CHAPTER SIX
GAVIN
Honey was obviously displeased.
She was pretty easy to read, which was why it wasn’t hard to tell what she was feeling the moment Sara announced the news—that I would be Honey’s new bodyguard and would be tailing her twenty-four-seven. First came the shock as her eyes widened, turning to me before turning to Sara to echo her exact words. Then shock was replaced by denial, and she began to argue with Sara in the same lines that most argued when they didn’t want to be tailed around: that she didn’t need a bodyguard, that she was capable of handling the media by herself, that she would much rather be alone.
But Sara was Sara: a ruthless businesswoman who’d dealt with stubborn asses for a long time now. She shut down all of Honey’s complaints with reasonable explanations, then had Honey gaping at her when she said that this decision was final. Sara then began to spout off about their so-called contract and how it was Sara’s job to keep Honey safe at Sara’s discretion—and this was at her discretion.
In response, Honey grudgingly nodded, then said she needed to get some rest before her practice tomorrow. She stalked out of the office space, and all I could do was glance at Sara before I followed Honey out of there.
Because Honey wasn’t able to successfully argue with Sara and get what she wanted, she did the next best thing: switch that irritation over to me like it was all my fault. It was a quiet irritation at first until we got to the parking lot. Just as we reached her car, she whirled on me.
“Since when did you know?”
Her tone was slightly accusing, and it all clicked in that she must have thought I knew even when we were in the beach house. I shook my head and gave her a straight stare to let her know I wasn’t lying. “Since this morning. She gave me a job offer, and I accepted. I only realized the client was you when she explained your dilemma earlier.”
That had her irritation dimming a bit, though her body was still quite revved up. She took deep, steadying breaths, and I watched her with my hands in my pockets. When she was done, she was relatively calmer as she faced me again.
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“Sara seems to think otherwise.”
“Well, I don’t want one.”
“I don’t answer to you. I answer to Sara.”
Her frustration rose, and it would have been amusing in any different situation. I was used to spoiled brats that I guarded who threw temper tantrums a lot, but her frustration didn’t seem like a tantrum. I almost smiled—until she opened her car door, slid into the driver’s seat…and locked both sides of the car. Shocked, standing near the passenger door, I asked her to unlock it.
She smirked at me. Then to my disbelief, she started the ignition and began driving out of there, ignoring my warning. The car zoomed out of the parking lot and disappeared from sight, and whatever good mood I had was immediately plunged down as I realized I didn’t have a car and was going to have to take a taxi.
I stood corrected. She was a spoiled brat.
Well, she was just going to have to learn that two could play at that game.
It took Honey an hour to reach her apartment building, and she was carrying what looked to be a box of cake or desserts with her. Her face had a rather broody expression as she focused on her footsteps, and it looked like she was in deep thought.
“I thought you didn’t like junk food.”
My voice had her head snapping up and her steps halting in their tracks. Her honey eyes widened at the sight of me, and she sputtered.
In response, I leaned on the wall opposite her apartment unit and crossed my arms, feeling smug.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I live here,” I said, indicating to the door across hers.
Her mouth gaped. She opened her mouth as if about to deliver the most scathing remark. Then she shut it again and reluctantly glared at me instead when she rationalized it in her head and realized that it was Sara who arranged this, too. Good girl.
“I’ll be in my place all day, so don’t bother me,” she bit out.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I shot back, keeping my voice calm and just a tad bit pleasant.
“And this is no-fat cheesecake,” she kept on. “It’s completely healthy.”
The door slammed shut while I was still absorbing the parting line, and I could hear her footsteps stomping inside. A reluctant grin came out of my mouth as I found that whole statement quite funny.
Then the grin disappeared as I thought of the situation: her dislike of having a bodyguard, her obvious wariness around me, and my own reluctance in guarding a woman I’d rather be avoiding. A job was a job, sure.
But what exactly had I gotten myself into?
*****
She did stay home all day and barely made a sound, which gave me leeway to relax a bit and do what I should have done from the very beginning: research about her. Usually, when I was given assignments and clients to work with, research was the first thing I did. By the time I met up with said clients, I had enough knowledge to assess them and the situation itself, rather than depending on what I’d been told.
Because there was no time for that when Sara dispatched me to fetch Honey in the parking lot, I settled for the next best thing today, which was take advantage of Honey’s non-activity by starting my research now. The internet was usually a pretty handy tool, and I used it today as I typed up her name and dug deep to know more about her.
The first that came were the tabloids, of course, bringing forth article after article that showed exactly why she needed a bodyguard. Sara hadn’t specified anything on why exactly her star race car driver was being harassed, but now I got the picture as I watched professional tone in some of the articles and the malicious tone in the rest. Some even had the audacity to put her pictures in, cropped from the sex video that they claimed rocked the world and her fans.
A little more digging had the sex videos coming up, those that hadn’t been deleted yet. I didn’t press play, instead sending the links to Sara for her team to clear them up, too. Then I bypassed most of the tabloid articles and went to the other side, where I got the basic information about her that was available online.
She was young, as expected—twenty-six years old and already making her name in the racing world, beating some of the familiar names in a slow and steady manner. She’d been the most talked about contender last season but had lost to Cooper, Sara’s husband, coming in second. Still, that didn’t stop everyone from raving about her skills and predicting she’d take it home this season, particularly the major races. Now, the articles had shifted tone as everyone talked about her scandal more than her achievements, which had sympathy rising up in me. No one deserved to be called all those nasty names and to be disrespected this way.
Her family background wasn’t available much, just that she was from Savannah, Georgia and had been gaining attention for her wins there before coming to Florida to make it big. She came from an affluent family but hadn’t gone to visit them after her first year in Florida, and I wondered what had gone on there. It was even before the scandal, too.
Apparently, her cooking was pretty famous, and so was her charm. I came across certain video interviews that showcased that charm to its fullest, and I could see why she’d been the media darling back then after she proved her skills in the racing world—in short, after she proved that she was more than just a pretty face. Perhaps they put her on a pedestal, making the so-called fall from grace now harder to bear.
Most of my reading took half the day, and it was night time by the time I was done. I ordered some maki take out and checked up on her again, debating whether to knock on her door and deciding against it. She probably didn’t want to see me. I’d kept my own door open all day so I could see if she left or was planning to leave, but so far there were no signs of that happening.
The next day, I woke up fairly early and waited outside in the hall. She came out half an hour later, not even surprised to see me as she gave me a rather prim greeting. Then she went ahead and told me her schedule and where she was headed without me having to probe, and I realized she probably had a long talk with Sara and they came to an agreement.
Good. Less hassle for me.
The race track we went to was just nearby, and we headed inside. I stayed in the garage, getting myself reacquainted with the terms and the practice process as I watched her take her race car down the oval and start her session.
I’d seen some races before, considering Sara was a big fan of them before she decided to venture into being a manager. I understood where the adrenaline rush came from. Most of the great drivers I witnessed were male, so it came as a surprise as I watched Honey now, picking up her speed as she went over and over her rounds with the dedication and passion of someone who really loved the sport. You could tell it in her every move. I got the gist that she was a perfectionist in the racing track and an easygoing person out of it, a complete contrast of personality. It was similar to the contrast of how she looked and the shock of how she’d jump from being a lingerie model to this.
I wasn’t one to judge, though, considering my own choices—particularly, retiring from the military for an easier life and letting lust dictate my marriage. When Honey slowed down again, I decided to be pleasant and try to be on good terms with her. I watched as she drove slowly to the garage then got out, taking off her helmet and shaking her messy hair.
It was a stunning visual to look at, and something stirred in my belly. Not liking where my thoughts were going, I shook it off and kept my eyes on her and the sway of her hips, which I knew weren’t deliberate. Everything about Honey’s sensuality wasn’t deliberate because it just came off naturally—and that was even more dangerous in my opinion.
“Dinner?” I asked once she was in front of me.
“I’m having dinner with a friend,” she said, a pleasant smile on her face. “It’s at a high-end restaurant. Are you really trailing me there, too?”
“Twenty-four-seven,” I reminded her.
She lifted her chin. “Fine. I’m not paying for you.”
Then she strode off to the locker room, whistling as she did so.
Now that was deliberate. The minx.
Torn between amusement and annoyance, I followed.