Because God forbid my father ever opens a damn door on his own.
“This man doesn’t just wield a gun,” Dad says. “He knows how to fight. Plus, he grew up here so he knows the area well. He was the best candidate we could find on such short notice.”
I roll my eyes. “Lucky me.”
I should feel lucky. I come from a wealthy family. I live in a luxurious, residential skyscraper in the greatest city in the world. Cars, clothes, accessories, trips on a private jet. On the outside, it looks like I have it all. What more could I want, right? Money can buy almost anything.
But it doesn’t buy happiness.
It doesn’t buy love.
It doesn’t diminish the pain or heartache.
All money does is mask reality. That’s why rich people live in huge-ass houses. They build fortresses to shield themselves from the harsh truth, convincing themselves that they’re important; that they deserve what they have; that they’re worth a damn. They fake kindness, fake having humanity. Empty words and meaningless gestures. There’s no real love. No passion. They cling to money because it’s the only thing that makes them feel something.
And I’m stuck here with them, a human amongst robots.
Jerry returns with a large man towering behind him. Large might be an understatement. Muscles bulge under the snug, black T-shirt he’s wearing, and strong thighs strain against his dark jeans. He’s also wearing scuffed-up Timberland boots with the laces untied. He’s dressed nothing like the rich men in this room. My world is filled with suits and ties and shiny shoes. I’m surprised Dad even looked twice at this guy. He looks more like the type of man a father would want to protect his daughter from, not pay him an exorbitant amount of money to follow her around. Then again, maybe that’s why Dad hired him.
He looks dangerous.
Scruff peppers his jawline, which is defined and chiseled like his body. His dark hair is messy, and not the on-purpose messy that preppy dudes use pomade to achieve. No, this guy legit towel-dried his hair after his shower and called it good—if he even showered. He looks like the type that would roll out of bed, sniff the armpits of a T-shirt plucked from the floor, and decide it’s wearable. Everything about him screams zero fucks given.
It’s a damn shame his aviators block his eyes from me. I’d bet they’re as dark as his eyebrows, which are dipped down, pinched together in a perma-scowl.
My gaze follows him as he strides toward my father and engulfs his hand in a firm shake. He moves with a natural, physical dominance, the kind that commands your attention.
He’s certainly got mine.
The man is beautiful.
Wait, no. What I meant to say was, “Are you fucking kidding me, Dad? You want this guy to follow me around all day?”
Dad rubs his temples in small circles. “Language, Evangeline. And yes, I do want this guy to follow you around. Mr. Carter is going to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection!”
“Have you seen your face?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s Manhattan. People get mugged all the time.”
“You’re not people. You’re my daughter. And you didn’t get mugged. They took you, hurt you, and left you right outside our building. They had another purpose, and I don’t intend on giving them a second chance to find out what that is.”
A frustrated growl rumbles in my throat. It’s no use arguing with him. I yank my leather jacket off the back of my chair, and stomp past my father like a toddler.
He hired me a babysitter—I might as well act the part.
“Where are you going?” Dad pushes to his feet.
“What does it matter? I’ve got Thor here to watch over me now. I’ll be safe and fucking sound.” I don’t wait for him to respond as I spin around and barrel through the doorway.
Heavy footsteps clunk behind me in the hall.
I stop.
He stops.
I walk.
He walks.
I turn the corner.
He turns the corner.
I speed up.
He speeds up.
This is irritating me already.
I make an abrupt about-face and slam into the body guard’s steel chest. “Do you have to walk so close to me?”
“That’s kind of how my job works.” His voice is deep, matching his burly size.
“Well, it’s obnoxious.”
He pops an unapologetic shoulder.
I prop my hands on my hips. “Look, you can go back to wherever it is you came from. You’re not needed here.”
“I only take orders from your father.”
“And I don’t. I’m a smart, capable girl, and I can take care of myself.”
“If you’re so smart, then why’d you drive down a dark alley and try to confront the thugs who were following you?”
I lift my chin, ignoring the fact that he’s right. “I had a bad night and I made a dumb decision. It won’t happen again.”
“Lucky for you, I’ll be right by your side to make sure of that.”
Lucky. Ha!
Another growl makes its way up my throat.
His thick lips twitch. “I’m starting to understand why you got that lion tattoo on your shoulder there.”
“Oh, you haven’t even begun to understand me, Big Guy.” I step into his space and poke his chest with each word. “Now back. The fuck. Off.”
My hair whips around my shoulders as I turn and storm toward the elevator. When I step inside, I expect him to follow me, but he doesn’t. He just stands there like a statue with that stoic expression on his ruggedly handsome face.
Did I say ruggedly handsome?
I meant annoying. Who wears sunglasses indoors?
When I reach the lobby, he’s nowhere in sight. I slip my arms into my jacket sleeves with a smug smile and push through the revolving door, inhaling a lungful of New York air.
It smells like hot garbage, but still. This is my city. My home.
Was getting kidnapped the single most terrifying moment in my life? Yes. But I refuse to let that stop me.
I won’t let fear control me.
I force myself to walk the few blocks to Starbucks, clutching my pepper spray in my palm, ignoring the drumline in my chest. The muscles in my body tense each time someone gets too close—which happens literally every step of the way. New Yorkers don’t know the meaning of personal space. With over 1.6 billion people crammed onto an island that’s only 13.4 miles long, we’re bumbling into each other like mass-produced cattle.
Only when I step inside the coffee shop do my shoulders lower and my breaths come easier. My best friend Deanna waves as I approach our usual table by the window, but her smile vanishes when her pale-blue eyes drop to the obvious purple splotch on my cheek.
“What the hell happened to you?”
I plop into the chair across from her. “I’m fine.”
She leans forward, her blond curls bouncing around her shoulders. “You have a giant bruise on your face.”
“I got jumped the other night. No big deal.”
Her eyebrows hit her hairline. “No big deal? Eva, what happened?”
I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. “Two dudes in a van tried to follow me home after I left you with Will at the bar. So, I drove down by the construction site and asked them why they were following me.”
“Why would you do that? Are you crazy?” Her hand flies up, palm facing me. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I already know the answer.”