by Ava Bloom
Somehow, Wade Jensen had managed to score one of the four tables, and there were two steaming mugs of coffee sitting on the table.
“I took the liberty of putting creamer in your coffee,” he said. “People tell me I make the perfect cup of coffee, so I like to share my gift as often as I can.”
I don’t tell him I take my coffee black, and sit down. “So, you are looking into bulking up your security? What exactly do you do, Mr. Jensen?”
He sits back in his chair and crosses his hands over his stomach. Immediately I know I’ve just asked him his favorite question. “I’m an investor. I have an eye for which business ideas will fail and which will succeed, so I throw my money at the ones that will do well and watch it grow. There is more to it than that, obviously, but that is the layman’s version.”
“Have you invested in anything I’ve heard of?” I asked.
“Universal Fitness,” he said, taking a long drink of his coffee. “Fundue: The Fondue Restaurant. And Shoes for Yous. Those are the most popular, but there are hundreds more.”
I recognized all of them except Shoes for Yous, which is the worst name of a company I’ve ever heard. The second worst is Fundue. “I have a membership at Universal Fitness. I was just there actually.”
He smiled. “I don’t know many people who aren’t members. Open twenty-four hours, no sign-up costs, and no contracts. It’s a great idea.”
I had the feeling Mr. Jensen could talk about his own accomplishment’s ad nauseam, so I switched gears back to the matter at hand. “Has someone threatened you, or what prompted you to look for a personal security guard?”
“You actually aren’t here for me,” he said. “I’m looking for someone to protect my daughter.”
I lowered my eyebrows. “Why isn’t she here? I usually meet with clients face to face.”
He sighed. “She was resistant to the idea of hiring security, so I had to take control of the situation.”
I pushed away from the table and stood up. “Look, I’m not a private detective. If you are looking for someone to spy on your daughter, I’m not your man.”
“The very fact that you just said that means you are my man,” he said, waving for me to sit back down. “I’m not asking you to do anything covert or illegal. I’m just paying you to protect my daughter from the creeps who attacked her two nights ago.”
Wade Jensen went on to describe the robbery and assault of his daughter, his hand white-knuckling around his coffee mug with every word. It was obvious he wished his hand was wrapped around the necks of the attackers instead.
“Those scum terrified her, but she won’t admit it. You have to understand that Jade is like me in a lot of ways. She is stubborn and independent, and the more you push her to do something, the more she resists. But this is not an issue where I could allow her stubbornness to win out. This is about her safety, and I will do anything I can to protect her.”
I respected Mr. Jensen a bit more now that I see how much he obviously cares for his daughter. “I don’t usually protect people who don’t want my protection. I’m not sure how that would work.”
He nodded, lips pinched together. “I know it is unusual, which is why I will pay you double your going rate.”
My heart stuttered in my chest at his words, but I did my best to keep my face neutral. “Really?”
“My daughter’s safety has no price tag,” he said. “I just ask that you stay near the gallery while she works and see her to and from her car at the beginning and end of the day.”
“Gallery?”
He hooked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the wall behind him. “She owns the gallery next door. The attack happened just down the block.”
Just then, a petite woman with a luscious afro bouncing around her thin face walked up to the table. “Hi Mr. Jensen. Are you doing okay over here?”
“This is Faith,” Mr. Jensen said, reaching out and grabbing the woman’s hands in his. “She is the one who saved my Jade.”
Faith smiled at me and shook her head. “I just called the police. It is what anyone would have done.”
“Not really,” I said. When they both look at me, eyebrows lowered, I continue. “A lot of people would keep on walking. They wouldn’t want to get involved.”
Faith pressed a palm to her chest. “That is horrible. I couldn’t imagine walking away from something like that.”
“That’s because you are an angel,” Mr. Jensen said.
“So, you just happened to be in the area during the attack?” I asked.
“Yeah, but it is because I own the coffee shop,” she said, twirling a finger in the air to take in the small shop.
“Did I not mention that?” Mr. Jensen said. “I thought I did, but yes, Faith here started this from nothing and now it is a real hot spot.”
She beamed. “For now. I hope word of the attack won’t spread and stop people from coming in. Business has been growing the last few months, and I’d hate for people to stop coming in because they think this is a bad neighborhood.”
Mr. Jensen waved the thought away. “Keep making drip coffee like this, and they’ll keep coming.”
“Do you want another?” she asked, pointing to his half-empty cup.
“I shouldn’t. I’ve had so much caffeine today I’m surprised I’m not flying.”
She pointed to me, eyebrows raised, and I shook my head. Even though the coffee was much too sweet for me, and after a few drinks I’d abandoned it, I didn’t plan to stick around long enough for an entirely new cup.
As soon as Faith left, Mr. Jensen turned back to me. “So, are you interested?”
Protecting someone who didn’t want me there felt sleazy, but getting paid twice the normal rate was too good to pass up. Accepting a job I was uncomfortable with because the money was good felt even sleazier. But I ignored that feeling.
“I’m in.”
3
JADE
I LET my attackers win for one day. One day of staying inside, watching as many romantic comedies as time would allow, and eating my feelings in the form of salt and vinegar chips and licorice. Whenever thoughts of the large man’s hands on my body resurfaced, I’d take a shower. I took eight.
On the second day, I wake up, pack up my things, and head to work like usual. I lost a day of work on my commissioned piece, but I was already ahead of schedule anyway, so it won’t be a problem. Plus, the only thing left to do is work on the shading and shadows. And that is what I’m doing when the bell above my door rings.
Even thought the space is a gallery, I don’t get a lot of foot traffic. Maybe a couple of people per day, but usually it is just me and my paintings. Faith comes in occasionally with free coffee to chat and, as she puts it, “enjoy the space.” She means the physical space. Her coffee shop is small and it can feel a bit claustrophobic being trapped in there all day.
But it wasn’t Faith at the door. It was a man. An incredibly muscled, unbelievably good-looking man.
I dropped my brush on the easel and looked around for a towel to wipe my hands. I was covered in paint up to my wrists, and I’d opted for my most basic gray wrap dress. I had one in every color, and for my first day back post-attack, gray felt like the right choice for the mood. Now I wished I’d gone for the floral and my red pumps with the ankle strap. But in my dowdy gray dress and black flats, my personality would have to the showstopper.
“Hi, welcome,” I said, untying the pocketed apron full of brushes from around my waist and hanging it over my chair. “Is there anything I can help you with, or are you just looking around?”
I walked closer to him and wondered if I’d have the power to stop before I was standing on his toes. With every step, I saw more of him. His sandy blond hair that hung over bright green eyes. His thick, but well-groomed beard. I loved a man with a beard.
“I’m actually here to help you,” he said. His voice was deep, and that, combined with the weird response to my question made me feel confident I was in a dream. A very sex
y dream.
“Excuse me?” I asked, still smiling. I didn’t feel like I could stop. I’ve always believed art should make you feel something, and looking at this man, I felt like smiling. Actually, I felt like doing a whole lot more than smiling, but smiling was the first step towards doing what I really wanted to do.
He had on a short-sleeved button down that could have looked dorky, but his broad shoulders could make even a sweater vest look good. Black ink snaking out from beneath the sleeves and wrapping around his thick biceps cemented him firmly in non-dorky territory.
“I’m a bodyguard,” he said, stepping forward, his bicep extending as he handed me a business card.
I skimmed the card. Logan Richard with Stormborn Security. He should really put a photo on his card. It would drum up a lot more business. I handed it back to him. “I’m not sure you’re in the right place. Who are you looking for?”
“You’re Jade Jensen, correct?”
I nodded. Hearing my name on his lips was like sweet music.
“Then I’m in the right place,” he said. “Your father hired me.”
The imaginary background music screeched to a stop, and I tilted my head to the side. Suddenly, his attractiveness was a trick. Like the sheen on the forbidden apple. “My father? I’m sorry. You are going to have to start at the beginning.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and had the audacity to look bored. “To my understanding, you were attacked in the area two nights ago, and your father has hired me to keep watch over you and the gallery. Indefinitely.”
Yeah, I hated this guy. My body had done a full one-eighty, and now the sight of him brought me nothing but annoyance. “Considering I’m not a child, I do not need anyone to ‘watch over’ me.”
Especially not someone paid by my father, but saying that would make me sound childish, so I kept it to myself.
I went to the police station after the attack. Faith drove me there, but didn’t want to go in. She said police stations made her uncomfortable, so I went in alone. The detectives asking me questions didn’t think I should leave alone, so they pressed me to call someone, and the only person I knew would answer my call so late was my dad.
He stormed into the station like he hadn’t seen me in a decade. He swept me up in a big hug that felt like it was made for film, and I just wanted the dramatics of it all to be over. I wanted to go home. But he wanted to talk to the officers about their game plan for catching these men. About what they would do to keep the neighborhood safe.
“That is already a pretty safe neighborhood,” Officer Hoyt said. He was only a couple years older than me, I’d guess. “We will increase patrols after dark.”
“Clearly it isn’t safe,” my father said, gesturing to my body as though I was riddled with bruises. I wasn’t. The men hadn’t left any physical marks. “She needs protection. Those men told her they would be back. Increasing patrols isn’t going to stop them.”
“How did you find that out?” I asked, scanning the room.
Officer Hoyt looked down at the floor, and I groaned. I had not planned to let my father in on that particular detail. It seemed like unnecessary heartache to worry him over what was probably nothing.
“We can’t spare officers for guard duty,” an older officer said, stepping in front of Officer Hoyt. “Increasing patrols is how we keep this city safe. Unless we want to employ half the population, we can’t do man-to-man coverage. It has to be a zone defense.”
“My daughter isn’t as trivial as a basketball game, so spare me your shitty sports metaphors,” my father said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and leading me towards the door.
He’d mentioned the idea of private security on the way home, but I’d dismissed it immediately. I told him I would text him when I got home at night, and I would get to the studio earlier in the morning to secure a parking space nearer to the shop. I told him I would take care of myself, and for the first time in my life, I thought he respected that. I thought he was going to let me do something on my own. Instead, he’d undermined me and treated me like a child.
“Call it what you like,” Logan said. “But I’m being paid good money to keep you safe, and that is what I’m going to do.”
“No, you aren’t,” I snapped. “You’re relieved of your duties. Go away.”
He walked over to a wooden accent chair in the corner and sat down. The chair looked so fragile wrapped around his body that I expected it to collapse. It didn’t, however, and Logan crossed his ankles, knees spread wide. “You can’t fire me because you didn’t hire me.”
I growled. “But I do own this studio, so I have the right to tell you to get your ass out to the curb. You are no longer welcome on the premises.”
With little more than a sigh, Logan lifted himself to standing and shuffled outside. As soon as the door closed behind him, I spun around and searched for my phone. My dad answered on the third ring.
“I’m surprised it took this long,” he said with a laugh.
“This is not funny,” I snapped. “What in the hell is with the bodyguard?”
“Language,” he warned, though we both know it was just a distraction. I’d been cursing in front of my parents since middle school. Only occasionally they would try to get me to stop in an attempt to look like good parents, but they gave up after a day or so. “The bodyguard is there to watch over you in case those men come back.”
“They aren’t going to come back,” I sighed. “It was just something he said to scare me.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” he said. “But he is not leaving until the men responsible for your attack are caught.”
My eyes widened. “That could be forever. They might never get caught. The detectives told you cases like this go unsolved all the time.”
There was a long pause. “You better get used to having Logan around, then.”
I slammed my phone down on the table when I hung up. Could I call the police? I had no idea if something like this was illegal, and even if it was, I didn’t know if I wanted to see more police officers. I’d spent hours talking to them the night of the attack. The whole experience had left me exhausted, and I had no desire to relive it. Plus, if they showed up and the guard wasn’t doing anything illegal, it could make them less willing to rush out in future emergencies. And while I’d told my father the big attacker had only been trying to scare me when he made his threat, part of me worried he would come back for me. And if he did, I didn’t want the police seeing a list of previous calls and deeming it of low importance.
Logan was standing outside with his back pressed against my front window. I couldn’t decide if the sight of his beautiful face and muscular body would lure more people in or keep people away. Either way, I decided to ignore him. I couldn’t afford to let another afternoon go by without working on my commissioned piece. I was so close to finishing it, and then I could keep working on the prints for the Made Good collection.
I managed to dip my paint in the brush and stand in front of the canvas for five minutes without painting anything. Instead, every time I tried to move towards the painting, I would glance over and see Logan standing outside. Each time I saw him, my fingers clenched around my paintbrush, and it took a conscious effort not to snap the wooden handle. Finally, after fifteen workless minutes had passed, I marched outside, brush still in hand.
Logan didn’t look over when I came outside. He just kept his silent vigil, with his eyes trained on the street. He has a strong profile—defined brow, straight nose, square chin. It made me even angrier.
“Don’t smudge my glass,” I said, waving my brush like a wild woman, paint splattering on the sidewalk.
“I’m not.” His face was serene, relaxed. It made me want to push him through the window. The cost of replacing it be damned.
I stomped my foot, which made me feel a bit like I was throwing a temper tantrum, but I was too angry to care. “You are leaning against it, and since you plan to be standing out here forever, eventually your oils and sweat
are going to leech through the material and get on my window. Then, I will have to come out here and clean it off. So, if you don’t mind.” I wagged my finger to the right.
Logan finally looked over at me, one eyebrow pulled down. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to give me a disdainful look or if the sun was in his eyes. Either way, he looked at me for a second and then, without further complaint or removing his hands from his pocket, slid three feet over so his back was pressed against the bricks instead.
I stormed back into the studio feeling more annoyed and distracted than when I’d gone out. And annoyingly, a little turned on. It made me hate him even more.
4
LOGAN
I COULD FEEL the sun warming my face and wondered how long it would be before I’d start to burn. I didn’t have a hat and the street didn’t look like it would get any shade during the day. Had I known I’d be standing outside her studio all day, I would have brought sunblock and a chair and a glass of water.
All of those needs paled in comparison to how badly I needed to take a piss, though. That coffee had been full of sugar, but it had also gone straight through me. I turned around and looked through the glass window, wondering if Jade would see me looking in and take pity on me and let me inside. There were several doors in the back of the studio, and unless she held it all day, one of them had to be a bathroom.
She didn’t look up from her canvas, though, and I admired her focus.
I also admired her.
As soon as I’d walked into the studio, I knew I was in trouble. It wasn’t that I couldn’t control myself around attractive women, because I could. Unlike the creeps who had attacked Jade, I would never touch a woman without her permission. But that doesn’t mean thoughts of an attractive woman wouldn’t plague me. And Jade was especially attractive. And I was literally being paid to watch her.
She had long hair the same shade of black as her fathers with thick bangs that hung down over her eyes slightly. Her gray wrap dress was simple, but form-fitting, showing off a good amount of her chest (which was not at all like her father’s, thankfully), and I couldn’t help but look at the bow on her hip and think about how easily I could undo the entire ensemble.
