by Aubrey Irons
“What are you doing?”
“Oh relax, cupcake, I don't have cooties,” He makes a face and stares at the carton in his hand before turning to me and shaking his head; “Almond milk? What the hell kind of-”
“What, I'm lactose intolerant,” I grumble, brusquely pushing past him and trying to shove the fact that his arm just brushed against my side out of my head. I push the button on the espresso machine and turn back to him.
Hudson snorts; “Of course you are.”
“Remind me why you're here again?” I say, feeling the temper rising in my voice. I'm taking the damn campaign money, and I'm even taking it knowing that I'm going to have to deal with Hudson as a direct consequence of that. But what I am not signing up for is him barging into my home and seeing me in my underwear at a 6:30 in the morning.
“I told you last night, to protect our investment.” He swigs from the carton of almond milk again before I rip it out of his hands and throw it away. Hudson grins at me, as if laughing at my admittedly childish behavior.
“But why you,” I say, venom dripping from my words.
“You mean, besides having been a soldier?”
“How could I forget” I snap. Actually, I don't know why I say that. I mean I vaguely know he served just from hearing my father mention it once or twice, but it’s not like I’ve ever heard Hudson say anything about it. For a moment, my eyes are drawn back to the marine emblem on his bicep, and as my gaze looks higher, for the first time I notice a shiny looking scar the size of a quarter on his upper shoulder.
“Thanks, yeah I've been hitting the gym a lot recently.”
I shake my head and frown at him; “What?”
Hudson is smirking at me, and he leans forward towards me, one arm reaching past my side to hold himself up against the countertop. He's suddenly very close to me - closer than I want him to be - and in spite of every part of me trying to stop it, I'm suddenly remembering the last time he had me pressed against something.
“It's just that I saw you checking out my arms,” He shrugs, looking so fucking arrogant and so fucking hot at the same time that it's make the gears in my head grind against each other.
Even though I can feel the heat from his body he's so close to me, and my gut instinct wants to grab him and pull him crushing against my body, instead, I narrow my eyes at him; “Do shit lines like that ever work?”
The smug look on his face drops for just a second; just long enough for me to know I've scored a hit against great unflappable, unshakable Hudson Banks.
His smirk is back in a second though, and he's grinning as he pulls back from me and turns back to the fridge; “Oh you have no idea, Red.”
I roll my eyes; “There's no reason for you to be here, you know.” It's weird, wanting him to get the hell out of here but at the same time wanting him to stay so badly it hurts.
“This isn't some sort of spy movie you know,” I snap; “There isn't a terrorist outside about to crash through the window and murder or kidnap a State Senate candidate. The world is not all a terrible, dangerous place, Hudson.”
He turns to me, slowly munching on what may or may not be Chinese food from a week ago; “Do you really think of the world like that?” He shakes his head; “That's adorable.”
“Damnit, Huds-”
“The world is full of bad people, Reagan.” He says quietly. For the first time since he's let himself into my apartment - or my life, for that matter - he doesn't have that obnoxiously smug grin on his face and it's like I'm actually seeing the real him, with clarity and without armor, for the first time.
“Anyways,” he says, breaking the moment and grinning as his armor goes right back up; “Go put some gym stuff on, let’s go.”
I frown, finally reaching for the much needed espresso that’s finally stopped dripping from the machine; “Why? And where are we going?”
Hudson rolls his eyes; “To the gym, dummy. Unless you wanna work out in those cute panties you had on earlier, in which case I'm all for it.”
Yeah, moment of clarity shattered.
I stare at Hudson like he's nuts before gesturing towards the icy-looking window with the wind whipping against it; “Are you kidding me? I'm not going to the gym, it's freezing outside!”
“Seems like it's a little cold in here too, toots.” He smirks and nods at my chest, and I look down to realize my nipples are poking out through my thin t-shirt. I hastily cross my arms over my chest.
“What are you, ten? Seriously thought, I'm not going to-”
He cuts me off by tapping a piece of paper printed with what looks suspiciously like a time-table and shaking his has as he grins at me; “Donald's schedule, Princess; not to be ignored.”
Something tells me arrogant, filthy rich, obnoxious and tattooed Hudson Conners doesn't give a flying shit about keeping schedules, and I know he's just doing this to get to me, which I am determined to not let happen.
“Fine, let’s go.” I turn and start to march down the hall back to my room.
“Oh, panties it is then?” He calls after me, and I swear it’s almost as if I can feel his eyes on my butt, looking right through my pajamas.
I slam the door to my room, shutting him off again.
Chapter Six
Hudson
P A S T
“I don’t understand why I need to wear this fucking monkey suit.” I grow, shifting uncomfortably as the tailor pats the inside of my leg and secures the expensive fabric with a pin from his mouth. I look up at the Old Man, and he’s grinning at me in this mix of amusement and something I can’t quite place- it could be pride, but I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever seen that emotion on someone’s face directed at me.
But, there’s a lot of new things in my world after meeting William Archer. New like being back in the States and working for his company, or like having more money than I know what to do with; new things like a new identity. “Hudson” is easy to keep, since it’s what the guys called me in the service after I got busted singing Billy Joel’s “New York State of Mind” in the shower one night when I thought I was the only one up, and I was all too happy to drop my Dad’s fuckin’ last name for my Mother’s maiden one.
“You wear that fucking monkey suit, Hudson, because it’s your costume; it’s your disguise. That fucking monkey suit will open doors for you that would otherwise be closed; doors you never even imagined existed. It’s the mark of a man at a certain place in the world, and it lets those around him know what that place is.”
I raise an eyebrow at him, grinning; “Did you rehearse that?” He’s chuckling and I shake my head; “You rehearsed it, didn’t you.”
William shakes his head, exhaling slowly; “Shut up and turn around, Marine.”
I mock salute and roll my eyes as I turn; “Yes si-”
Well, shit.
The man who looks back at me in the trifold floor-length mirror is like a me from another alternate reality. It’s me - those are my eyes looking back at me, but that’s the only thing I could possibly guess is the same, and it’s not just the suit. It’s everything about me that I almost don’t recognize, and my brain can’t even begin to process how much of a good thing that is. I need the old me to not be recognized, even by me; hell, especially by me. The old me needs to be purged in the fires of what’s to come, and the new direction my life is going in faster than I can almost catch up with.
“So, what do you think.” The Old Man looks smug behind me as he looks at me through the mirror.
“I think I- I look different?”
William tilts his head toward the tailor, who nods before ducking out of the room; “You look like a person again, Hudson. You look like a man ready to finally be one.”
I’m remembering that shitty dive in Kinshasa, when the first guy I’d seen in months that didn’t look like some kind of criminal or terrorist sat down next to me at the bar and introduced himself.
“You know I’d never let you down, Sir, but are you sure- I mean, just because we were in
the Marin-”
“If you think I’m ‘hooking you up’ with a job like this just because we share a common military history-” He trails off, shaking his head; “I do not make decisions like this lightly, Hudson. You of all people should know that.”
I nod.
“The company needs someone like you; someone like all three of you actually. We need men who can react-” He steps closer to me, his eyes boring into mine; “And men who’ve looked the devil in the face like you have and lived to know what it takes to walk away; what it means to keep a piece of your humanity when it seems like you can’t.” He smiles suddenly at me, breaking the spell; “So that’s why you’re wearing that fucking monkey suit, Hudson.” He smirks and winks at me; “Think of it as a uniform. I’d think even a Marine could wrap his grunt head around that way of looking at it”.
I grin and look at myself in the mirror again, still amazed at the image looking back at me of the man I never imagined I could be.
“It’s a responsibility, Hudson; that’s something else I don’t take lightly.” His voice is quieter, and when I look up I can see the solemn and somber look in his eyes.
“Yes si-”
“You’ve come a long way, Hudson, but there are demons still on your back I’m going to need you to shake at some point.” I’m still drinking, and we both know that. I mean, I’m drinking less, but addiction is addiction no matter how you quantify it.
“I need you in control, Hudson.” His eyes flash as he looks at the visage of the new me in the mirror; “Are you in control?”
P R E S E N T
This is getting ridiculous. This girl is way too hot for me to be doing this whole pseudo-bodyguard thing, even though I can tell she's the type that doesn't even know it. I honestly don’t know what the fuck Logan and Bryce were thinking; hell I don’t know what I was thinking signing up for this, but this is too much. I mean a man can only take so much.
We’re at the gym, and she’s working out; in fucking yoga pants and the worlds tightest, clingiest tank top. I mean honestly, how am I supposed to fucking deal with that?
At least the place is secure. Reagan might eschew her father’s money, but she’s got enough of it herself along with some sense to pick a gym that caters to the those who don’t want their picture being taken while they’re grunting out a squat or puffing away on a treadmill. The fact that we’re entirely alone in the gym has a secondary bonus too, in that no one’s around to see that I’m rock hard inside my gym shorts as I watch her.
I mean, I’m trying to tear my eyes away from the ice queen herself here, except the ice queen happens to have a fantastic ass, and from where I’m sitting pretending to do arm curls on a bench behind her while she climbs the stair-master, it’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to grab her by the hips, yank those skin-tight yoga pants right off that ass, and bury my face between her legs.
Jesus Christ, get a hold of yourself, psycho.
She’s barely tolerating my being there, but she knows she’s stuck with me thanks to the board at Archer Holdings and thanks to Donald and his rigid schedule. I mean, I get it; she wants to be taken seriously as a real candidate and not just some pretty little rich girl with a killer smile (and a great rack, for that matter) who wants to play politics. But as annoying as he is, Donald does have a point; you gotta work those strong points, and Reagan's strong points do happen to include the fact that she's young and hot and fit. Give the people what they want, and all that.
Hence, the mandatory gym visit on today's schedule.
“Stare much?”
I shake my head and drag my eyes up, seeing that she's stopped the machine and is giving me a strange look over her shoulder. Her straight red hair is pulled up in this adorable little ponytail, and I just want to grab it and use it to guide my-
Jesus I need to get laid.
“Huh?”
She rolls her eyes; “I said, 'stare much', as in, quit staring at my ass, perv.”
Put on some fucking snow pants, or a burka or something and maybe I will I grumble to myself, knowing I probably still would.
“Ray, your staff said you had a new bodyguard or someth-”
I turn at the sound of the door to the weight room opening and instantly lock eyes with a younger, blonde version of Reagan.
“Oh, it’s you.” She’s got the same look on her face Reagan had on this morning, without of course the distracting element of being Reagan; and of course, not standing there in just her panties.
“Lovely, another warm welcome.” I plaster on my biggest, most fake smile for the Old Man’s youngest daughter and Reagan’s little sister; “Hello, Chelsea.”
“What are you doing here, Hudson?”
“Just waiting for smiles like yours, sweetheart.” I smirk at her. Jesus, do all these Archer girls walk around with chips on their shoulders all fucking day?
“Don’t call her that.” Reagan’s snapping at me as she gets off the machine. She breezes past me, shouldering me out of the way as she goes to hug her sister; “What’s up, Chels?”
I can see Chelsea’s stormy, guarded facade start to fall as her older sister hugs her, and then her face crumbles as the tears begin to drop.
“It’s Andrew, he- with her!”
I hate seeing girls cry. Seriously, no matter how bitchy Chelsea just was to me for a girl I’ve met all of like once, I instantly want to put my arms around them both and tell her that whatever it is, it’s going to be ok.
Just then though, Reagan looks up and sees me staring at them. Her face curls into a snarl; “Do you mind?”
I shrug, not ready to get bounced that easily; “What’s the problem?”
Chelsea whirls on me with a sneer on her lips; “Oh what, billionaire womanizer Hudson Banks has some magical advice on cheating boyfriends I suppose?”
It’s almost funny when you talk to people who clearly have no idea where you came from, and who you really are.
“I do, actually;” I shrug again; “Ditch him.”
Chelsea rolls her eyes; “Gee, thanks, Hudson but it’s not that simpl-”
“No, it really is.” Reagan is staring at me with a strange mix of loathing and curiosity, but I force myself to concentrate on Chelsea; “He’s not going to suddenly just change, Chelsea. As a former lying, cheating asshole, I feel pretty confident in telling you that.” I level my eyes at her; “Just ditch him.” I can see her frown begin to fade as my words sink in; “You’re a strong, confident, beautiful girl, Chelsea, and you don’t need dead-weight like whoever this total idiot is holding you down.”
Chelsea’s fierce look is gone as stares at me with a whole new, much nicer expression on her face; “Um, thanks Hudson.” She looks confused for a second, as if amused that those words came out of my mouth, before her face suddenly breaks into a big grin as she smiles at me; all traces of her former sneer gone. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Reagan shooting a venomous look at her sister, as if she’s somehow traitorous just for not acting like a total bitch to me like Reagan is. I’m almost ashamed to admit the sense of smug satisfaction I get in seeing it.
“He really is kind of an idiot, isn’t he?” Chelsea shrugs in a defeated way, and I find myself opening even more.
“To cheat on an Archer girl like you?” I shrug and wink at her; “Total idiot; must be blind too, which almost makes me feel bad for him.”
Chelsea blushes and grins at me and I see Reagan roll her eyes dramatically and turn back to reach for the water bottle she’s left on the stair-master machine. For whatever reason, I suddenly feel compelled to push her buttons even more on this.
“Why don’t we all go out to lunch? My treat, of course.”
Chelsea’s nodding eagerly but Reagan cuts her off; “Thanks but no thanks, we came here in gym clothes, remember?”
I wave off her concerns like they’re nothing, because they aren’t with the resources I have; “I’ll have one of my guys bring something here for you to wear. Just go hit the shower and I’ll be
sure there’s a selection waiting for you when you’re done.” The dichotomy between Chelsea’s impressed and beaming face and Reagan’s look of “are you kidding me” disdain almost makes me laugh, but I compose myself; “So, that’s a yes then?”
I can see just the tell-tale signs of a smile teasing the corners of Reagan’s frown as she shakes her head at me; “Who are you, God.”
“Just ‘Hudson’ will do.”
She rolls her eyes; “You know what I fucking mea-”
“Well right now, I’m your lunch date. So go hit the showers sweet-cheeks.”
Chapter Seven
Reagan
P A S T
“So, how was Dad last night?”
Chelsea looks up from her homework and frowns at me. I’m supposed to be doing the same thing, especially since I’ve just started sending transcripts to colleges, but I’m mindlessly paging through TV channels instead. “You should have at least gotten on to say hi, Ray.”
I shrug; “It sounded like you were having a hard time hearing him anyways, wherever he is.”
“Angola.”
“What?”
“Angola; that where he is.”
I roll my eyes and sneer; “Of course he is.”
Chelsea slams her homework down and glares at me; “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means wherever there’s some third world conflict with terrible people willing to spend money of disputable origins, that’s pretty much where you can guarantee our father will be, Chelsea.”
I turn back to the TV with a huff, but my younger sister jumps out of her chair, grabs the remote out of my hand, and shuts it off; “Meaning?”
“Meaning Dad sells guns to bad people, Chelsea!” I shout at her. She flinches at the outburst but I keep going; “It means all of this” I’m gesturing around at the opulent home around us; “We have all of this because Dad is an arms dealer.”
Chelsea’s face scrunches up in a frown and it looks like she’s about to cry; “You don’t know that, Reaga-”
