by Lexi Whitlow
I let her words hang in the air between us. I was afraid of something like this. I turn onto the bridge, and we cross over into Berkeley. It’s midday and sunny by the bay, but cloudy over Berkeley.
“That’s not how this is going to work.”
“I’m your boss, aren’t I?” She gives me a piercing look. I can feel it, even though I’m staring at the road.
“Actually, your mother's paying me, so she's my boss. And I’m not planning on following your orders. I need my paycheck.”
“I don’t care what you need,” Avery says. “You could get a job anywhere.”
“No,” I say. I pull into a spot by her apartment building. “I can’t. I didn’t go to school. I was wounded, so I can’t go back to the military. And I need to stay in the state.” I don’t add that whatever job I find next won’t cover my mother’s treatments, or her housing.
Avery sighs. “Then pretend to do it. I’m working on my dissertation. I can’t get caught up in their shit. Blame it on me when it all goes south. I don’t care what you do.”
I turn off the car. “Avery, listen to me. I was there when they brought you in. It was touch and go for a while there, whether or not you would wake up. Your parents didn’t tell you, but they think that guy was your stalker. The one who threatened you.”
“He didn’t threaten me—he was harmless. Wasn’t he?” Her voice falters.
I don’t tell her that she doesn’t understand the value of this job for a man like me. Even without my mother involved, I need the goddamn money. Or I wouldn’t be here, following around a girl I can’t have.
“He wasn’t harmless if he did that to you.” I gesture to her face. “And he won’t get to do it again if I’m here. You might not be able to pick up any dates at the bars—”
“I wasn’t picking up dates. I was out with a friend.” Her voice goes quieter. “I haven’t met anyone in a while.”
“I know the feeling,” I say. I clear my throat. “Let’s get you upstairs. I’ll check the perimeter first, and then I’ll help you up the stairs.”
She sighs, but this time, she doesn’t protest. I might have to keep chipping away at her until she understands that this is the way things are going to be, but for now, she’s silent.
As I walk toward the apartment, I look back at her. I had imagined she would have used that raw sexuality to get as many dates as she wanted.
But maybe she’s more like me than I thought. I haven’t had a single relationship that was for real. Not since way before I met Avery, and that was in high school.
I inspect both sides of the building, the lobby and the stairwell. And then I come back to find her, propped up outside of the car, waiting for me. Her hair contrasts against the deep gray of the sky, somehow making everything around her brighter. She shouldn’t be standing by herself, but that didn’t stop her this morning.
I offer her my arm, but she presses on ahead, even though she’s still walking with a slight limp. She even refuses my help when we walk up the stairs.
When I set her things down, she looks at me with what can only be described as a glare. She even crosses her arms. “You can go now. Your place is across the way, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. But I’m checking your rooms, and then I’m staying on the couch.”
“No, you’re not. I have my politics and religion class in the morning, and I’m supposed to talk to my professor about my final project for the semester.”
I shrug and check each room as she watches me, turning back towards her. I can still feel her staring at me, her anger simmering just below the surface.
“Whatever happened to law school?” I ask and she shoots a hot glance at me. I go to her couch and sit down, loosening the laces on my shoes.
She sighs, drumming her fingers against her arm. “I decided on political science because my parents wanted me to go to law school. And you’re not sleeping on my couch. You’re getting up and walking across the street and sleeping on your own bed. I’m sure my mother ordered you one.”
I shrug. “I am sleeping on your couch. You might stumble out of your room and fall down the stairs, and there goes my paycheck. And that douchebag might pop up, and—”
“There goes your paycheck.” She sighs again. “I’m going to bed. One night. Then you’re gone.”
I nod and watch her as she walks to her bedroom.
For a second, she looks more like the girl I used to know. Less self-assured, less hardened. But the mirage is gone when she turns into her bedroom.
She gives me a cold, piercing look when she stands there, the light illuminating her pale, freckled skin.
She closes the door, and it locks behind her.
I spent years thinking I was over Avery Thomas. And I spent the past three months thinking this job wouldn’t bring it back. I assured Richard. I signed papers.
But as the night wears on, I find myself thinking of the sweet, teasing glance of her shoulder, the fullness of her breasts, her curves and where they fall on her body.
There’s a chance I’m not as over Avery Thomas as I thought.
Chapter 4
Avery
My sleep is dark and deep, and for the first time since the attack, I don’t dream of the man, his elbow slamming into my face.
Instead, I dream of Maddox.
He’s on top of me, hard muscles against my porcelain skin. I run my hands over his body and pull him down, closer, so there’s no space between us. My hand moves lower and finds his length. I can barely wrap my fingers around it, and he groans.
He pulls down the sheets, and I realize with a shock that I’m naked too. I usually sleep in a t-shirt and panties, but there’s nothing. I’m bare.
Maddox groans, stroking himself. But he’s focused on me, teasing me with his lips and fingers, his body connected to every inch of mine, all at once. I’m writhing in desire, chasing the pleasure no man has given me in all these years.
I need him now, and he is more than ready. I grab him and pull him to me, and with one virile thrust, he…
My eyelids flutter open, and I sit up with a shock. My beat-up t-shirt is still on my body, and the room is dark. There’s no one beside me. No one on top of me. My heart is pounding hard, blood rushing in my ears, arousal pooling between my legs. I pant and pull the covers aside, letting the air cool me.
I don’t want this, I remind myself. I don’t want a fucking bodyguard. And I don’t want Maddox fucking Bryant anywhere near me.
And I don’t want the crushing disappointment of none of this being real.
I used to dream about Maddox often, especially that long, lonely summer after I graduated. I’d go to bed looking forward to it, hoping I’d wake up and see an email from Maddox. Or a letter. Or my phone, lit up with a voicemail from him.
It just didn’t happen. And now my brain has betrayed me.
I don’t need him in my dreams—it’s bad enough that he’s in my apartment.
I can feel his presence, out there on my couch, silently judging me. For staying trapped under my mother’s thumb. For not having to worry about money. For the trust fund in the bank.
And he seems hell bent on following all of those rules, just so he can get that sweet payout. Fuck him. I’d never expected that Maddox Bryant would be the one forcing me to follow my parents’ rules. That’s what he was hired to do. My body seethes with rage.
I sit there, anger brewing until the faint, purplish light of dawn invades my room. My head is throbbing, but the Advil is in the kitchen, and I’m not planning on seeing Maddox just yet.
I have to figure out a way to get the hell out of dodge as soon as the semester ends next week.
My room has an ensuite shower, so I lock myself inside and avoid him until I come out for Advil and coffee. I hope that some miracle made him disappear so the war of emotions and desires inside of me might stop.
But he’s there. Standing in the kitchen. Making French toast and coffee.
My stomach growls. It somehow makes me angrier
that he anticipated my needs. I walk to the kitchen to get Advil, but I stop cold. There are four orange pills next to a glass of water and a steaming cup of coffee on my kitchen table.
I sigh and sit down, glancing at Maddox. “There are too many pills,” I say curtly. “And you’re still here.”
He ignores that last part and continues flipping toast.“The doctor said you need four Advil three times a day for three days. It’ll keep the swelling down. Then you can taper down after that. You can alternate with the Vicodin. Trust me. You want to stay ahead of the pain.”
I take the pills and swallow them with my coffee. “I don’t want any French toast. I need to get to class.”
“You’re not going to class,” he says. “And you’re eating breakfast.”
“I am in fact going to class. I need to—”
“Present your paper? Your parents took care of that for you. You apparently completed everything you needed to do for the semester, so they informed Berkeley that you wouldn’t be attending class. Here’s your breakfast.”
Maddox appears beside me and plops three pieces of French toast onto my plate. I groan. I want to shove the plate off the table, but I’m suddenly starving, and my body feels weaker than it did when I first got out of bed.
“They had no right,” I say, digging into the toast. It’s sweet and hot, and there’s steam still coming off of it.
“They pay the bills for your courses, don’t they?” Maddox’s voice is gruff. He returns to the table and puts down a plate of bacon. I take three pieces and crumble them up over my toast.
And then I eat, refusing to respond to Maddox. The food is ridiculously delicious, each bite melting in my mouth, sweet and salty all at once. Maddox watches me eat, taking reserved bites of his own food the entire time.
“You can go now,” I say, tucking my knees up beneath my chin. “And I don’t want you making my breakfast anymore.”
“‘Thank you, Maddox. That was a great breakfast, Maddox,’” he says, sarcasm dripping from his every word. “Why, you’re welcome, Avery.”
“I’m grown, Maddox.”
“I can see that,” he says. His expression is blank, and I don’t entirely know what he means. There’s a jolt deep inside of me, though, and his gaze doesn’t leave me.
“Then you need to be in your apartment. I need to stay in mine. Got it?”
“No, I do not ‘got it,’” he says.
I suppress a growl and try not to let on the fact that I’m starving. “You live across the street. One night in my apartment is enough.”
“Not when my principal is uncooperative and looks to be a flight risk.” Maddox crosses his arms. “I know that much about personal protection. It would be foolish of me to leave you at this stage in the game.”
“Look —” I start, my head pounding. “I am grown. I promise I’ll check in with you at the end of each night and the beginning of every day.”
“After today, maybe. But that guy might still be lurking around here. I’ll have to set up surveillance in your apartment.”
I blush. I don’t like the thought of him looking at me, but it might be better than him living with me. “Fine.”
“And you promise that if you do in fact flee, you blame it on yourself. Not me. I need this job. And other than your alone time in this exact apartment, I’m on your ass 24-7.”
“Okay.” I cross my own arms. “Now, go. I need that ‘alone time’ you’re talking about.”
“Yes, ma’am. But your parents have informed me that you do not eat breakfast. I’m here to make sure that you do. I take this job seriously since it’s currently my source of income. And my way to get my own home. I’ll leave once the election is over. But for now, I’m doing as your parents tell me. And that includes getting you to eat breakfast, at least while you’re still healing.”
“So, you’re going to make me eat? That’s part of this job, is it? Treating me like a kid so I can show up where I need to show up?”
His hair is still the color of whiskey. It’s short now, a slightly grown-out military cut. His eyes are stormy and distant and somehow sad. I want to rage against him, to show him all the pent-up things inside, to tell him what it’s like to be trapped in a box, observed by my parents and the world at large. But I don’t. Instead, I sulk and slump down in my chair.
“Look, Avery.” His voice is slightly softer than it was before. “I don’t think this situation is a dream for either of us, but it’ll be a hell of a lot easier if we work together. Your parents have rules. I’m here to follow them. And if you do as I say, I won’t have to treat you like a kid. I don’t love following a grown woman around, telling her what to do. But I need the money, and it is what it is.”
I say nothing. Instead I get another cup of coffee, loading it with cream this time. My head isn’t hurting nearly as bad, and my body feels slightly more normal again. I won’t admit it to Maddox, but that greasy breakfast was exactly what I needed.
“Easy for you to say.” I lean against the counter. My kitchen is all granite and stainless steel, and the apartment is nearly five thousand a month. I’m suddenly aware of what my life must look like to Maddox. My parents are even richer than they were before. “I’m the one taking orders.”
“You don’t know shit about taking orders,” Maddox says, a hard edge in his voice. “I took orders for six and a half years. When I was in Afghanistan, there were nights I didn’t know if I was going to die. Or if I’d have to watch someone else die. I didn’t have a choice. I had to fall in line.
“Sometimes you have to follow orders so you can stay safe. I don’t love your parents, Avery. God knows I don’t. But with the election and all the talk of your mom running for president next term, you need protection. It’s past time for it.”
I don't look at him but I can feel my heart pounding. I hate feeling like he’s right. There was always that sense of rightness about him, even when we were both kids. Like he had some part of life figured out that I hadn’t. I’m not sure if it came from the way he grew up, but it was always there. I hate that he makes sense. And I hate even more that everything in me wants to rebel against him and cut him down.
“I’m an adult,” I repeat. “And I don’t want to be forced to my mother’s events.”
“You can’t show up for what your mom does? Because—what? It’s boring? Or is it just to piss her off?”
I scowl. It’s deeper than that, but Maddox doesn’t have the look of someone who wants to listen to that right now.
“You need protection,” he continues. “Go look at yourself in the mirror if you disagree.”
I bite my lip, and then I respond. “You had your years in the military. I don’t know anything about that. My private hell isn’t anything like yours, but I still live in it. My parents drop by the apartment. They show up at school. They do background checks on any guy I date. And when I finally get hurt, all they can do is think about how I look on camera.”
“Poor little rich girl,” he says. His voice is flat, and it’s impossible to get a read on the emotion behind his voice.
He looks at me coolly, and a lump forms in my throat. My eyes prickle, and there are tears. I don’t know this Maddox, the one who calls me names and informs me that he’s going to do everything my parents wish.
“You need to go,” I say. My voice is hoarse from holding back the crying.
“I don’t want to be here anyway. I can keep an eye on you today from where I live. But if you try to leave, I’ll be appearing right back at your doorstep. You need to eat. You need to sleep. And you need to rest. Nothing else.”
Maddox stands up and turns, heading for the door.
I muster up all the anger inside, turning towards him. There won’t be any more dreams. Not if I can help it.
The door closes with an unsatisfying thud. I walk to the window and watch him as he crosses the street.
When he’s inside, it’s clear that his apartment directly faces mine. The window looks into my living room. B
efore I have a second to think, he goes to his own window and gives a wave in my direction. Knowing my parents, he has orders to watch me whenever and however he can.
This is why I never wanted a bodyguard.
Teenage me would have thought this was sexy. I dreamed of Maddox watching me every day.
But that was then. This is now. I’m older, angrier, and ready to fight.
Fine. If he wants to follow every order my parents lay out for him, there’s no way I’m going to make this easy.
Game on, Maddox.
You can follow the rules.
I’ll be busy breaking them.
Chapter 5
Maddox
I pace the apartment floor. It’s hardwood. The kitchen appliances all work. Yes, everything is blue, as Avery warned. But it’s the nicest place I ever lived.
I sent my mother pictures this morning, and she responded with a smiley face. Her own apartment looks like this now. And she’s going to live, thanks to Avery’s parents.
Still, there’s a growing pit of anxiety in my stomach. Avery Thomas might be a poor little rich girl, but she’s right. She’s a grown woman, and her parents don’t need to watch her every move.
And I don’t need to be the one doing it.
Still, I’m bracing for a fight. I hate feeling that way, but I could tell Avery was digging in. I am too.
The next morning, I go to the window and check on her. I do it a little guiltily, but there’s nothing too private she’d be doing in her living room. Plus, it’s in the nineteen-page document her mother gave me when I started the position a week ago.
Check on Avery’s movements in the apartment each morning. Make sure she’s making a healthy breakfast for herself. She should have no more than one cup of coffee, with two ounces of non-fat creamer. Although it may not be in your power, her father and I would like for her to maintain her weight or drop five pounds before the foundation dinner.
