Page 2 of Triple Protection

My sister, surprisingly enough, was the one to recommend Marshal. I guess he had worked for one of her clients that she represented as their lawyer and Marshal came recommended. I am grateful for the recommendation. Marshal's been an immense help in taking over more of the administrative roles so I can focus on content creation and follower relationships - the parts of the job I love the most.

I grab him by the shoulder and shake it a little, smiling. We fall in line together and discuss the logistics. I don't sponsor a company unless I can verify with my own eyes that the products are exactly how they're represented and made in America. When I was young and doing sponsorships on my own, I trusted companies to be honest, only to find that the "American" company I had partnered with was using photos that looked way better than the product itself, and that the actual product was cheaply made by slave labor from China. And with a million people trusting my brand to promote only the best products, I don't take chances anymore.

I was going to fly down to Dallas, Texas, to meet with Heather next week and get a tour of her facility before finalizing the last part of the negotiations and signing the contracts.

I take another deep breath. Sometimes it hits me all at once how lucky I am to have the job that I do. I get to take fun photos, chat with hundreds of "friends" online, and I get paid a ton of money to do it.

It gets lonely, being in the influencer sphere. My "friends" online aren't genuine friends. Even other influencers that I've met through networking events haven't become friends. The few times I've tried to make friends with other influencers they either treated me as competition or tried to hang out only so they could post about it for social leverage.

But I have Marshal and Courtney. And that's enough.

That's one of the reasons Marshal and I work so well together - we're both alone. It means there are no friends or families occupying our time, so text messages late at night or early in the morning are a common occurrence. We're both married to the work, so I don't feel bad when I wake up at 5 AM with an idea and shoot him off a text. And Marshal knows he can always call or text late at night, too.

We finish our loop, chatting comfortably, my calves and glutes burning. I give Marshal a hug goodbye and watch as he drives away in his sedan. I should really get him a present or something as a bonus for landing this Her Secret deal.

I pull my keys out from a pocket on my yoga pants and scoop to pick up the envelope I ignored earlier and let myself into my house. Humming to myself, I toss my keys on the kitchen counter and pull open the envelope. My house is one of those huge modern monstrosities. Marshal picked it out for me. He said it would fit my brand and be a beautiful backdrop to my lifestyle photographs. It was way too much house for me, but I didn't complain.

I pull the photograph from the envelope and stare at it, my brain struggling to process what my eyes are seeing. It was a grainy black-and-white photo of a woman sleeping. Of. Me. Taken from the inside of my bedroom. Handwritten along the bottom in thick black ink, it reads, "I hope you're dreaming of me."

I drop the photo and gasp, the shaking in my hands migrating to my entire body. Bile rises in my stomach and my mouth floods with saliva. I rush to the sink and unload my breakfast. I wipe my mouth with a hand towel before turning the water on and washing my vomit down the sink, still shaking.

Someone had been in my room. At night. While I slept. And I had no idea. They took a picture of me sleeping. They could have done anything, and I would have been caught off guard.They could have killed me, raped me, kidnapped me. Literally anything. Thick waves of nausea stirred in my stomach again and the abused organ spasmed painfully. My heart is pounding against the back of my ribs like I had just been running for my life and not on a leisurely stroll with Marshal.

Should I call Marshal? Should I tell him? Should I tell him to come back and protect me? What was Marshal going to do against an armed intruder if they were armed?

They hope I'm dreaming about them. What the fuck does that mean?

Tears pour out of my eyes as I wrap my arms around myself and will my body to stop shaking. My breath comes in fast and ragged, and I realize I'm spiraling out of control. I can't get enough air. I can't stop shaking. I go to my knees as the world spins and my head starts to ache. Black creeps into my vision and my last thought before I pass out is:if I'm unconscious, he can get to me.

Chapter four

Angela

How is this my life?

I'm in my formal sitting room a few days later, sitting across from a small Jewish woman and three stunning men. Mirium is sitting front and center, the woman in charge of this operation. She's small compared to the men surrounding her, but her confidence and electric smile exudes power. She's wearing a tight black dress with her salt and pepper hair in a sleek bun. I like her.

Mirium runs Cerberus, a private security firm that came highly recommended when I found myself in need of help. Cerberus is the best that money can buy, and they frequently provide security for royalty visiting or staying in the US, politicians, and celebrities. I take a deep breath and run my sweaty hands down my thighs.

After brief introductions, I led them to the sitting room so we could talk. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. I've been living in fears for days and my hope, my prayer thatthese men can help me is palpable. If they can't help me... well, I don't want to go there.

“We received your request for security and a brief overview of your situation, but I like to speak to potential clients in person to get a real feel for that situation we’re walking in to.” Miriam starts. “These three here are my best men. Liam,” she says, motioning to the man next to her, “specializes in surveillance systems and cyber-terrorism."

Liam smiles and nods. He's so handsome it's hard to look directly at him. He's the smaller of the three men, but still easily over 6 feet tall, with a lean, muscular body. Wearing faded jeans and a plain white shirt, he looks every bit of a Calvin Klein model, with dirty blonde hair and stunning forest-green eyes. His easy, lopsided grin speaks of confidence. He knows he's gorgeous. He knows what kind of affect he has on women. While his good looks make me slightly nervous, his kind eyes and easy smile relax me a little.

“Alex,” Mirium continues, motioning to the dark-haired man scowling next to Liam, “specializes in event and situational security." Alex is wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans with black boots. His dark hair is slightly longer at the top and his dark brown eyes are severe. He has a strong, square jaw with a dimple in the center of his chin and a gorgeous, scruffy, black, five o'clock shadow that adds to his rugged, bad-boy vibe. But the look in his eye says he doesn't like me. That he would rather be anywhere else. I don't know what I did already to piss him off and I feel suddenly like I'm back at school and in trouble with the principal. I steel my nerves, rolling my shoulders back and locking eyes with him. I don't care if he hates me or why, as long as he can protect me.

"And Brick here," she says, motioning to the literal giant of a man who to this moment has remained unmoving, “well he’s just a scary mother fucker."

He's bigger than any other man I’ve seen before. Taller, thicker. He has a broad, barrel chest and huge, thick biceps and forearms. Shit, even his hands and fingers seem unusually thick. His thighs look like they are as wide as my waist and he simply looks silly sitting in a small chair, as if normal human furniture is too small for him. His gorgeous dark brown hair was just long enough to run your fingers through and a nicely trimmed beard that completes his mountain-man image.

However, he's not really meeting my eye contact. He's stealing glances at me before his eyes dart to my chin, my lap, the floor, or the room around us. I'll have to unpack that later. For however shifty his eyes are, though, there's a quiet about him. A calm that I appreciate.

I shake Liam's and Alex's hands, but when I hold my hand out to Brick, he doesn't move. "He doesn't like to be touched." Liam offers quietly.

"Oh, okay," I reply before wiping my palm on my skirt and sitting down again. "Sorry."

I don't really care if Alex hates me, or Brick doesn't want to look at me. If these men can keep me safe, I don't care at all what they do. I can feel the desperation creeping through me. It's been a familiar companion this past week, this feeling of desperation. I feel like a cornered rabbit, waiting for the wolf to devour me at any moment. My heart rate and blood pressure have been haywire for the last few days. I'm on the brink of another panic attack. I can feel it.

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