Page 328 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

Her Bad Boy Bodyguard

KRISTI AVALON

One

When a bad day can’t get worse…

“You go to a bar,” Lara Atlas finished her dismal thought out loud.

Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her steering wheel, hands cold on the October evening in the Rocky Mountains. A strong drink was exactly what she needed.

The hula girl on her dashboard shimmied her hips in cheerful agreement. A tacky but beloved keepsake from her bucket list trip to Hawaii six months ago, Lara had bought the cheap, frivolous thing at the airport kiosk. She brought it home to remind herself life was short, and she could give herself permission to have a little fun in the sun.

Today had been a plunge into the icy polar opposite of fun. More like straight out of a nightmare.

She still hadn’t shaken the arctic chill that had settled in her bones as she watched her boss, Mark Landon, lose it while expressionless federal agents hauled boxes of paperwork and laptops from the second-floor three-room office where she worked for Landmark Financial Services.

Had worked—past tense, she realized, still dismantled inside by the upheaval.

Only hours ago, her livelihood and Mark Landon’s company had disintegrated into a maelstrom of accusations. The miserable afternoon kicked off with an authoritative knock on the office door. Agents entered waving a cease-and-desist letter and a warrant to seize all company property, followed by Mark’s arrest.

Blustering with fury, her boss had eventually been led away in handcuffs. He’d paused on the way out to send her a steely-eyed look.

“This is all a misunderstanding. I promise, Lara.” His stare had swiftly morphed into a glare. “Go straight home tonight. Talk to no one. I’ll call you in the morning once I’ve spoken to my attorney and posted bail.”

Caught completely off guard, she was still left in the dark, knowing only the charge typed on the warrant. None of the agents requested to speak with her. Regardless, she’d wracked her brain wondering what their line of questioning might have been because she harbored plenty of questions and fresh doubts herself.

After the initial terrible shock wore off, her mind spun in a dozen directions. Her chief priority included not ending up in shackles like her boss.

As she drove in a frigid daze, despite the heat blasting through her car vents, the neon lights of The Tiki Retreat caught her eye. She’d met her girlfriends there every Thursday night for months, planning their Hawaiian vacation.

Right now, she needed an escape—from the harsh reality of today and the scary, unknown future ahead. In one afternoon, her whole world had turned upside down.

Swerving into the strip mall, she pulled her car into the nearly empty lot. Since buying her new car five weeks ago, she had parked away from other vehicles out of habit. No new-car dings on her pristine purchase, thanks.

Lara tapped her finger against the hula girl’s upraised plastic hand, giving a mini high-five. The little doll’s grass skirt fluttered. “One drink. I need to get out of my head.”

Hula girl’s hips jiggled as she waved with her perpetually beaming smile. Lara wished she could borrow a little of that optimism.

When she entered the bar, the blare of Rastafarian steel-drum rhythms matched her pounding heart. She dragged herself onto a stool at the long bar, which was decorated overhead with straw thatching resembling a tiki hut. Lanterns, hung at intervals, glowed orange and flickered with fake flames. She wished she could be somewhere far away, on a beach, listening to the calming ocean, digging her toes into warm sand.

The cute bartender Ray finished wiping the edge of a glass and approached. He glanced at his watch and then grinned at her. “You’re here on a Tuesday? Without the usual girl crew?”

“I don’t even know what day it is,” she muttered. “My week—my life—is shot to hell.”

Ray sent her a compassionate glance. “Rough one? I’ve got a cure for that. A pineapple upside-down cake martini.”

“Bring it on.”

She appreciated the normalcy of watching Ray mix a drink in the metal shaker and pour the yellow-tinted liquor combo into a martini glass he’d rimmed with crystals of raw sugar. After depositing her drink, he crossed his arms on the bar. His forehead furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything?”

“Oh, well if that’s all.” He slid her an appealing grin. “Here I thought maybe you came by just to see me.” His bright blue eyes twinkled in the low light.

Wait, was he flirting with her? Damn. She thought of all the times she would’ve enjoyed taking him home at last call…an exciting hookup with a sexy guy to break her dating dry spell… But the timing couldn’t be worse.

“No, sorry,” she said, feeling even more miserable.

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