Show Stopper: A Single Dad Bodyguard Romance

by Amy Brent

  I couldn't tell her I wasn’t angry because I was. I couldn't tell her things were all right because they weren’t. I couldn’t hold her close and tell her she was fine because she wasn’t. Not with me.

  And I had no fucking idea why I gave so much of a shit.

  “Well, I’m all right,” I said, lying. At this point, I had no issues with lying to her. She’d fucking pretended to be a totally different person with me. Not divulging how I actually felt was a drop in the ocean she had already created between us.

  And then, the selfish actress rose back up to the surface.

  “Please promise me you won’t tell anyone,” she said.

  “I promise,” I said, nodding. “No one will hear it from me.”

  She looked pleased enough, so she choked down the rest of her coffee before she brushed by me. She reached out her hand to put it on my shoulder, but I moved away from her grasp before I even knew I’d make that move. In that very moment, I’d given away the lie I’d just told her, and a sad sigh left her lips before she headed for the staircase.

  I was a lot angrier than I originally thought I was, and part of me wondered if I should look for a different job.

  When she came down the stairs, I heard Bernie pull up into the driveway. She opened the door without waiting for me and got into the car before I had a chance to open her door. Something had fundamentally shifted between the two of us, and I knew it the moment she sat on the other side of the car. Usually she sat beside me, or on the other side of the same seat, but today, she sat herself on the opposite end of the car altogether and closed her eyes.

  I studied her as she fell asleep on our way to the set. I saw the bags underneath her eyes and how puffy and red they were. I saw the few marks I’d left on her neck from last night and how she curled herself up into a ball on the seat. I saw how she gripped her clothes tight around her, like she was trying to physically put a barrier between herself and the secret that plagued her daily thoughts.

  The guilt was eating her alive, and I didn’t know if I could stick around and watch.

  When we got to set, I shook her awake, and her eyes flew open and connected with mine. They were wide with terror for a split second before she backed away from my touch altogether. She got out of the car before I did and didn’t wait for me to open the set door for her. By the time I was out of the car and sending Bernie off, she was already inside. Even though she’d hired me as her bodyguard for peace of mind, she was trying to put as much distance between us as she could.

  And it broke a part of me I didn’t understand.

  I watched her shoot her scenes all day, and I couldn’t help but wonder at all the other things she might be hiding. Maybe she had a child somewhere she didn’t want to surface to the media, or a secret husband she kept locked in a lair. Maybe the “Kimberly Moore” story was a cover for a much more sinister secret that put my life and the life of my daughter in danger.

  Maybe she had witnessed a murder and was in witness protection or had pertinent information on a group she’d sold her soul to just to get ahead in her career.

  I knew I sounded insane, but my mind was whirling at a thousand miles a second. I couldn’t deny that there was an innate trust required between the two of us to bring this woman around my daughter, especially if the paparazzi associated her with us. Right now, I was just her faceless bodyguard, but if they ever caught wind that she was hanging out with my daughter, we would be bombarded by the same cameras I tried to mask Bridget from.

  Kimberly. I meant Kimberly.

  Right? Or did she still want me to call her Bridget?

  Fuck this bullshit. I needed a new job. Now, I didn’t even know what to call my boss. The illusion she had created for me, and sucked my entire body into, had been shattered the moment she told me she was someone else, and I was beginning to realize that maybe I couldn’t really cope with that.

  “And, that’s a wrap!” the director called out. “Great job today, guys. Really great job. Go home and get some rest, and I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

  I stepped out of the shadows to wait for her gaze to search for me. I watched her chat with her co-stars before she turned her back to me. Then she started off for hair and makeup without once looking around to see if I was there.

  That was the moment I realized something had fundamentally shifted for her as well. I needed some time to think.

  Chapter 19

  Bridget

  I had more scenes to film today for this budget horror film, but Thomas had been distant the past couple of days. I knew it had something to do with my secret, but I had no idea why. He promised me he wouldn’t tell anyone and he hadn’t quit, so why did I feel like he was questioning something?

  I’d really started to like Thomas. Out of all the men I’d been with since I started this journey with my career, I had never trusted someone like I did him. I felt like I could tell him anything, but the best part about it was I felt like I could be myself. Being famous was partially doing your job and partially portraying a person the world wants to admire. It’s never simply being yourself, with the flaws you have and the quirks you possess. It’s all about showcasing a person the world could put on a pedestal and see as a role model. Everything from my looks to the way I spoke was dictated to me by my agent and PR people, in order to establish the perfect persona my audience wants to see.

  But with Thomas, I didn’t have to be any of that. I could be tired and cranky in the mornings, and I could walk around without a bra on. I could wear booty shorts and tank tops and not be called out for it in the tabloids, and I could wake up with my makeup smudged and he didn’t give a flying fuck. And maybe that was just part of his job. Maybe he was just fucking me because I let him, and all those thoughts were running through his head. Maybe he secretly judged me when I wasn’t around and stuck his dick in me when I let him because I was Bridget Meyers, and who the hell wouldn’t want to fuck me?

  But I didn’t feel like that was him. When I was around him, in his arms, or sitting beside him, I felt like me.

  Like Kimberly Moore.

  I guess that was why I’d wanted to tell him so badly. Yes, I’d met his daughter and exposed her to a person that didn’t really exist, and that played a part. But really, I wanted him to know who I was.

  I’d never been as close to anyone as I had been with Thomas, and I was watching it slowly fade away from me before my very eyes.

  Sure, I’d gotten close to guys while I was in this industry: co-stars I screwed and extras that I thought were really cool. With one movie I did, I got close to the hair and makeup guy, and we went out a few times before things fizzled out. But I never felt like I could tell any of these people my secret. Ever since I became famous, I’d never felt compelled to tell my secret to any man I’d gotten to know until I met Thomas.

  And that shit was a big deal.

  I trusted him with everything. Not just the front key to my door or my body or the inner workings of my career and beauty. I trusted him with my past. With the things that brought me to this point. With the nightmares I had and the guilt I felt and the tears that soaked my pillow at two in the morning when I couldn't sleep. I trusted him with the things that made me the most vulnerable in my life, and I realized that could be devastating to my career if I let it go on long enough.

  So, I figured I had to talk to him.

  “Thomas?” I asked.

  “Hm?” He looked over at me.

  “Could I talk with you before we get to the set?”

  We were riding in the back of the car with Bernie at the helm. This was the first time he’d looked at me all morning. His eyes were hazy and distant, looking through me instead of at me, and I knew from the moment I started the conversation that I wasn’t going to like its outcome.

  “You know I trust you, right?” I asked.

  “I’d hope so,” he said. “I’m your bodyguard.”

  “But you know you’re more than just a bodyguard,” I said. “I mean, you know th
at, right?”

  I smiled at him, but I could tell his expression grew hesitant. His eyes looked back out the window, and he shifted in his seat, sliding ever so slightly toward the window like he was trying to get as far away as possible. I tried not to panic, telling myself I was just reading way too much into things, but when he spoke up, I realized I wasn’t.

  I realized I’d made a terrible mistake by telling him.

  “I’m just your bodyguard,” he said.

  “Look, I know things have been weird between us ever since I told you about, well, you know.”

  “No, they haven’t,” he said.

  “Thomas—”

  “Bridget, look. I’m here to do a job, and I’m just a bit tired. Lacey was up late last night, and it took a bit of coaxing to get her into school this morning.”

  “Is she all right?” I asked. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “You’ve done enough,” he said.

  I felt my heart fall to my toes in that very instant. I slowly panned my gaze out the window and watched the trees flow by, wishing I could rewind the past couple of days and redo them altogether. This man had messed me up in ways I wasn’t even familiar with, and I’d dug myself a hole I didn’t know how to get out of.

  “Are you having second thoughts about being my bodyguard?” I asked.

  “Bridget—”

  “Just answer the question, Mr. Jeffries.”

  I felt his gaze slide over to me, but I forced myself not to look back. If addressing him in a formal manner would get him to talk to me, if being his boss would get him to be honest with me, then I’d be those things in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t keep a man of his many talents somewhere he didn’t want to be, especially if he took that stress home to his beautiful little daughter.

  They both deserved better than that.

  “I have been, yes,” he said.

  “You know, it took a lot of trust on my part to open my body up to you, but it took a hell of a lot of risk to open up my past to you.”

  “I can only imagine,” he said.

  “And you know that, besides my agent and myself, you’re the only one that knows, right?”

  “I understand,” he said.

  I turned my head to hook my gaze with his and was astonished at the way he was looking at me. His eyes were connected with mine, but there was a glimmer of hesitation behind them. Like maybe he didn’t know who he was looking at, or maybe he wasn’t sure about anything regarding me anymore.

  “You know I’m still the same person,” I said. “Just a different name, that’s all.”

  “I don’t know if I believe that,” he said.

  I felt the heart that slid to the floor shatter into pieces underneath my toes. I turned my gaze before he could see tears rise to my eyes as we pulled into the studio parking lot. It hurt to be around him. A few days ago, he was looking at me as if I were the best spread of dessert he’d ever witnessed, wrapped in the most beautiful packaging. He looked at me as if I had been made only for him, and he shook my body in ways no man had.

  And now, he looked at me like I was a stranger to be feared. I was no longer the desirable woman he thought he once had, and I knew at that very moment, I wouldn’t be able to look at him. I wouldn’t be able to watch him in the studio and not have my heart shatter. Instead of screaming, I’d want to be crying, and if I got to crying on set and looked over at him, it would rage out of control.

  I couldn’t let him affect my career, so I knew what I had to do.

  “You can catch a cab home, Mr. Jeffries,” I said.

  “I’m not gonna leave you like that, Bridget,” he said.

  “Miss Meyers.”

  “What?”

  “My name is Miss Meyers, Mr. Jeffries, and you are free to leave.”

  I put my hand on the doorknob and slammed the door open. I had no right to be as upset as I was, but I was angry nonetheless. I’d bared everything to him, and instead of talking with me about it and taking it in stride, he was pulling away from me. And maybe that was easy for him to do. Maybe he’d fucked tons of women like me, and I was nothing special to him.

  But he was special to me, and I had to make him un-special somehow. And that meant distance.

  “Seriously, I’m not leaving you,” he said. “I still have a job to do.”

  “If you have been debating on whether or not to stay on my payroll, then you should do it at home with a clear mind.”

  “I can do it on set while keeping you safe,” he said.

  “Then keep your distance.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because you’re not the only one affected by this, that’s why!”

  I turned my hot gaze toward him, and for a split second, I watched him falter. Just like he’d done in the dress shop when we were shopping for a tux, I watched how much he was hurting me finally register in the back of his mind.

  “Bridget—”

  “Miss Meyers,” I said.

  “Miss Meyers, I still have a job to do. I’m debating, I’m not leaving. Your unique situation is one that takes a bit to digest.”

  “Join the club,” I said, seething.

  I walked into the studio, trying to get away from him as fast as I could. I was due in hair and makeup thirty minutes ago, and I knew the director wouldn’t be happy with me. I got ready as fast as I could and set up for my first scene, but when I looked up at the camera, I saw Thomas standing right there beside the director.

  Of course, he would be front and center. Fucking asshole.

  We shot the scenes we needed to, and I threw my frustration into my acting. It was the only day in my entire career that the reshoots weren’t a result of something I was doing, and I puffed my chest out in pride because of it. I was done three hours before I thought I would be, which meant I could do whatever I wanted. I could send Thomas home, call up Rachel, and cry over the pathetic state of my existence.

  You know, without divulging too many details.

  I walked out to the car, and Thomas opened the door for me. I slid in before he ducked in after me, and I took a deep breath to begin my conversation. I was going to tell him he could go home soon. I was going to tell him to take the rest of the evening to think about things and let me know what he wanted to do about his job.

  But what came flying out of his mouth was much worse.

  “Miss Meyers, would it be all right if I took tomorrow off?”

  “Sure, is everything all right with your daughter?” I asked.

  “She’s fine. I could just use the time to think, like you said.”

  “Set not as soothing as you thought it would be?” I asked.

  “Not particularly.”

  “Yes, you can have tomorrow off,” I said. “Take the weekend to think about things, and let me know Monday what you would like to do about your position.”

  “Thank you.”

  We rode the rest of the way in silence back to the house, and I scooted as close to the window as I could. I didn’t want to feel anything that remotely resembled him: not his body heat, not the breath from his words, not his stare. Nothing. I wanted to pretend he wasn’t there. To pretend he didn’t exist. I wanted to act like the past couple of weeks had never happened and that Bernie had never talked me into getting a bodyguard. I wanted to fire him and go back to the way things were, dealing with my nightmares with sleeping medication and hoping for the best.

  Because when I was lonely, at least I didn’t have a reminder of it. I woke up alone, I went to bed alone, and I had no one there during the day to reinforce what loneliness felt like. When you’re in the dark, you adjust. When you have no light, you never know what you’re missing. Your eyes adjust, and the room slowly comes into view, and soon, you can dodge the furniture again to get to the bathroom to pee.

  But when someone cuts the lights on, even for a few seconds, your eyes sting, and they begin to water. The pain of the light is unbearable until your eyes adjust, and suddenly, you realize how beautiful the room is.
You notice the decorative crown molding and see the color of the plush carpet underneath your feet. You take in the sheer curtains that match the bedspread and get a glimpse of the bath tub you don’t use because you can’t see the faucet.

  You even catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a shell of what you used to be before the darkness happened.

  And then, like a switch, the light is off again, and you have to cope with the beauty that was just ripped away from you.

  That’s what it felt like when Thomas first entered. My loneliness was fine. I was used to it, used to navigating in the dark to the bathroom. I was used to getting just what I needed and nothing else. And then he happened. He walked into my home and flipped on the light switch, and suddenly, he was showing me things I was missing out on. Passion and hilarity and throwing caution to the wind. Laughter that hurt your stomach, and company to ride in the car with. He showed me unabandoned safety, and how someone could make you feel secure in yourself, even in the moments where you felt most vulnerable.

  Like when he was plowing his hips into mine while pinning me against the wall.