by Amy Brent
“Well, it’ll be an honor to attend the dinner with you,” he said.
Yep. I would wait until after the party. I would tell him after the charity auction, and he could make his decision from there.
“Any idea of how you’re gonna do your hair and shit?” he asked.
“And shit?” I asked. “Wow, nice to know you actually care about this stuff.”
“No, really. I mean, I’ll never have to deal with that stuff, but you do for your job all time. So, it’s important to you, right?”
“I suppose so, yeah,” I said.
“So, what are you going to do for them?” he asked again.
“Probably just some sort of updo. I bought a pearl necklace and earrings from that store we went to this week, so something that gets my hair out of the way and shows those off.”
“It sounds beautiful,” he said. “What about your nails?”
“Thomas, you really don’t have to care,” I said, giggling.
“Well, I’m choosing to,” he said. “So, what about your nails?”
“I don’t know. Probably something that matches my dress.”
“What color’s your dress?” he asked.
I paused and looked at him over my coffee mug. How would he take it when he realized our outfits matched? Would he be upset? Would be think that was weird? Would he like it?
“It’s a dark green lace with a champagne-colored bow around my waist,” I said.
I watched his eyes twinkle with delight before he threw his head back and laughed. I was relieved when he began laughing because the sound was comforting to my ears. But I was still a little curious as to why he was laughing.
“Of course, it is,” he said. “Ironically, those are the colors of my suit.”
“I swear I didn’t plan it like that, Thomas.”
“I know you didn’t. I just think it’s funny how we had all that bad tension between us that day, and we still managed to railroad our lives together.”
“So, you’re not upset?” I asked.
“Amused and a bit curious as to what you’ll look like, but not at all upset.”
“Okay, good,” I said.
“I’m actually kind of looking forward to it,” he said. “Going with you to this thing. I mean, I’ll be on the lookout for threats, but it’ll still be nice.”
“I’ll enjoy being there with you, too.”
I curled up into the kitchen chair and continued to sip my coffee while he looked through his phone. The light from the phone lit up his face, and I really got a chance to study how blue his eyes were. Lacey had his eyes, but I could tell from the dark color of Thomas’s eyebrows that she probably had her mother’s hair. Part of me wanted to press him about her mother some more, but part of me knew if I did, I’d risk spilling everything to him.
And it had to wait.
After the auction, Bridget. After the auction.
Chapter 14
Thomas
I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. The moment she came down those stairs in that beautiful gown, she took my breath away. The bow made her innocence pop, but the updo with the sparkling pearls boasted of a womanly femininity I hadn’t noticed until tonight. She walked down the stairs lightly in the heels that clacked underneath her, and I saw her eyes raking over me, just like mine were doing for her.
“Ready?” I asked.
“You look incredible,” she said.
“I could compliment you, but the English language has no words to do you justice.”
I helped her into the car, and Bernie took us to the charity auction. It never occurred to me that “high-profile” meant “celebrities,” and the moment I walked through the doors, I saw people I recognized. I bit back the urge to walk around and ask for autographs, and Bridget must’ve seen my eyes following everyone in the room.
“Want me to snag some autographs for you?” she asked.
“No, I do not,” I said. “That would be rude.”
“Oh, I know you do. I mean, the recent Emmy winners are here! Come on, let’s get you some.”
“I don’t need them Bridget. I’m here with you, and I think I got something a little better than an autograph from the only person in this room that matters.”
Her eyes sparkled with my comment before she linked her arm with mine. We slowly walked around the room, and people I knew stopped her to talk. Every time she had an entry in the conversation, she introduced me.
Not as her bodyguard and not as her employee, but just as Thomas Jeffries.
I got to shake hands with more people I admired than I ever thought I would in my lifetime. Even though I’d guarded high-profile individuals before, I’d never been to an event where they were all in such close proximity at the same time. Lacey didn’t understand any of this now, but when she grew up, I could rub it in her face while she kept trying to convince me of how “uncool” I was.
“Care for a drink?” she asked.
“Just one,” I said. “I let Bernie go home for the night because he looked pretty tired, so I’m driving us home.”
“Poor Bernie,” she said. “Maybe that’s what I’ll do from now on, just have you drive me to late night events instead of him.”
“You have been running around a lot lately,” I said. “He’s probably just not used to it.”
We went over and took a seat near the wine bar at a small table in the corner. People came around and shook her hand, thanking her for her donation and giving her details on when the campaign would be shot. She talked with a few people I didn’t recognize during her first two glasses of wine, but when the third one was brought to her, she decided she wanted to be left alone.
“You have my number,” she said. “Just give me a call in the morning.”
“Will do, Miss Meyers, will do. And thank you again for everything. Really.”
“It’s not a problem, I promise,” she said.
I was impressed with how well she was holding her own. She didn’t seem like the bubbly, bombastic little girl she portrayed when she was running around in the streets with her friends. She really knew how to tuck away that side of her when it was necessary, and it only made the dress she was wearing shine on her even more.
But then, after her fourth glass of wine, a massive yawn peeled from between her lips.
“You ready to head out?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said.
I let her lean up against me, and I got her out to the car. I laid her down in the backseat and made sure she was all right before I hopped into the driver’s seat. I started the drive home with the navigation on quietly in the background. Every once in a while, I could hear her murmuring to herself, and I had to bite back a laugh at how silly she looked back there. Here she was, this beautiful actress with a heart of gold, in this dress that cost thousands of dollars, and she was murmuring to herself with her eyes half-lidded in a drunken haze.
“You all right back there?” I asked.
“Uh huh,” she said.
We pulled up to her home, and I ran to unlock the door before I helped her out of the car. I scooped her up into my arms and walked her through the threshold of her own home. Then I started up the stairs to her room. There was no way she was getting out of this dress tonight, but I figured I could help her out of her jewelry and shoes before I tucked her in for the night.
She needed to sleep the wine off, and I needed to get home and get some sleep before Lacey had me up in the morning.
I opened her door and laid her down onto her bed. She stumbled trying to sit up. I helped her lean up and slowly unhooked her necklace, and her forehead flopped forward and landed onto my chest. I worked her earrings out of her ears before I laid her back onto the bed, and for a second there, I thought she’d fallen asleep.
But instead of snoring, she was mumbling.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I said, I want you to fuck me.”
“I’m not gonna do that,” I said. “Not tonight.”
I too
k off her shoes and threw them into the corner before I got up and put her jewelry onto her nightstand. She struggled to get underneath the covers with her dress getting in the way, and when I came over to help her, she grabbed onto my wrist.
“I really want you to fuck me,” she said. Her eyes were glazed over from the alcohol, and my dick twitched at her words, but I wasn’t going to touch her in the state she was in, much less stick my dick in her.
“You’re way too drunk, and I don’t roll that way. Now, head up.”
I tucked a pillow underneath her head before I smoothed the hair away from her face. She looked so peaceful, relaxed by the alcohol and overtaken with exhaustion. Maybe tonight, she would actually get a decent night’s sleep and feel rejuvenated like a woman deserved to feel.
When I figured she was asleep, I pressed a small kiss to her forehead. She shifted and brought the comforter up to her chin, her breaths evening out and her legs curling up into her body. How I wished I could crawl into bed with her and hold her through the night, but I had to get home.
I had to get back to my real life.
“Good night, Bridget,” I said as I walked to the door. I turned off her light and put my hand on the doorknob. Then a phrase that confused me slipped from between her lips.
“It’s Kimberly,” she said.
“What was that?” I asked.
“My name’s Kimberly Moore,” she said with a sigh.
She was much more drunk than I thought she was. I shook my head and shut the door behind me, but her statement stuck with me as I made my way back down the stairs. I knew she had a secret, and it was a secret that threatened to unravel everything she had worked for. The nervous ticks, the sleepless nights, and the nightmare that caused her to roll completely out of bed.
Was it possible that Bridget Meyers didn’t actually exist?
I shook the thought from my head while I locked her door behind me. It was just past one in the morning, and I would be up in a few hours with Lacey. I knew if I kept it at the forefront of my mind, I wouldn’t sleep at all.
They say that things said in a drunken stupor aren’t lies, just unfiltered thoughts because your guard has been brought down.
So, who the fuck was Kimberly Moore?
Chapter 15
Bridget
I woke up that morning with my head pounding. My body ached, and my mouth was dry. I cursed the amount of alcohol I’d drunk at that party. The sun was shining brightly through the windows, and I had to shut the blinds or suffer a worse fate than I was already experiencing. Had my stomach not been so empty, I probably would’ve thrown up the moment I went to the bathroom.
I splashed some water in my face before I swallowed down some from the sink. I needed to take a shower and put myself together before lunch with Rachel today. I promised her I would meet up and tell her all about the dinner. I reached into the shower and cut on the hot water, letting the bathroom fill up with steam before I stepped in.
The water ran over my skin, and the night began to come back in patches. Thomas in his suit, the way he eyed me in my dress, the glasses of wine we drank. I smiled at his memory, thinking about how beautiful it was that we matched. The foundation had been so ecstatic at the donation I’d given them last night, and I vaguely remembered giving someone my information so they could contact me at a later date about something. I’d probably have to get Thomas to fill in some of the details, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have let me give my number to someone he wasn’t sure about.
My vision was pounding from my headache. I washed my hair and lathered up my body, hoping my hangover would lift before lunch with Rachel. I was beyond ready to update her on how things were going with Thomas, but I didn’t want to do it feeling the way I currently was. I focused on the water cascading down my back and how it reminded me of Thomas’s fingertips. I allowed the steam to envelop me while it reminded me of Thomas’s breath on my neck. He was messing me up in ways I’d never felt before, and I was ready for the advice Rachel had to give me.
I got out of the shower and shoved my head back underneath the sink. It felt like someone had shoved rolls of cotton down my throat. After I’d guzzled my fill, I went and sat on the edge of the tub. I needed to find some headache medication, and I needed a strong cup of coffee. If I couldn’t get this hangover to settle down, I’d have to call Rachel and have her come here. I couldn’t be seen out in public feeling this bad, nor could I subject my best friend to the complaining I would ultimately do if I had to go into public with my head hanging against its own concrete foundation.
“Shit,” I whispered.
I dried myself off and put some clothes on before I made my way downstairs. Jeans and a flowing shirt would have to do it today because it wasn’t getting any better than this. I wanted to take Rachel somewhere where the paparazzi wouldn’t bombard us, but I knew there were very few places in L.A. that would take me in jeans and a shirt just to get away from them. I brewed a pot of coffee while I chugged another glass of water. Then I grabbed a slice of bread and doused it in peanut butter.
I looked over at the kitchen table and couldn’t get my mind off Thomas. That seemed to be his routine, lately: he’d come in while I was sleeping, have something in the kitchen, and then sit at the table and become absorbed in his phone until I woke up and came downstairs. I was getting used to him sitting there, with his tailored suits and his shining forehead greeting me first thing in the morning. I enjoyed our playful banter and the way the sun illuminated his face from the window that sat directly in front of him.
I couldn’t have been more elated when the coffee pot went off. I poured myself a massive tumbler of the beautiful black liquid before I doused it in creamer. Then I went back upstairs in search of my phone. Rachel would be calling any minute to confirm our plans, and I wanted to make sure I could tell her we were going out instead of staying in.
I sipped my coffee while I worked my way up the stairs. Pieces of the night continued to come back to me. I giggled at how Thomas wanted people’s photographs, and I thought back to the compliment he paid me when he first saw me. He told that the English language didn’t have the words to express how beautiful I was that night, and my stomach rolled with butterflies just thinking about it again.
I wondered if he meant what he said.
I entered my room just as I heard my phone ring. A part of me was hoping it was Thomas, but I knew who it was before I even got over to my phone. Rachel’s name was scrolling across my screen, and I sighed with a breath of relief when I finally felt my vision stabilize from my headache.
My hangover was slowly going away, which meant I could take her out for lunch.
“Hey, Rach,” I said.
“Hey! How you feeling after last night?” she asked.
“Like death warmed over, but it’s dissipating,” I said. “Still up for lunch?”
“I suppose I should ask you that same question,” she said.
“After I finish this half gallon of coffee, I’ll be good to go.”
“Well, don’t let your heart explode before you get there. I wanna know all the details. Where are we headed?”
“There’s this place downtown that serves a wonderful French lunch,” I said. “You know what I’m talking about?”
“I think so. On the same street as my sister’s place?”
“Yep. That one. You up for going there? They’ve got a room we can sink back into without people taking pictures.”
“Sounds good to me,” she said. “See you in an hour?”
“What time is it?”
“It’s 11:30,” she said, giggling.
“Shit. Yeah, in an hour. I won’t be in anything fancy ,though, so don’t worry about doing yourself up.”
“Something tells me you’re gonna sound better than you look, and you sound like hell.”
“Thanks, dick. I’ll see you soon.”
I called Bernie and told him my plans before I downed the rest of my coffee. I was looking forward to lunch with Rac
hel because it meant I got to tell her all about Thomas. She hadn’t had any updates at all since the night we went to the club. I hadn’t told her about what happened, even though she had stayed over that night. I wasn’t sure how Thomas would’ve felt about something like that, but I knew she knew something was brewing.
And I was anxious to tell her what it was.
I went downstairs and hopped in the car, and by the time we pulled up, it was just shy of 12:30. I had closed my eyes in the back and thrown on a pair of sunglasses before chugging the rest of my coffee, and I finally got my headache to dissipate. I hadn’t put on any makeup or done anything with my hair, so I smoothed my fingers through it a few times before I gave up on how it looked. If the paparazzi caught me, they caught me, and I could just tell them I wasn’t feeling well and was just running in to get some soup.
It would be a hell of a lot better for my image than telling them I was hungover from the charity auction.
I walked into the restaurant, and the woman behind the hostess stand simply pointed me to the back. Apparently, Rachel had already gotten here and explained the situation, and I was thankful that she had. I walked past a few people who I could tell were scrambling for their phones, but I slinked back behind the door before they could catch any good pictures of me.
