“Right now, I’m a scared guy with an unloaded gun who needs someone bigger and stronger to protect me. That’s all I know for sure.”
Yikes. That’s a lot to unload. I stare at him blankly.
As if sensing my inability to speak, he fills the silence. “Shit, sorry. That’s heavy for the first of what I assume will be many meals together.”
“We don’t have to eat together. That’s up to you. I can be as invisible or as involved as you want.”
“I don’t mind,” Harley says. “It’s better than eating alone.”
I can’t help feeling sorry for the guy, though I wonder why his fiancée doesn’t eat with him other than she’s under the Hollywood delusion that women need to be a size zero.
Iris’s words telling me we should get to know our client ring through my head, and I hate when that fucker is right.
“I do have some things to go over,” I say.
“Like?”
“I’m going to need a list of everyone who has access to your house—like who’s allowed to be here and when I can expect them, so, uh, we don’t have a repeat of what happened today.”
“So you don’t tackle my vocal coach or personal trainer? Got it. I wrote a list for Iris earlier. I think it’s all still in the living room.”
“Okay, next thing. The gun. Have you ever used one before?”
“No.” He holds up his hand. “And before you say it, I know Gideon did the right thing by not loading it.”
“Did he also tell you that eighty-five percent of gunshot wounds happen because people don’t know how to use a gun properly?”
“Umm … no.”
“If you really want to learn to protect yourself with a gun, I can teach you.”
“Really?” His eyes light up.
There are people who have clearly worked their whole lives to get where they are, and it’s obvious they’ve fought hard for it. Harley’s not that person. Harley is the type that when he pulls a certain expression, you just know he was born to be in the spotlight because he’s absolutely breathtaking.
I’m sure he has worked hard, I’m not doubting that, but with that face? He was destined for fame from the beginning.
I shake that thought off. “I figure if you ever get your hands on another gun, you should know how to use it so you don’t shoot yourself … or me.”
Harley laughs. “I’d like to learn. I mean, I don’t see myself ever needing to use a gun again because I have you now, but I want to.”
“Then we’ll do it.”
He finishes his meal and stands. “I’m ready for you to check my room now.”
“Isn’t Evah already in there?”
“We have separate rooms. She … snores.”
Could be true. I doubt it because his face is doing this weird tic thing, but I’m willing to let it go for now.
Maybe they’re having problems, and I’m so not here to get into that or to care.
I follow him through the house and up to the second floor. “You’re still going with that ridiculous list of demands?”
“Yep. You get bonus points if you somersault into the room.”
“I’m not doing that.”
Then he levels me with a look. It’s part pleading, part mocking, but I see a glint of fear as well. I don’t think he means for me to see it, but I’ve seen that look before. On countless faces, in countless dangerous situations.
It’s the look of trying to be strong because there’s no other choice.
Breaking down isn’t an option.
And now I feel even more sorry for him.
It might be mostly a joke to him, but I realize Gideon is right. The break-in has affected Harley deeper than he lets on.
“Fine,” I huff, keeping up the façade.
I leave him outside his door to check his room, the connected bathroom, and his closet. I even look under his bed at his request, but when I step back out, I refuse to do what he asks.
Then he looks up at me with puppy dog eyes and a cute pout, and damn, his stormy-blue eyes are hypnotic.
I clear my throat and find myself saying, “All clear.”
He breaks into the biggest smile as he heads inside his room. “Goodnight, Rambo.”
“Night, Pop Star.”
Chapter Five
Harley
I overheard way more than I should have earlier. Brix told Iris to keep his distance—to be professional. So, that’s all I’m doing. I’m making him be the most thorough bodyguard he could possibly be.
And, okay, when he offered to train me with a gun, I was going to drop the silly demands.
But then he looked at me with something worse than disgust in his eyes. He stared at me with sympathy and pity on his face. My stomach did a backflip, and that’s the last thing I need.
No gross mushy feelings, please.
So yeah, professional distance is good.
Making him do silly things is even better. Not only do they provide me with entertainment, but he knows they’re complete bullshit.
Maybe that’ll keep him from feeling sorry for me.
That aside, knowing he was in the house made me feel safe enough to fall asleep and stay asleep.
For the first time since the break-in, I’ve been able to catch up.
Which is probably why at midday, I’m woken up by my bodyguard asking if I’m dead. He pulls my curtains open, letting the sunlight burn my retinas as I try to wake up properly.
I roll onto my stomach and shove my head under the pillow. “You’re a pretty shitty bodyguard if you have to ask if I’m still alive.”
The deep, warm chuckle from the overgrown man makes my cock twitch.
Damn him.
“I brought you a breakfast burrito. A peace offering after starting on the wrong foot yesterday.”
I was thinking—hoping—he was the thing that smelled like bacon. They should make bacon-scented cologne.
The promise of food is enough to get me sitting up.
I stare at the plate. “You haven’t taken a bite yet.”
“I’m not going to poison you. It’d be counterintuitive when I’m paid to protect you.”
“Counterintuitive, maybe, but until proven otherwise, everyone in my life is now a potential psychopath.”
Brix relents and takes a large bite. Melted cheese drips onto his chin, and my immediate thought is to lick it off. Luckily, I’m sitting, he’s standing, and I’m nowhere near his mouth to actually do it because that would be mortifying.
“You know,” he says, talking around the food, “you’re gonna have to get over your trust issues sooner or later. One break-in doesn’t make everyone else a potential attacker.”
“Oh, you sweet summer child. You think my trust issues come from the break-in? I’ve had trust issues since my momager took every cent of money I earned before I was eighteen. They got worse when the person I thought was the love of my life told me I was someone to fill the loneliness while on tour. Everyone uses me for something, only now, we have the added potential for homicide. Fun times.” I shovel the entire breakfast burrito into my mouth because I’m starving, while Brix watches on. “What?” A piece of egg flies from my mouth. Oops.