Page 8 of Flirtatious

Now she’s offering him breakfast? Oh, no. Not happening.

I march downstairs to find the two of them chatting like they’re the best of friends. “Sorry to break up this little morning coffee klatsch thing you have going on, but if anyone is going to interview prospective employees, it’s me.”

Turning toward the oversized thing in front of me, I march right up to him and size him up, starting from his feet. He’s taller than Michael, but that doesn’t mean he’s any good at his job. In fact, it might mean he’s like a big, bumbling clown who can’t move fast if danger approaches.

Still, I feel like it takes my eyes forever to travel up his long legs and those black dress pants. Nice chest in that mint green dress shirt, although that doesn’t have to be a good thing. Clearly, this lug works out.

“What makes you qualified to protect the likes of someone at my level?” I ask.

As I wait for his answer, my gaze drifts over his arms and I can’t help but wonder how big those biceps are. Does he live in the gym? That’s not going to happen if he works for me. I’m not paying some guy to be a gym rat. Let him do that on his own time.

When I look up at his face, I see nothing but disgust in his expression, which pisses me off. This could be the best gig in the world for someone like him, and he looks like he wants to throw up.

Nice attitude there, bud.

But his eyes are the bluest shade of blue I’ve ever seen, and next to his dark brown, nearly black hair, they seem to sparkle. Nice. Then again, what the hell does it matter what a bodyguard’s eyes look like? As long as they see anything that could hurt me, I don’t care what color they are.

Even if they’re literally the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen.

I take one final glance at him in total, noticing he’s got great shoulders, but I can’t let myself get distracted by that. It’s not hard to get shoulders like that. Michael had nice shoulders. Hell, I’ve seen hundreds of men who have shoulders that look like this guy’s. It’s nothing terribly special. Just comes from some working out. Nothing special about that.

He doesn’t look like anyone who would listen to my music, which is a huge problem. Even worse, the way he stares down at me but says nothing to answer my very simple question irritates me. This guy wants to work for me but thinks he can look at me with disdain?

Oh, no, pal. No way.

“Mia, it’s clear the man is qualified,” my mother says as he and I continue our staring match.

I don’t tear my gaze away as I hold up my hand to stop her. “No. I want him to tell me, not you. I’m the goddamned client here. I’m the one he’ll be expected to protect, so I’m the one he needs to answer.”

But still he says nothing.

Staring me down, he finally clears his throat after nearly a minute passes of us staring at one another and says in a deep voice, “I’ve worked for Senator Stanford, the head of Cititrust, and an actress you may know, Angela Manning.”

Still refusing to break the stare, I say, “Not a single one of those people are anywhere as big as me.”

He shrugs, and for the first time, I see a hint of a smile that does nothing but infuriate me more. “Senator Stanford was a pretty beefy guy. Even bigger than you.”

I step back from him and turn to glare at my mother. “A funny guy? Exactly the one thing in a man you know I hate.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not here for that,” he says smugly.

I snap my attention back to him to see him grinning. Who the hell does this guy think he is?

“Mia, he’s exactly who we need,” my mother says in her soft, social worker voice that never fails to enrage me. I hate when she attempts to handle me like this. “Give him a chance.”

Now I swivel my head to look over at her and bark, “Who we need? Are you now famous and need a bodyguard? I’m struggling to think of a single manager anyone ever gave a damn about.”

I’m not interested in hearing another word from either of these people, so I march back to my room and slam the door. I had a head of security I could trust. Michael cared about me. We were friends. We were more than friends. He wasn’t only a bodyguard who was willing to go behind my mother’s back and let me have the happiness I so desperately crave. He was someone who truly cared for me.

And now my mother has sent him away just like she sends everyone away.

I grab my phone off my dresser and call Michael. He’ll know what to do. He always does. He’ll have a plan that will make this all better. Then my mother will see that I don’t need Mr. Big and Rude downstairs. I just need the one person I can trust to protect me like he always has since I was sixteen.

My heart sinks as I hear his phone ring and ring and then my call goes to voicemail. I listen to his gentle voice tell me to leave a message, reveling in the sound of a familiar, friendly soul who cares about me.

With tears welling in my eyes, I say, “Michael, it’s Mia. I know my mother fired you, but I can undo that. Call me so we can figure out what to do next. I miss you.”

Falling back onto the bed, I hold my phone to my chest and wait for him to call back. He never makes me wait more than a minute or two. That’s one of the things I love about him. He always shows that I’m his number one priority, unlike everyone else around me.

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