Page 5 of Bound to the Bodyguard

Evelyn’s eyes flickered over the note, absorbing the ominous message. Her brows knitted together before she masked her concern with an assuring smile. “Consider it done. I’ll handle this.”

“Thank you.” Without another word, I turned back to the party, my expression once again the very portrait of composure.

The gala swirled around me in a kaleidoscope of shimmering dresses and tuxedoed grandeur. I paused, the façade of the social butterfly shed, and let my eyes roam with precision across the room.

My gaze was sharp, analytical. I noted exits, servers weaving through clusters of guests with platters, the subtle bulges beneath the jackets of security personnel. My instincts, honed from years of being under the public eye, tingled with the awareness that every smile wasn’t friendly and every glance could conceal ill intentions.

Damn this letter.

Just then, amid the sea of faces, one stood out—a stoic island amidst the undulating waves of conversation and laughter. A man standing near a column appeared almost like a statue carved in honor of vigilance. His posture betrayed nothing of the casual demeanor typical of the event’s attendees, and his eyes, those piercing observatories, swept over the ballroom with a calculated intensity.

“Who is that?”

“Who?” Evelyn inquired, glimpsing the direction of my focused gaze. “New addition to the security detail. Jerome. Ex-military, if I’m not mistaken. He has that look.”

My attention lingered on Jerome. She knew him. He was undeniably older, but he used to live down the street from me. What a small world. Here was a man whose entire being exuded a readiness to act at a moment’s notice.

Does he see the world in threats and targets?

“Ms. Fields?” It was a patron reaching out with a program for an autograph.

“Of course,” I said, turning my charm back on like a switch and offering my signature with a flourish.

As I turned away from the autograph seeker, my pulse quickened. With each step, the layers of my poised exterior melted away, revealing the raw curiosity beneath.

“Are you heading back to the table?” Evelyn asked.

“In a moment.”

My stride was purposeful as I navigated through the clusters of guests, each step bringing me closer to the enigmatic bodyguard who had become the night’s most captivating mystery.

Jerome’s gaze followed my approach, unwavering and intense. It was as if he was peeling back my layers, seeing beyond the glamorous facade to the woman who fought tooth and nail for every inch of success. Yet there was no judgment in his eyes, only a quiet respect that mirrored my own.

“Mr. Dawson.”

“Ms. Fields,” Jerome’s voice was like smooth gravel, low and reassuring. “Enjoying the evening?”

“Immensely. Though it seems we have more than just philanthropy to discuss.”

Jerome’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes, those sharp, discerning pools of blue, hinted at a depth I was only beginning to fathom.

“Indeed.”

“Walk with me, Mr. Dawson.”

I started toward the terrace doors, the cool night air promising a respite from the suffocating glitz within. Jerome fell into step beside me, his presence a solid reassurance in the sea of uncertainty.

“Where are we going?” Jerome asked, though it was clear he’d follow my lead without question.

“To find some answers.”

And with a final glance over my shoulder, ensuring no one was paying us undue attention, I stepped out into the night, as I walked alongside the man who might just hold the key to the darkness encroaching on my life.

Jerome pushed a door open with one hand, allowing me to step through first. I hesitated on the threshold, a momentary flicker of doubt shadowing my resolve.

“Trust me,” Jerome said, meeting my gaze with an intensity that seemed to pierce my defenses.

How quickly trust becomes the currency of survival when fear lurks in familiar shadows.

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