Chapter 14
Thomas
I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. The moment she came down those stairs in that beautiful gown, she took my breath away. The bow made her innocence pop, but the updo with the sparkling pearls boasted of a womanly femininity I hadn’t noticed until tonight. She walked down the stairs lightly in the heels that clacked underneath her, and I saw her eyes raking over me, just like mine were doing for her.
“Ready?” I asked.
“You look incredible,” she said.
“I could compliment you, but the English language has no words to do you justice.”
I helped her into the car, and Bernie took us to the charity auction. It never occurred to me that “high-profile” meant “celebrities,” and the moment I walked through the doors, I saw people I recognized. I bit back the urge to walk around and ask for autographs, and Bridget must’ve seen my eyes following everyone in the room.
“Want me to snag some autographs for you?” she asked.
“No, I do not,” I said. “That would be rude.”
“Oh, I know you do. I mean, the recent Emmy winners are here! Come on, let’s get you some.”
“I don’t need them Bridget. I’m here with you, and I think I got something a little better than an autograph from the only person in this room that matters.”
Her eyes sparkled with my comment before she linked her arm with mine. We slowly walked around the room, and people I knew stopped her to talk. Every time she had an entry in the conversation, she introduced me.
Not as her bodyguard and not as her employee, but just as Thomas Jeffries.
I got to shake hands with more people I admired than I ever thought I would in my lifetime. Even though I’d guarded high-profile individuals before, I’d never been to an event where they were all in such close proximity at the same time. Lacey didn’t understand any of this now, but when she grew up, I could rub it in her face while she kept trying to convince me of how “uncool” I was.
“Care for a drink?” she asked.
“Just one,” I said. “I let Bernie go home for the night because he looked pretty tired, so I’m driving us home.”
“Poor Bernie,” she said. “Maybe that’s what I’ll do from now on, just have you drive me to late night events instead of him.”
“You have been running around a lot lately,” I said. “He’s probably just not used to it.”
We went over and took a seat near the wine bar at a small table in the corner. People came around and shook her hand, thanking her for her donation and giving her details on when the campaign would be shot. She talked with a few people I didn’t recognize during her first two glasses of wine, but when the third one was brought to her, she decided she wanted to be left alone.
“You have my number,” she said. “Just give me a call in the morning.”
“Will do, Miss Meyers, will do. And thank you again for everything. Really.”
“It’s not a problem, I promise,” she said.
I was impressed with how well she was holding her own. She didn’t seem like the bubbly, bombastic little girl she portrayed when she was running around in the streets with her friends. She really knew how to tuck away that side of her when it was necessary, and it only made the dress she was wearing shine on her even more.
But then, after her fourth glass of wine, a massive yawn peeled from between her lips.
“You ready to head out?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
I let her lean up against me, and I got her out to the car. I laid her down in the backseat and made sure she was all right before I hopped into the driver’s seat. I started the drive home with the navigation on quietly in the background. Every once in a while, I could hear her murmuring to herself, and I had to bite back a laugh at how silly she looked back there. Here she was, this beautiful actress with a heart of gold, in this dress that cost thousands of dollars, and she was murmuring to herself with her eyes half-lidded in a drunken haze.
“You all right back there?” I asked.
“Uh huh,” she said.
We pulled up to her home, and I ran to unlock the door before I helped her out of the car. I scooped her up into my arms and walked her through the threshold of her own home. Then I started up the stairs to her room. There was no way she was getting out of this dress tonight, but I figured I could help her out of her jewelry and shoes before I tucked her in for the night.
She needed to sleep the wine off, and I needed to get home and get some sleep before Lacey had me up in the morning.
I opened her door and laid her down onto her bed. She stumbled trying to sit up. I helped her lean up and slowly unhooked her necklace, and her forehead flopped forward and landed onto my chest. I worked her earrings out of her ears before I laid her back onto the bed, and for a second there, I thought she’d fallen asleep.
But instead of snoring, she was mumbling.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I said, I want you to fuck me.”
“I’m not gonna do that,” I said. “Not tonight.”
I took off her shoes and threw them into the corner before I got up and put her jewelry onto her nightstand. She struggled to get underneath the covers with her dress getting in the way, and when I came over to help her, she grabbed onto my wrist.
“I really want you to fuck me,” she said. Her eyes were glazed over from the alcohol, and my dick twitched at her words, but I wasn’t going to touch her in the state she was in, much less stick my dick in her.
“You’re way too drunk, and I don’t roll that way. Now, head up.”
I tucked a pillow underneath her head before I smoothed the hair away from her face. She looked so peaceful, relaxed by the alcohol and overtaken with exhaustion. Maybe tonight, she would actually get a decent night’s sleep and feel rejuvenated like a woman deserved to feel.
When I figured she was asleep, I pressed a small kiss to her forehead. She shifted and brought the comforter up to her chin, her breaths evening out and her legs curling up into her body. How I wished I could crawl into bed with her and hold her through the night, but I had to get home.
I had to get back to my real life.
“Good night, Bridget,” I said as I walked to the door. I turned off her light and put my hand on the doorknob. Then a phrase that confused me slipped from between her lips.
“It’s Kimberly,” she said.
“What was that?” I asked.
“My name’s Kimberly Moore,” she said with a sigh.
She was much more drunk than I thought she was. I shook my head and shut the door behind me, but her statement stuck with me as I made my way back down the stairs. I knew she had a secret, and it was a secret that threatened to unravel everything she had worked for. The nervous ticks, the sleepless nights, and the nightmare that caused her to roll completely out of bed.
Was it possible that Bridget Meyers didn’t actually exist?
I shook the thought from my head while I locked her door behind me. It was just past one in the morning, and I would be up in a few hours with Lacey. I knew if I kept it at the forefront of my mind, I wouldn’t sleep at all.
They say that things said in a drunken stupor aren’t lies, just unfiltered thoughts because your guard has been brought down.
So, who the fuck was Kimberly Moore?