Protect Me - A Steamy Bodyguard Romance (You Can't Resist a Bad Boy Book 5)

by Layla Valentine

  I make quick work of outlining the path I will be taking alongside my temporary business partner, skimming over the details where he will no longer be needed. The work is tedious, and tiring. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I intend to make the most of the workday, and then make my way home to perhaps indulge in another moment with my newest employee.

  It won’t do to become too enamored by her presence, but I can’t deny that I have indulged the thought of using her services beyond what is expected of a typical maid. The thought has clearly crossed her mind as well, though I don’t plan to reveal just how much I’ve been thinking about that.

  The remainder of the workday is agonizingly long, and I can only hope my beautiful new servant will still be at my place when I finally find the time to slip away for the evening. Where there are a dozen mergers, there are a dozen additional business partners seeking to expand their businesses with my aid.

  I’m in the midst of speaking to one of these business partners when the clock strikes six, marking the end of my work day. I make quick work of ending the conversation, promising to continue the discussion the following day. The older gentleman on the other line is reluctant to let me go, but it’s obvious that he realizes how little power he holds.

  It must seem a lonely life that I’m living, and I can’t deny that companionship is something I lack. For the time being, however, I plan to make my way home and enjoy the rest of my evening.

  Perhaps a nice glass of red wine, takeout from my favorite sushi place. I could afford a personal chef, of course, and while it’s an occasional indulgence, I can’t justify keeping one on hand at all times. The only company I expect when I make my way home is the tantalizing presence of my newly hired maid.

  While I can’t outright display my desire for her, it would be foolish not to enjoy her company while I’m able.

  Yes, this Charlotte Law seems the perfect company to round off a busy day with.

  The trip home is a short one, as always. While I’ve yet to identify Charlotte’s car, I have a feeling that she’ll still be in my apartment when I arrive. After all, I’ve turned in earlier than usual. Not early enough to send my staff into a tizzy, but early enough that I should be able to catch the woman in the midst of her work. It’s only been a few hours since I sent her to my penthouse, after all. Even the most efficient of workers couldn’t have the entire place cleaned in such a short amount of time.

  Struggling to shake off my eagerness to see her, I step into the elevator and press the button for the top floor. The elevator music starts up, and I find myself feeling somewhat more cheerful than usual. I lean against the back wall of the elevator, closing my eyes as I rise through the floors of the building.

  Moments later, the elevator dings to indicate that I’ve arrived at my floor. The doors open, and I step out, fumbling in my pockets for a moment to find my keys. With baited breath, I approach the door to my apartment, pausing outside for the briefest of moments.

  I listen quietly, attempting to discern whether my present fascination still lingers inside. Unable to hear any distinguishing sounds, I unlock the door and step inside. While I don’t immediately see her, I can smell the faintest hint of her perfume as I walk further into my apartment.

  I find her in my bedroom, and it seems that I startle her with my presence. She jolts upright, turning to face me with an awkward smile.

  “I didn’t expect you home so early,” she murmurs, and I can’t help but smile back at her. If she weren’t here, I would have likely burned the midnight oil in my office.

  “I managed to wrap things up at the office more quickly than usual, so I sent everyone home a bit early,” I say dismissively, unwilling to let her know how eager I’ve been to see her.

  She bites her lip, subtly nudging a drawer shut with her hip.

  “That’s wonderful. I’m almost finished, I think. I have a few final touches to tidy and sort out, and then I’d like to be sure everything is completed to your satisfaction,” she says softly.

  It’s obvious that she’s struggling to keep her eyes off of me, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s entertaining the same thoughts that I am. Of course, I doubt she’s considering the pros and cons of wearing a French maid’s outfit to work.

  “Perfect. I’ll be in my office. Just finish tidying up, and I’m sure everything will be perfect,” I tell her with a broad smile.

  She returns it hesitantly, and I can’t deny my delight at seeing her again. As I unlock my home office, I can feel her eyes upon me. I pretend not to notice her attention, slipping into the previously locked room. I exhale a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, trying to soothe the pounding of my heart.

  Never in my life have I been faced with such a vision of beauty. There’s something about the slight contempt that she regards me with that only serves to make me want her more. Miss Law is hiding something beneath the surface, and I will make it my mission to find out what that is.

  I know it’s hardly professional, and I would be better served spending my time focused on work, but there’s something intoxicating about the green-eyed woman. It’s as if I’m drugged by her disdainful stare, captured by her casual disregard.

  Dragged from my thoughts by the vibrations of my ringing phone, I slip my hand into my pocket and pull it free. The familiar number of one of my business associates flashes across the screen, and I swipe it to swiftly answer. Though I’m not particularly thrilled by the idea of discussing work for the time being, I know it would be foolish to ignore my duties for the sake of a brief infatuation.

  “This is Dillon Bradshaw,” I answer, keeping my tone measured.

  “I fired Chad,” Mark announces, though he sounds none-too-pleased by the situation.

  I inhale a weary breath, slinking towards my office chair and sinking into the plush upholstery. I allow my head to sag against the headrest, humming my acknowledgement of the man on the other line.

  “I just couldn’t stand it, you know? He seemed to think he had a better idea of what’s good for the company than me,” he continues.

  I nod before realizing he can’t see me. Truth be told, Chad likely has more business knowledge than Mark, but I’m not about to tell him as much. He’s made his decision, and I would be foolish to scorn him for it.

  “Are you calling me for a vote of confidence?” I inquire, leaning back in my chair.

  Mark hems and haws for a moment before muttering in response.

  “I’d just like to know I haven’t screwed everything up,” he admits, and I chuckle under my breath.

  “What happens regarding your business is your decision, Mark. I have my opinions on the matter, certainly, but you need to be confident in your own choices. If you’ve made a mistake, you’ll have to learn to live with the consequences,” I drawl, listening to the sound of shuffling outside my door.

  I realize that Miss Law must be cleaning the nearby area, and it’s all I can do not to hang up on Mark and dart out the door. Call me a fool, but I’m addicted to her presence.

  “I guess you’re right. You don’t think I’ve screwed up too bad though, right?” Mark implores.

  I rise to my feet, the sound of shuffling outside my door growing louder. Humming noncommittally in response to the other man’s question, I try to come up with a reason to hang up. Deciding that it’s not worth one of my better excuses, I decide to come out with the truth of the matter.

  “Chad was an invaluable asset to your company. I can’t lead you in the right direction, in this instance. It’s something you’ll have to figure out on your own. We can discuss this further tomorrow, Mark. I need to go,” I tell him blandly.

  He sputters and whimpers for a moment, but I press the button to end the call before he can get another word out. I creep closer to the door, pressing my ear to the wood in an attempt to hear what Charlotte is doing. Hearing her muttering under her breath, I realize that the doorknob is jiggling slightly.

  Smirking, I push the door open. My newly hired m
aid is obviously startled, nearly knocked off her feet by the door as I step out. I quickly step forward, gathering her in my arms before she can hit the floor. She jolts out of my grip, managing a nervous smile.

  “Sorry, Mr. Bradshaw. I was cleaning the door handle, and didn’t expect you to come out so suddenly,” she breathes, sounding faintly short of breath.

  I take no small pleasure in the pink tinge of her cheeks, relishing how she had felt in my arms. Realizing I’m getting too caught up in my fantasy, I cast a glance over the immediate area. The apartment seems immaculate, cleaned down to the tiniest detail. My lips curl in a smile, and my green-eyed beauty’s cheeks only redden further.

  “Please, just call me Dillon. You’ve done a wonderful job here today, Charlotte. I knew I was making the right choice in hiring you,” I say warmly. She looks somewhat embarrassed, but pleased with herself. “The place looks wonderful. I think we can both agree you’re finished for the night,” I say reluctantly, since I would like nothing more than for her to stay.

  “Oh. I’m glad you’re pleased with the work, Mr.—” She pauses for a moment. “Dillon,” she corrects herself, seeming a bit put off by how familiar we’re being with each other.

  Unable to help a soft chuckle, I reach out to grip her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. She flinches beneath my grasp, but doesn’t tear her eyes away from my own.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Charlotte,” I say warmly, allowing my hand to slip down her arm before drawing away.

  She considers me critically for a moment before nodding her head slowly.

  “Tomorrow it is, then. Good night, Dillon,” she murmurs, turning her back on me and slipping towards the door.

  I watch her go, focused on the slight sway of her hips as she walks. If she realizes I’m watching her, she gives no indication. She doesn’t even linger at the door, stepping out quickly and slamming it shut behind her. She seems intent on playing hard to get, and that’s something I’m not particularly familiar with.

  For some reason, however, it’s not unwelcome.

  Chapter Five

  Charlotte

  I’ve been watching him. I realize how creepy that sounds, but there is a method to the madness. Most days, he’s at work. I’ve made it a habit to arrive before he leaves his apartment for the day, and though he seems quite happy that I’m doing so, I assure you that it’s certainly not for his benefit.

  Truthfully, it had been on something of a whim when I first arrived early to my new job. Now, I find that I’ve had some benefit from the early arrival. Keeping track of Dillon’s schedule was not something I anticipated, but, it seems to be finally paying off.

  Watching him as he leaves for work every morning has made two things abundantly clear. One: Dillon carries a special set of keys with him to work every day. Two: he keeps these keys in a jacket that I’ve never seen him leave home without.

  That is, until today. Trying to keep my excitement on the down low is a more difficult task than I might have anticipated, and I struggle to swallow a whoop of victory as I see said jacket hanging on the hook near the door. It’s most likely that he’ll realize it’s missing in about five minutes and come back for it.

  Sneaking to the window, I glance outside towards the parking lot. I’ve also memorized which car he drives and where he prefers to park it. It’s bordering on obsessive, but I hate to think I’ve taken on this job for no reason. I don’t plan to just dilly dally around and waste the entire day cleaning. Sure, it’s what I’m being paid for, but it’s not why I’m here.

  A red sports car that I identify as Dillon’s pulls out of the parking garage, making a turn out onto the street. I allow myself a little victory dance, now that I’m truly alone in Dillon Bradshaw’s apartment, even though I know I’m getting ahead of myself.

  The keys are usually kept in the jacket pocket, granted, but it seems unlikely that he’d forget something as obvious as the keys to his private home office. It also seems far too good to be true. Still, I can’t deny the lingering feeling of hope that rises inside of me as I creep back into the living room and carefully remove the jacket from its hook.

  Gathering my wits about me, I slip my hand into the jacket pocket and fumble around inside for a moment. My fingers brush something metallic, and I slip my index finger through what is unmistakably a key ring.

  I can’t swallow the wicked laugh that burbles past my lips as I withdraw the keys. It’s the perfect crime. Dillon is more foolish than I’d given him credit for. If he holds anything incriminating in his home, his private office would be the most obvious place to find it. Then again, he has no reason to suspect his sweet, innocent housekeeper.

  As far as he’s aware, anyway.

  I begin to creep back towards the office, but then I realize the sneaking around is entirely unnecessary. I’m alone in this penthouse, and the only other person with a key will be at work for the next ten hours. I have all the time in the world, but moreover, all the privacy in the world.

  The true test of my abilities will be when I’m actually in the office. To locate the incriminating evidence, whatever it may be, I’ll have to do a fair bit of rummaging. However, I’ll also have to be sure that everything is returned to its proper place.

  Sounds a bit difficult, but I’m known to have a delicate touch. Not one dust bunny will go disturbed as I explore the new venue that has been opened for me. I dare not even breathe too deeply, for fear that the shift in air will be too obvious.

  It’s like I was made for this role, as if I’m the perfect spy. It occurs to me that the perfect spy likely wouldn’t be wearing flowery perfume which is entirely out of place. Well, I’ll just leave the door open to air out until he’s around thirty minutes away.

  Truly, Dillon will have no means of knowing I’ve even disturbed the keys in his pocket. By the time he comes home, the jacket will be in the exact place he left it, looking altogether undisturbed. The keys will be in his pocket, and any evidence that I can use against him will be firmly tucked into my supply bag. It’s just a matter of finding it.

  If I plan to do that, I have to swallow my hesitation and at the very least peek into the office. An initial glance, just to scope out the layout of the room. Bracing myself, I stand in front of the door before fumbling with the keyring for a moment. If I’m remembering correctly, the key to this door is the smallest on the ring, a pale shade of gold in color. If that seems overly specific, forgive me. I’ve been waiting for this very opportunity for what feels like an eternity now, and preparations get a bit boring.

  Slipping the key into the lock, I gently turn it, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding as the lock clicks. Gripping the knob lightly, I muse that I should have put on a pair of latex gloves beforehand; while it’s unlikely that he checks his door knobs for fingerprints on a regular basis, I’d nevertheless feel more confident with a protective barrier between myself and the private items I’m going to be rummaging through.

  I can’t help rolling my eyes at how paranoid I’m being, turning the knob and pushing into the room. The door swings open, making a slight bang against the wall from the force with which I’d opened it.

  Thoughts of being discreet going out the window, I quickly shuffle into the room and make sure that the door hadn’t knocked anything out of place. Everything seems to be in order, but then again, I hadn’t exactly had the chance to look before I came barging in.

  If I’m going to be caught, I’ll be caught either way.

  All the same, I carefully navigate through the room just to make sure everything at least looks to be in order. Everything in the private office is immaculately placed, and Dillon’s eye for detail is quite obvious. However, no one has the eagle eyes that I consider myself blessed with. A clock on the wall seems to be just a degree off-kilter, and I step towards it with baited breath. I slowly move to edge it back into place. Stepping back and considering it, I breathe a sigh of satisfaction.

  Turning my back to the clock, a shock
goes through my body as I hear something crash to the floor. I whip around to see that the clock I’d meticulously adjusted is now face down on the hardwood floor. Biting my lip, I approach it once more. It has to be broken. There’s no way the stupid thing survived a fall like that. Maybe if I can stage it to appear that it just fell from the wall…naturally…

  Stupid. It wasn’t like I could lie and say an earthquake swept through. He’s literally just down the street. I continue berating myself mentally as I grab the clock, turning it over to study the glass face. Remarkably, there seems to be very little damage. There are no cracks, no chips—hell, there’s barely even a scratch.

  Praising whatever higher force that seems to be looking out for me, I place the clock back on the wall. I draw my hands away carefully, noting that it seems to fall into the off-kilter position naturally. Great, it appears that I risked the entire operation for no reason.

  Just as well, now I can say that everything seems to be in place. Now, it’s just a matter of displacing everything—at least in his desk—and then placing it back in the right position. I can only hope I’ll be as lucky as I was with the wall clock.

  Shuffling over to the well-built piece of furniture, I take a moment to regard even the desk with disdain. The stupid thing probably cost several months’ worth of rent for my sad little apartment. It’s intricately carved, and inlaid with what looks to be actual marble accents in places. God, this guy really has his head in the clouds.

  Swallowing my bitterness, I move the chair out from under the desk so I can get a good look at the surface. There seems to be nothing obvious out in the open, aside from a small pocket calendar. I grab it up, flipping through the pages to see if there are any nefarious plans outlined within. Of course, there aren’t, because the thought is ridiculous. It’s not like he would schedule his wrong-doings in a simple little booklet.