Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 116(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
His jaw ticks, but there's a flicker in his eyes. Respect? Or just pity? "Fine. Play tough. But when I say jump—"
"I ask how high. Yeah, yeah." I mock-salute, but my voice wavers just a touch. Damn it.
The elevator dings, and Mack's instantly in front of me, hand on his hip where I assume his gun hides. Two guys in suits burst in—Heartline team, from the looks. King, the driver from earlier, and another with a toolkit.
"Clear the room," Mack orders. They fan out, sweeping with devices that beep and whir.
I retreat to the couch, sinking into the plush cushions. My mind races. Who could this be? An ex-fan turned stalker? A rival model? The industry’s cutthroat—I've stepped on toes climbing to the top. Or maybe it's tied to the reboot. Someone doesn't want me succeeding.
Mack joins me after a minute, perching on the armrest like he's ready to spring. Too close. His thigh brushes mine, heat seeping through his pants. I shift away, but not before noticing how solid he feels. Gorgeous and capable. The attraction stirs again. It’s an unwelcome feeling.
"Talk to me," he says, softer than before. "Any enemies? Exes? Business rivals?"
I huff a laugh. "Where do I start? Modeling's a shark tank. My last agent? Fired him after he skimmed commissions. Ex-boyfriend? The one who sold my pics to the tabloids. And fans... well, some get obsessed."
He nods, jotting notes on his phone. "We'll run backgrounds. In the meantime, rehearsal's canceled."
"What? No!" I stand up, fire overriding fear. "The showcase is in two days. I can't bail."
"You can and you will. Until we assess—"
"Assess this." I jab a finger at his chest—hard muscle, unyielding. "I'm not hiding. That's what they want. I show up, I shine, I win."
He stands up, towering over me. His eyes narrow, but there's heat there now. Not anger. Something else. Attraction? No, can't be. He's all protocols. "You're stubborn as hell."
"And you're a control freak." I smirk, masking the flutter in my stomach. "Bet you hate that."
A ghost of a smile tugs his lips. "You have no idea."
The team finishes, declaring the suite clear but taking the bouquet remnants for analysis. Mack dismisses them, then turns back to me. "Fine. Rehearsal stays—if we double security. But you stick to me like glue."
"Romantic," I drawl, but inside, relief floods me. Not alone. With him. The gorgeous grump who just saved me from glitter Armageddon.
We head out an hour later, after I freshen up. Makeup flawless, hair tousled just right—mask on. In the elevator, our reflections stare back: me in my power dress, him in tactical black. We look like a mismatched couple from a romcom. Fake date optics, he called it. Ha.
The lobby's a Valentine explosion—hearts dangling from ceilings, couples snapping selfies. Paparazzi lurk outside, but Mack clears a path, his hand on my elbow. Firm. Protective. A shiver runs down my spine.
In the SUV, silence stretches. I glance at him in the rearview. "So, what's your story, Mack Hawthorne? Why bodyguard a diva like me?"
"Paycheck," he grunts.
"Bull. You scream ex-military. What, tired of swimming with sharks?"
He meets my eyes in the mirror. "Something like that. Short gig. Then I'm out."
"Out where? Hot date with danger?"
His grip tightens on the wheel. "Family business."
Mysterious. Intriguing. I lean forward. "Family? I’m guessing brothers.” I’ve always had this ability to read people. “Brothers, huh? Bet you're the middle child—always proving something."
"Third of seven." A pause. "Nash, Crewe, me, Sin, Banks, Jace, Colt."
"Seven? Wow. Testosterone overload." I pause. “Your poor mother.”
He chuckles softly and the sound has me clenching my thighs together. It’s low and rumbles. Sexy. "You could say that." He chuckles to himself. “She used to say raising us was like herding feral cats with ADHD and access to power tools. But there was this one summer—God, I must’ve been about ten—when she finally snapped and decided we needed ‘character-building discipline.’”
I prop my chin on my hand, already grinning. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
Mack drives with one hand on the wheel, a gorgeous smile spreading across his face. “So Mom signs us all up for this church youth group wilderness retreat. You know the kind—canoeing, campfire songs, ‘finding ourselves in nature’ bullshit. She figured fresh air and Bible verses would civilize us. Nash was thirteen and already six-foot, acting like he was too cool for everything. Crewe was twelve and obsessed with explosives—mostly theoretical at that point, thank Christ. Sin was nine and basically feral. Banks was eight and would eat anything that didn’t run away fast enough. Jace was seven and had this thing where he’d narrate his entire life like he was in a nature documentary. And Colt—little Colt was five and still believed he could fly if he flapped hard enough.”
I’m already laughing. “This sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
“Disaster doesn’t even cover it.” He shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Day two, we’re on this lake doing the mandatory canoe lesson. Counselors pair us up—big mistake. They put Nash and Crewe in one boat because they’re the oldest. Sin and me in another. Banks and Jace share another. Colt gets to ride with the counselor because he’s tiny and adorable and they think he’s harmless.”