Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Well…not exactly. He definitely doesn't do that. Gross.
But apparently, he does hire bodyguards.
I drag my phone out of my pocket and pull up my social media apps. I immediately scroll to his profile, ignoring the dozens of notifications waiting for my attention. I pretend not to see any of the photos or videos he's posted. He posts kink-positive content. He used to post thirst traps, but only does those now if they include Olive.
I hit the button to send him a private message, my fingers flying across my screen as I type it in.
"What are you doing?" Olive asks, amusement in her voice.
"Nothing," I lie. "Mind your business."
Dear Mr. Dad Bod, do you think my best friend will forgive me if I strangle her husband? Asking for a friend.
He responds immediately.
Mr. Dad Bod: Breath play should only be done with enthusiastic consent and with strict rules in place. I do not consent.
I respond with the middle finger emoji.
He sends back a crying laughing face.
Mr. Dad Bod: Sorry not sorry, Kenz. You're important to her. That makes you important to me.
I decide to ignore him. Mostly because he's being sweet, and I can't argue with sweet. How do you yell at someone who worships the ground your best friend walks on and goes out of his way to make sure everything in her world works perfectly? You can't! It's impossible.
"You threatened to kill him, didn't you?" Olive asks, fighting a smile.
"Maybe," I mumble. "Maybe not." I shove my phone under my butt to keep her from getting her hands on it. She's faster than she looks. The girl has only spent her entire life dancing. She can move in ways that I didn't know were possible. "Seriously, Ol. What am I supposed to do with a freaking bodyguard?"
My whole life has become incredibly bizarre. This time last year, no one knew my name. I was just Olive's social media manager, the girl behind the scenes who dealt with trolls and perverts so she could keep dancing.
Now, my face is everywhere. The social media manager had to hire a social media manager to keep up. My former business associate, Lyle Taggert, hates my newfound notoriety. Actually, he hates that he had nothing to do with it and isn't getting paid for it. He keeps trying to strongarm me into paying him a large percentage of what I make from brand deals and modeling gigs, as if he made me or something.
Part of me wants to just pay him so he'll go away and leave me alone. The bigger part, however, is far too stubborn for that. I may be new to fame, but I wasn't born yesterday. And I don't back down easily. I'm not inclined to let him take advantage of me just because he thinks he can. He's not getting a dime from me.
"Let him watch your back?" she suggests, picking her way across my room to settle onto the bed beside me. She reaches for my hand, offering me comfort. That's supposed to be my job. I'm supposed to be the one telling her everything will be okay. This role reversal isn't particularly fun. "It won't be nearly as bad as you think it will be. Besides, it'll only be for a few days. As soon as Madden's PI finds some dirt on Lyle, he'll crawl back into his hole and leave you alone."
A girl can only hope. Unfortunately, I know Lyle too well to have high hopes. He can be vicious. When he decides he wants something, he doesn't stop until he gets it. I never should have agreed to manage social media for any of his clients, but I wasn't in it for him. I was in it for them. They needed someone other than him in their corners, and I thought I could handle him.
That's my fatal flaw. I bite off more than I can chew and I'm too darn stubborn to admit it. Most of the time, I make it work. But sometimes, like now, it ends in disaster.
I'm my own worst enemy.
But we only have one life. I want to spend every moment of mine forging my own destiny…even if I mess it up a thousand times along the way.
"Who did he hire?" I ask, giving in as gracefully as possible. I appreciate Madden for caring, even if I don't want to be saddled with a bodyguard. I'll just have to do what I do best. Fake it until I make it…or until I drive the man so crazy he quits.
Huh. Now, that's a plan with merit.
"Um, I think someone from Carmichael Security," Olive says. "Zayne? Gideon? Zion? I don't know which brother it is, but one of them."
I don't know any of them, but Carmichael Security is one of the most highly respected firms in Nashville. They've guarded some of the most important people in the state. Which means they're probably going to be annoyingly professional. That's one thing I'm not. What you see is what you get, and my mouth never gets the memo.