Page 10 of Guarded

“What’s the plan for today?” he asks. I look around, making sure there are no ghosts in the house.Nope. No ghosts.

“I’m sorry. Are we talking to each other now?” I ask.

It’s rude, but the question falls out of my mouth all the same. Nero and I don’t talk. He just sort of tolerates me, and I think of him as the shadow getting paid to follow me.

I also feel like it’s easier to ignore him than remember the very awkward dildo situation because that wasn’t the only time he caught me doing something embarrassing.

There was this one time he was guarding Thalia’s penthouse around Halloween. Trying to get my little cousins to laugh, I stuck candy corn in my mouth to look like fangs. Right as I was saying “I vant to suck yer blood”-in walks Nero. Stares right at me and arches a brow.

Another time, I’m more than positive he was looking right at me the night my cousin Thalia convinced me to play Truth or Dare in the hotel bar. I picked truth because truth is always safe. Right?

Wrong.

Her friend Osiel asks me if I would rather get my ass eaten or a pearl necklace. This was before Gen explained to me what a white pearl necklace was. Ya, look that up on Google. It’s mortifying. So, excuse me if I’d rather eat a bowl of glass than have this man laugh in my face.

My strategy was to avoid him, keeping the conversation short or, even better, nonexistent. This strategy has been working perfectly until now.

“I thought it would make our lives easier if we tried.” He says. I’m not buying it.

“You can’t be that desperate for friends,” I say, narrowing my eyes on him.

“Believe me, I’m not trying to be your friend, but I think we can have a mature client-employee relationship.”

He sounds so confident when he talks. With so much authority, he stares down at me. I’m not short by any means, buthe still towers me by a good half a foot. I freeze when he sticks out his hand and clears his throat.

“Deal.” He grumbles.

Rings adorn his fingers. There is a tattoo covering his hand. A gun, it looks like. His index and middle fingers are covered with the muzzle, while the trigger and grip stop at his wrist.

I place my hand in his. My cold one clashes with the heat of his in a warm embrace. A silent contract. He pulls away quicker than I can admit I want him to. I smile and stand there, unsure what to say or do now.

Pulling out my pink notepad, I start writing my grocery list for the day. It’s Sunday, and I like going shopping in town. I hesitate to ask, but I can’t be rude. I mean, I could, but that was before the pact.

“Do you need anything from the grocery store?” I ask.

His back is to me. When he worked at the hotel, he wore suits, but as my bodyguard, his daily attire is always black jeans and a black shirt. I liked the shirts better because they molded to the muscles he hid underneath.

“The princess shops? Or is this for pick up?” he smirks before bringing a cup of coffee to his lips.

Suddenly, I’m nervous about what to say or how to act. He’s a grown man, and I have never actually lived with another man.Pues obvio.I’ve never even had a fucking boyfriend.

“Relax. I’m just joking.” He says, picking up on my anxiety.

“Oh. Yeah. I like going into the store. I’m like an eighty-year-old woman trapped in a twenty-three-year-old’s body.” I laugh nervously.

“I’ll go with you,” he offers.

I want to tell him, no, but I remember the pact. I need to try to get along with this man.

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An hour later, Nero and I are at the grocery store together. I walk down every aisle, checking my list before crossing off each item—chicken, rice, veggie—my thoughts blank at the sight of Nero walking toward me.

I was relieved when we split up at the entrance. Being too close to him makes me nervous, like awkward high-fiving nervous. He gives me a sheepish grin before he places a case of Modelo and ramen noodles in the cart. Completely ruining my strategic cart organization.

“Eww. Absolutely not. Ramen Noodles are filled with a ton of GMOs, and-”

“Ariella, I’ve survived the last thirty years on ramen noodles and haven’t had one complaint about my body,” he says, interrupting me. I don’t take the bait to look at said body.

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