by Fifi Flowers
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Text copyright ©2018 by the Author.
This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Stoker Aces Production, LLC. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Special Forces: Operation Alpha remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Stoker Aces Production, LLC, or their affiliates or licensors.
For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds
PROTECTING
Maya
FIFI FLOWERS
This book is dedicated to Max Anthony for giving me stories to tell, but please never get on a skateboard again. Love you!
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books by Fifi Flowers
Chapter One
Logan
Probably my favorite thing about working the annual film festival in Palm Springs for the past few years was the fact that I got to work alongside my old SEAL buddies. Of course, we were all busy for the most part, but we did all share the same love of hitting the gym, early mornings, to get a workout in before starting our days.
“I heard you scored a gig with royalty, King?” I was first to bring up the shoptalk.
Roman “King” Abbott had finished his last mission, took an extended vacation and then jumped at any body-guarding assignment that he could. Like pushing our bodies to the limit each morning, it was not easy to walk away from duties we had been trained for even though our missions were often brutal.
“It’s only temporary. Some Brit princess is touring a few states and they needed extra detail. There’s a bunch of protocol involved.” He shouldn’t have trouble following those since he was born to semi-royal British parents. That was how he had earned his nickname King.
“Are they going to train you to lift your pinky finger for tea or is that something you remember from your childhood?” Barlow “Fin” Sheffield asked with a laugh, ducking a sweaty towel flung in his direction along with a middle-finger salute.
King, not one that liked being on the spot, directed the conversation away from his background. “Did you hear Fin’s leaving us to open his own bar and grill in some hip artsy area? Leaving San Diego behind.”
“Is that true? You’re not returning to the festival next year?” I asked, working through my last set of reps with a curling bar.
I couldn’t imagine Fin—nicknamed after his mad kicking skills, I swear he didn’t need aquatic fins to propel himself through the water—not being part of the festival. He was the one that had hooked us up with body-guarding assignments through his buddy who had taken over a security company from his longtime pal, Sutton, who was in charge of the film festival’s security detail.
“Nope. This is it. And after yesterday having to run off a bunch of obnoxious teenagers on skateboards messing with equipment set up for the festival, I’m done. Put a fork in me.” There was laughter mixed with annoyance in his voice and he reminded me of when I took my last skateboard ride.
My mother warned me throughout my youthful years. “Stay off those damn skateboards. You’re gonna break something one of these days. They can ruin your life.” She was thrilled to hear my swim coach announce that anything that could potentially break an arm or leg was off-limits. For years she received peace of mind.
That is until she received a phone call from the emergency room of a hospital since she was listed as my in-case-of-emergency person. And though I was happy to see her at my side while I suffered in pain awaiting surgery, she was the last person I wanted to hear what had happened to me. No one wanted to hear those dreaded words, “I told you so,” after your buddies clued your mother in on how the accident occurred.
“You should’ve seen him. He looked amazing flying down the hill.”
“Yeah! I didn’t think he still had it in him… No helmet. Fearless.”
They were so not helping me and I wished I could get the words out to tell them to shut the hell up. Instead, I was just begging for pain meds as I laid there with two messed up wrists. One was dangling and the other looked fairly normal besides swelling and scrapes—both throbbed. I figured they were broken when surgery was mentioned the minute an x-ray guy snapped some films.
My mother was right. My skateboarding accident was a real life changer that had me more worried about telling my SEAL team than my mother that I was going to be out of commission. More like I was out of commission permanently since I was forced to retire earlier than I had planned with both of my wrists broken; one worse than the other and one needed to be in a cast for a year.
To say that I was devastated was an understatement. I had always dreamed of being a SEAL. I worked my ass off for years. Passed underwater training, deployment training and came back alive after three really crazy missions relatively unscratched. Then like an idiot I broke both of my wrists bombing down a hillside on a skateboard with buddies while on leave. I guess I should’ve been thankful I didn’t hit my head.
I could still hear Wolf—a fellow SEAL that I looked up to—chewing my ass out for being such a dumbass after he razzed me along with his team guys when I stopped by a bar known as SEAL hangout. Guys often stopped in to check up on each other since we never knew who was going where and we liked to see that we returned in one piece. Unfortunately, that didn’t always happen. Some didn’t return with an ounce of air in their lungs while others returned injured.
Tex, one that lost a leg on a mission, gave me the most shit, surprisingly enough. Surprisingly I say, because he was rarely in San Diego since his home base was Norfolk. “Sharks don’t ride skateboards. Surf is your friend, not asphalt.” He had so many analogies that went with my nickname.
“At least you protected your face. Smart guy. You were already ugly enough without scars to your mug.” Dude, who had lost a portion of his hand dealing with explosives and was still a bad ass explosives expert in the game, kidded me.
Out of the game, I convalesced and then got back to the gym to get in shape again once I received clearance. Working out is where I reconnected with Fin who had retired after serving his country to his best ability for as long as his body could hold up. Having him hand me a busi
ness card for a security company in Palm Springs gave me purpose again since I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with myself.
That’s pretty much how I found myself in the desert annually for the film festival. It was pretty quiet for the most part, cupcake work: Keep fans from getting too close. Make sure celebrities aren’t followed back to their hotels. Keep them safe, out of harm’s way. No real threats—people just wanted selfies with the stars and their autographs.
However, things were a bit different for me since I was to provide private detail twenty-four-seven. Assignment: Protecting Maya Bexley.
Chapter Two
Maya
I felt like a caged bird—maybe not a good analogy in light of some messed up stuff affecting my life—pacing in my hotel suite waiting for my busy schedule for the day to commence. It would’ve been a much nicer day if I was allowed to enjoy the fabulous low-eighties weather before attending nightly events. Being poolside snacking on a country club sandwich and sipping a Bikini Sunset cocktail sounded divine.
Yes, I thoroughly checked out the menu.
Being indoors to do interviews sounded like a real drag.
Even if I was surrounded by beautiful furnishings and being fed amazing food, the closest I was going to get to fresh air was from the sliding glass doors I insisted on having wide open. If I had to do the whole film festival press-junket scene, I didn’t want to be subjected to air conditioning and stuffiness. I just hoped that I didn’t have any journalists opposed to the warm weather in my hotel living room.
I thought it was lovely and I hoped to keep everyone upbeat. I had a feeling that no one truly loved the business side of the film festival. People were on edge.
Would the public like the film?
Would we get funding?
Who would get on board with producing, marketing, distributing…
There were so many questions, but the main one was probably would we make back the over-the-budget money we had put into the project?
I knew all about jumping through hoops like a trained seal to get my movies distributed around the world… and how I got into the industry to begin.
Since I was a little girl, I put on one-person plays in my bedroom with my stuffed animals as my audience. I even danced around and sang, the latter part was something I did not do in public. My mother, a pageant girl in her youth, wanted me to follow in her footsteps once she caught one of my performances. She gave up when I refused to sing which was what every other girl did willingly. One good thing did come from the fiasco, a talent agent who handled child actors—mainly commercial work—was in the audience and handed my mother a card.
I never did get a national commercial, but I did pose for a few kid clothing catalogs. I hated it. I wanted to move around and was happy when she moved me on to tap and ballet classes. I didn’t want to be a professional dancer but I was getting closer to performing. I just needed to be given a few lines of dialogue and the world would’ve been a brighter place.
I finally got all of that in high school and college. I was a total drama geek. I tried out for everything and if I didn’t get a leading role I begged them to give me something. My easy disposition and willingness to pitch in with stagehand stuff won me a lot of key roles in school productions. No one ever helped me with my home skits, so why should I expect things to be different when we were an amateur team.
Pull your own weight!
That was a helpful attitude that got me right into a small playhouse group in Toluca Lake—mere steps away from big studios I dreamed of setting foot on. I took every part offered to me, from tiny ones to leading roles. We did full-length plays along with improvisation and short skits. It was a great experience and I learned a lot. It was, also, where I got my big break when I was discovered on the small stage by a director who sat in the back row on a folding chair placed on a stacked riser. It was not a fancy place for such a well-known cinematic figure to be hanging out.
That amazing introduction set me on a path of minor roles in a variety of movies. A period piece was my first time on the silver screen, followed by a slapstick horror to dramatic sci-fi. I had pictured myself in a romantic comedy but it had yet to happen. And with my lead role as an action hero, I was certain to be typecast. The only saving grace was that it looked like my character would be needed in several more films. Definitely a moneymaker!
I was sure that most people would say that was to be my “breakout movie” and would make me a household name.
Big star.
Big Box-office draws.
Big problems in the form of a stalker.
The last item was why my people had hired extra protection for my safety during the film festival in Palm Springs and most likely for the rest of the press tour.
When I stepped into the room to meet my protector, I was suddenly taken back in time as I looked at the gorgeous man in front of me. I swear to God he was the spitting image of a young Robert Redford…some might say Brad Pitt. However, I was practically swooning right there on the spot, picturing myself in an old movie where I was standing in front of a barstool in the role of Katie. With my protector as Hubbell wearing a white, full dress, Naval uniform and I was reaching up with my fingers to move his dark blond hair with golden highlights off his forehead. I don’t know how many times my mother and I watched The Way We Were and cried our eyes out with a box of tissues.
My heart was thumping erratically in my chest with that sexy vision in my head.
“I’m Logan.” I heard a manly voice say and wondered how he had moved across the room so quickly to be standing close enough to shake my hand.
The only answer; I must’ve closed my eyes and slipped off to la la land.
With my hand in his powerful calloused one, I wasn’t sure he was such a good fit for me in a businesslike arrangement.
How was I going to have him near me without thinking about how much I’d like to slip between the sheets with him?
Chapter Three
Logan
All of my research on Maya didn’t do her any justice. She was far more gorgeous in person than online. I was never much of a movie buff or a television watcher, so when I was told that I would, basically, be tailing after an actress, I decided to look her up.
Was she popular?
Was she loved or hated?
I was happy to read nothing but nice comments about her. She wasn’t one of those prima donnas who asked for things her way or else she’d walk off the set. No one ever said she was difficult to work with—just the opposite. Not only did her fellow film people praise her, but fans seemed to love her and several people posted selfies they had taken with her and some that looked doctored.
With so many good things written about her, I wondered what had changed since we hadn’t been given full details as to why she needed added security. Maybe it had something to do with her having a starring role as a super hero in her newest film which she was promoting at the festival. But even those comments seemed to be positive. That was when I decided to look at her social media accounts. Maybe there was a clue hidden there in the comments.
Again, those sites mostly depicted friendly comments. The only negativity I read involved bitchy or jealous comments as far as I was concerned. “Eat a cheeseburger.” “Those boobs can’t be real.” Then there were people asking her out for dates or to marry them.
According to her bio and a few gossip sites, Maya had never been married and was single. Not that any of that mattered to me. I wasn’t to be her personal escort for the week. Though I was required to wear formal attire to a few events while being at her side for protection. Nothing more. That all worked for me until I saw her in person and, more importantly, felt her hand in mine.
My thoughts were anything but professional and my feelings had nothing to do with her celebrity status. She was simply the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I wanted to thread my fingers through her dark auburn hair and draw her pale pink tulip-shaped lips to mine all the while gazing into her green eyes
.
If I wasn’t mistaken, she was feeling something for me. She murmured something about sweeping her fingers across my forehead and I thought she was about to do it when I introduced myself. It was enough to hold her hand, I couldn’t even let my imagination get the better of me thinking of her hands on other parts of me.
It was time to get down to business and get my mind back on track and focused. “I have limited details about your schedule. I thought it might be best if you tell me what you want from me…” I was struggling to find words that didn’t have a sexual connotation to them. That wasn’t easy.
Maya really needed to stop licking her lips and looking at me like I was a meal. It could’ve been my imagination or maybe wishful thinking, but I knew when a woman was flirting with me and she was practically batting her eyelashes at me. “Well…” She started moving away from me and walking around the room, perhaps attempting to cool down the heat between us. “I have to do a bunch of interviews with journalists today and I have a meet and greet this evening. Both events are on the hotel grounds. The interviews will be held in this room.” She motioned around the room we stood in. “The other is in some conference room in the main part of the hotel.” I watched her turn to look out the opened sliding doors like she was about to point.
I had that information and had some guys checking out the room. She had nothing to worry about. I would get her to the places she needed to go, safely. It was always good to know exits and layouts of a location beforehand. Another plus was that there would be extra hands present when I stepped out with Ms. Bexley later that evening. Not that any of those hands would ever be touching her—that was my privilege. I would gently guide her with a steady hand to her arm and possibly her back, in the most professional way, of course.
“Are you expecting people this early?” I inquired when there was a knock at the door after her assistant had gone off to do some errands.
Ms. Bexley made a huffing sound before letting me know that the beauty brigade was arriving, followed by the florist and lastly the buffet setup. Something told me she didn’t like all of the fuss and I didn’t understand why she needed any work done on her. But she was right, I opened the door to a slew of people who waltzed in and transformed the living area and the woman into a glamour girl.
