eyebrows fly up and the irritation in his voice vanishes. “Yup, that works.”
“OK, thanks again.”
“Sure thing.” He nods as he climbs back into his car, then throws it into reverse and pulls away.
The security building is modern. Everything looks expensive and polished, with tinted glass walls lining the exterior. There’s a gym off to the right as I step inside, and three extremely fit men are using the machines.
My eyes settle on the one closest to me.
He’s incredibly handsome—tall and muscular.
His face is clean-shaven, and he’s got dark, close-cropped hair and broad shoulders.
His eyes are clear and focused, his muscles bulging with every rep.
Sweat drips down his forehead, and I feel the heat creeping up between my thighs just looking at him.
Uh-huh. This is what I’m talking about.
Another man with dirty-blond hair leans in to say something to him, and it must have been funny, because Mr. Sexy Chest Press laughs, his whole face breaking into a wide grin and his cheeks dimpling.
That smile is warm and sincere. Familiar, almost. I wonder if I knew him growing up.
But he doesn’t skip a beat—just keeps a steady pace with his reps, and as his eyes grow serious again it gives me goose bumps.
Mmm. I know which one I want.
He turns toward me suddenly, and my nipples tingle in response to his gaze. I turn away for a moment, then look back to shoot him a flirty grin, but he just stares back at me, his mouth slightly ajar.
Oh, shit. This disguise! It’s cramping my style. I duck away, adjusting my wig as I step down the hall.
I find the front desk and take a seat in one of the chairs until a woman with a serious expression comes around the corner. “May I help you?” She eyes me quizzically.
I stand. “Yes, I’m here to pick up my bodyguard.”
“Uhh.” Her brow furrows as she studies my face, and her eyes settle on the false birthmark I painted on my chin last night—for added security.
I read somewhere that wearing attention-getting clothes or accessories can actually make you less memorable, because people focus on those items instead of your face. “Can I get your name?”
I step closer, then whisper, “I’m Harper Slade.”
“Oh my gosh.” She jumps back, covering her heart with her hand for a moment, and her eyes go wide. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you. That’s quite the disguise.” She shakes her head as though she still can’t believe it’s me. “Right this way, please.”
Wow. She was expecting me, and she still didn’t know who I was. This disguise is totally working.
I follow her down a long corridor to a darkened office with a large, gleaming desk in the center. “Have a seat here, and Mr. Rhodes will be with you in a moment.”
I nod before pulling up a chair and taking off my coat. I sit for a few minutes until I realize I ought to pull out my makeup case to check myself before I meet my new bodyguard, and…
It’s not good.
I could try taking the wig off. I don’t even need it in here. But my hair’s probably matted from being pinned under this thing for hours.
Turns out it’s a moot point anyway, because the door swings open.
“Harper.” A stern man steps into the office and startles, visibly surprised by my appearance.
“Umm.” He lurches forward, shaking my hand, his eyes darting from my wig to the fake birthmark, then finally settling on my one unpatched eye.
“I’m pleased to meet you. I want to assure you you’ll be safe here in our care during your visit.
You’ll find our men are highly skilled, professional, and discreet.
No one needs to know you’re here in town unless you want them to know. ”
“Perfect.”
I like him. He’s direct and professional. There’s something confident and reassuring in his tone that sets me at ease.
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your arranging this on such short notice,” I say. “And to be clear: I’m not looking for someone with a million rules who wants to order me around. I just need to ensure my safety while I’m here.”
“Of course. I understand your concerns, and our men are here to serve you. Your needs are our top priority, but we take our responsibility seriously.”
I nod, and he carefully reviews the details of our arrangement. It does sound like it’s geared toward the client. Not as pushy as what I’m used to with Tony, which is a relief.
Maybe having a bodyguard tagging along won’t be so bad after all. And if said bodyguard happens to be Mr. Sexy Chest Press, it could be way better than bad.
“That reminds me.” I sit up taller in my chair. “There was a man working out in the gym this morning—”
The door swings open, and—as if on cue—Mr. Sexy himself steps in.
Oh, yes. There is a God.
He’s freshly showered, with a leather bag slung over one broad shoulder. “Hey, Boss. Juniper said you needed to see me?”
His voice is deep and rich, and butterflies flit in my belly as intense, dark eyes settle on mine. My cheeks flush.
But he blinks. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Then he nods politely, slowly backing out the door with an awkward wave of his palm, and my heart sinks.
“Chase?” Mr. Rhodes barks, gesturing for him to come back inside. “I’d like you to meet your new client, Harper Spade.”
Yesss.
I give Chase a coy smile, hoping my bad wig won’t throw him off now that he knows who I really am, but his head jerks back in surprise. Then his eyes narrow as he studies my face.
Can he tell I’m blushing?
“It’s nice to meet you.” I extend my hand, but he keeps his arms at his sides, his expression grim.
Why the sudden change? Is it because he’s on duty now? These security guys take themselves way too seriously.
“You’ll be in good hands with Chase.” Mr. Rhodes claps a hand on Chase’s back. “He’s been informed of your…unique situation, and in fact Chase has special training in this area.”
What? He’s been trained to work with celebrities on the run?
I’m about to ask for clarification when Mr. Rhodes steps to the door. “If you two will excuse me, I have an urgent situation to attend to.”
He leaves us alone in the office, and I turn my attention to my new bodyguard boyfriend, but he’s frowning at me. His jaw is tense.
So much for that warm smile I saw earlier. Apparently once this guy’s on the job, he’s exactly zero fun.
“What’s all this?” He waves a meaty paw at my wig, then gestures toward my iridescent blue evening gown and glittering gold bag as if he’s unimpressed.
To be fair, the bag is garish with this dress, and the whole color scheme clashes with the platinum-blonde tint of my wig.
“Oh, don’t worry. This isn’t my usual style.” I laugh, then I drop my voice down to a whisper even though there’s no one else in the room. “It’s a disguise.”
I say it in fun, but his expression is stone cold. Does he not understand why it’s necessary?
“I have to avoid attracting attention.”
“Uh-huh.” His tone is rife with sarcasm. “I suppose this is how you intend to”—he draws a circle in the air with one finger, indicating the eye patch—“blend in?”
He’s making fun of me.
He has no idea how difficult it was for me to sneak away last night or how important it is that I not be recognized.
I cross my arms. “Maybe you don’t understand. I’m an international celebrity.”
His nostrils flare. “Is that so.” He lets the words fall flat, as though he couldn’t care less.
“Yes, that is so.” I clip my words, kicking myself for every silly thought I had about spending a sexy little getaway with this blowhard. He’s just like Tony—a total prick who gets off on being in charge and making other people feel small.
Chase sighs audibly, turning toward the door. “Well. Let’s get this over with.”
“Mmm. I can’t wait,” I deadpan, grabbing my bag and my coffee. But then I snag my heel on the threshold of the door and stumble a bit.
He doesn’t even turn back to check on me.
“Nice,” I whisper to myself as I follow my shitty new bodyguard down the hall.