Page 2 of Bodied

“Can I help you?” the man at the front desk asked. “Those elevators require a key card.”

“Of course they do,” Wesley muttered as he made his way to the front desk. He pulled out his identification and showed the concierge his credentials. “I need to get to the tenth floor, please. I have a client waiting.”

“Do you live here?”

Wesley pushed his identification and credentials closer as a not-so-subtle hint to the man behind the counter. “I’m personal security, sir. Call my company if you need confirmation. My client is waiting on the tenth floor. I wasn’t informed that I required a key.”

He waited while the concierge took his cards and made some phone calls, drumming his fingers on the counter the entire time. This was ridiculous. Now he was going to be blamed for bringing the senator’s daughter late to the gala. He just knew it. People like her were never blamed for anything. It always trickled down to the hired hands, or help, or bodyguards, or whatever.

Wesley would have something to say to his boss when all this was said and done. How could he be expected to do his job without all the necessary clearances?

Finally, the concierge circled around the counter and gestured for Wesley to follow him. The concierge passed his own key over the sensor and waited for the elevator doors to open. Then he pressed the button for the tenth floor and held his key to another sensor on the inside. “The lobby button is always unlocked,” he said. “So if you find your client isn’t where she’s supposed to be, you’ll be able to get back down.”

Wesley let out a sharp laugh. “Familiar with this one, are you?”

The concierge shrugged with a wry smile and said, “Good luck,” just as the doors were closing between them.

Like most elevators, this one didn’t move nearly fast enough. “Should’ve taken the stairs,” Wesley muttered. Shewouldlive on the tenth floor.

The elevator finally stopped, and the doors slid open, and he made his way down the hall, double-checking the apartment number as he went. The place was gorgeous, if you liked that sort of thing. Every surface was cream-colored, except the accents, which were still muted. It was the kind of décor that only served to prove the owner could afford to have the place cleaned three times a day. Wesley hated it.

Before knocking on his client’s door, he straightened his jacket and checked his posture. Whether or not this was a spoiled princess, he still had to make a good impression. Ms. Bartlett very likely spoke to her mother regularly, and her mother’s opinion mattered even more than management’s. He knocked aggressively, and a voice from inside the apartment said, “Come in. It’s open.”

“Good grief. She’s begging to get kidnapped,” Wesley muttered. No wonder her mother didn’t trust her to get to the event in one piece.

He opened the door and stepped inside, expecting to find a young woman in a formal dress that would better suit someone twice her age, running around her apartment in a tizzy about being late. When he finally saw her standing in front of her vanity, she was the opposite of everything he had expected her to be.

She was a tiny thing with pixie-short, chocolate-colored hair that she was currently attempting to tame. It curled out at the ends, giving her a wild look despite the style being relatively reserved. She also had wide, bright green eyes, and a perfectly modern black dress with a flared skirt that ended mid-thigh. She was barefoot and standing on her toes as though doing so would give her a better view of herself in the mirror.

After giving up on an unruly lock of hair, she turned to him and smiled a charming smile. “You must be Mom’s little gift.” She held out her hand. “I’m Lauren.”

He shook it and cleared his throat. “Wesley Pierce. And we’re late.”

Lauren shrugged. “Mom will live. It’s not like I’m giving a speech or anything.” She picked up one dress shoe and waved it in front of his face. “If you want to get us out of here faster, I seem to be missing the pair to this puppy. Can you help me look for it?”

Wesley stood with his mouth hanging open for a second before he remembered to act professional. How could she be so irresponsible? But of course, she would be. She was exactly the sort of person he had initially expected her to be. Maybe a little cuter. He couldn’t deny she looked like exactly the kind of girl he would fall for if he was at all interested in a relationship. Luckily he wasn’t. Because she was also exactly the kind of book that shouldn’t be judged by its cover. Inside that adorable exterior, she was spoiled, careless, and a likely narcissist. If he ever had made the terrible mistake of dating someone like her, he had no doubt she would have his head on a platter within the first month, metaphorically speaking. Or not.

Currently, she was on her knees with her head under her bed, and Wesley was struggling to not notice the way the muscles in her thighs flexed just past the hem of her skirt. She was gorgeous. But, he reminded himself, she probably knew it and used it to get her way all the time.

“Ah, there it is!” she cried, pulling a shoe out from under her bed and holding it over her head like some kind of trophy. Then she sat at the edge of her bed and started to strap her shoes on.

Wesley leaned back against a doorframe and sighed. She really didn’t care at all. Typical. His job could be on the line, and it probably never even occurred to her.

He cleared his throat. “We’re still late,” he reminded her.

She laughed. “Are you always this uptight, or only when my mom’s on the other end of your leash?”

Wesley bristled. “I’m not on the end of anyone’s leash.”

“Well…” she said with a shrug. “Then maybe try to relax a little. Mom knows I’m not dependable. She’ll blame me first, and I won’t argue with her. As long as I show up sober…”

“Uh…” Wesley arched an eyebrow at her. “Do you have a habit ofnotshowing up sober?”

Lauren grinned. “Not anymore. Wow, you haven’t read the tabloids in a while, have you?”

“Try never.” Wesley folded his arms over his chest.

“Lucky me, I guess.” She grabbed a clutch purse and headed for her front door. “Let’s head out, then.”

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