Page 17 of The Bodyguard

“No. You won’t. Where is Cindy?” I ask Nick, referring to his PA.

“She had a medical appointment.” Nick leans over and kisses my cheek. “Calm down. We are just having fun.”

Calm down?

Ryder clears his voice and I glance up at him. Something on his face tells me to let it go. I draw in a slow breath.

“I’ll go sort the team.” Gina presses her lips together and walks off after giving me a droll look.

“You’re mean to her.” Nick bumps my hips.

“No, I’m not. She works for me. You need to stop encouraging her.” I start walking again.

“She’s a fan.” He shrugs as his phone rings. Then wiggles his fingers as he turns in the opposite direction to take his call. “Gotta go, babe.”

Ryder walks quietly an inch behind me as I keep my thoughts to myself. But I sense his support in an unspoken way, as if he was as unimpressed with that scene as I was.

Maybe I need to speak to Gina.

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LATER IN THE AFTERNOON, we head into my manager’s office for the last meeting of the day.

Michelle leaps up from her chair when she sees me. “Congratulations, honey.”

“Thank you.” I grin, hugging her back. She glances over my shoulder, and I follow her line of sight. “Oh, don’t worry—”

“About me. I’m in training.” Ryder’s deep timber voice says super deadpan.

“You don’t look like you’re last off the rank.” Michelle boldly looks him up and down.

“The terrorists in Iraq didn’t think so either. But Ms. Sinclair is the boss.”

My mouth drops open as Michelle snickers and walks back around her desk.

“You were in Iraq,” I say, then swallow.

Ryder crosses his arms. “You think they hire mall security officers to protect the elite across America?”

Michelle clears her throat and I swing my head back to her, then again to Ryder.

This conversation is not over.

Damn. I’ve offended him.

“Thank you for your service,” I say, and he snorts, unimpressed.

“You two can bicker later. Let’s talk about this nomination,” Michelle says, sitting back down.

I need to apologize, and I will.

I skip over to one of the chairs and do a little dance. “I can’t believe I’ve been nominated for a fucking Golden Globe.”

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A FEW HOURS later, I drop the box of fan mail on my kitchen counter while Ryder does his thing inspecting the house.

I’m still a little annoyed at him for trying to rearrange my schedule this morning. And for not telling me who he was last weekend.

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