Page 26 of The Bodyguard

I arch an eyebrow. “Ramp things up?”

He sits back again, once more glancing around him, and it’s only just clicked with me why he does that so often. It’s his fucking job! He has to stay alert, be aware of his surroundings and the people around him. Around us. Me. “Make this fake relationship of ours a bit more… believable.” His eyes are back on mine, and he’s smiling slightly. Yeah. He looks so much better when he smiles, although, to be fair, he can really carry off that moody look, too. “This whirlwind“romance”that’s developed between us this week. Maybe we need to give everyone something to talk about, so that when we walk into that dinner tomorrow night, together, they’ll actually believe it’s for real. Because, right now, I’m not feeling one-hundred-per-cent commitment coming from your end.”

“You’re not exactly award winning material yourself.”

“Then we both need to try a little harder.”

That’s almost an instruction, but I hold his gaze and don’t rise to it. I don’t say anything, because he’s right. I’m finding it harder than I thought it would be to fake a relationship, and that’s probably due to the fact I’m still getting over the end of a real one. And I didn’t tell my dad that, of course I didn’t. I told him what he wanted to hear, but tomorrow, he’s going to want to see things for himself. So we have work to do.

“Is it a problem?”

I narrow my eyes slightly. “Iswhata problem?”

“This. Us.”

“You were a problem from the beginning.”

“You know what I mean, Lena.”

I sigh quietly and down another mouthful of wine. I appear to have stopped sipping. “It just feels weird. Relationships don’t happen that fast.”

“Don’t they?” It’s his turn to arch a brow, but I’m still frowning. “So, I take it you don’t believe in love at first sight?”

“Doyou?”

He drops his gaze, and for a moment I’m sure I saw his expression change, like something hit a nerve. Or maybe I was just imagining it because when his eyes meet mine again his expression is back to being stoic. Impassive. Verging on cold, actually, so maybe wehavehit a nerve after all.

“We need to make this work, Lena.”

Nice piece of swerving there. “I know.” I finish my wine and pick up my bag. “We should be getting back to the office.”

“Okay. You’re the boss.”

And he’d do well to remember that.

I beckon a waitress over and ask for the check, and as we wait we fall into a comfortable silence. He sits back and people-watches, and I look at my phone. There’s a text from my mother telling me I need to pick a dress to wear to the charity dinner tomorrow night, and that she’s left a selection for me to choose from in my room. Being an ex-model, my mother has connections far and wide in the fashion industry. She receives freebies from stores and designers ranging from the up-and-coming to the established high-end, not just from here in the north-east of England but from all over the world, I can’t remember the last time she actually bought anything from a shop. And she knows what I like, she knows my style, so there should be something there that I’ll want to wear, even though I’ve got perfectly decent outfits hanging up in my wardrobe. Not sure why being seen in the same thing twice is such a fashion faux-pas, to be honest. It kind of isn’t, in my world.

As soon as the check’s paid we leave the café and start walking back to work in relative silence, only striking up small talk when we enter the building. And as we reach the elevators, and the doors slide open, Bodie gently lays a hand on my lower back, a gesture that only someone who’s more than familiar with the other person would do. A subtle gesture, but quite an intimate one all the same, yeah, he’s good at this. Has he played pretend before? But the second the door closes his hand falls away, and I breathe out. I hadn’t even been aware that I’d been holding my breath, not until he moved his hand.

As we make our way along the corridor towards my office, we resume the small talk, leaning into each other as we pretend to share a joke, and I laugh, and then his hand briefly touches mine and I once again wish I’d ordered that sandwich.

“Coffee?” he asks, arching a near-perfect eyebrow, why hadn’t I noticed that before? How perfect his eyebrows are.

“Erm, yeah. Please. Black, no…”

“I know how you like your coffee, Lena.”

“Okay.” He’s obviously taking more notice of things than I give him credit for.

“I won’t be long.”

Of course he won’t.

I watch him as he strides along the corridor to the kitchen at the end of the wide, bright hallway, smiling at everyone he passes, he blends in so well. So easily. But, I guess that’s what he’s paid to do. What he’s good at.

Pushing open my office door, I walk straight over to the window and look down at the city I love. And I take a long, deep breath and try to get my head straight because it doesn’t matter what I want, or what I don’t want, I get no choice. Not anymore. Everything’s changed. And when I told Bodie this wasn’t a game, that wasn’t strictly true. What my father does; the consequences of his actions, surely that makes us all pawns in a very dangerous game, one that isn’t being played fairly. And I can only hope that when it ends, the right side wins.

Eight

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