Page 8 of Passenger Princess

“Well, this was the first pageant she’s ever won, for one,” Regina says. “I’m sure you don’t know much about the pageant world, but that’s never happened before. Women dedicate their entire lives to being a contestant on the Miss Americana stage, winning pageant after pageant to prepare for the biggest moment of their lives.”

Condescension twines in her words, making it clear she does not like this year's winner. Strange, since she runs it.

“We have a very specific image and branding, and we expect all of our contestants to abide by those guidelines, but especially our reigning queens. Unfortunately, Miss Bordeaux has not done this so far, and I am hoping you and your company will be able to help with that while guarding her.”

“I don’t think I quite understand,” I say, even though I think I do, and I don’t like what she’s saying at all.

Suddenly, any semblance of kindness leaks from her face as sheleans forward. “What I’m saying is your job is less to keep her safe and more to keep her in line.”

“What?”

“My priority and the reason I’ve brought in Five Star is to maintain the image of the Miss Americana pageant.”

My brows furrow. “Not her safety?”

She waves a hand like it’s a non-issue, then sits back, some of the hatred leaving her eyes. “Well, of course, we don’t want anything to happen to our Miss Americana,” she says, and I don’t miss how she refuses to call the girl by name, only referring to her by a title rather than… whatever her name is. A smile creeps over her lips. “Though, a little bit of a martyr situation could be good press, you know?” She smiles and looks at me as if I’m also going to smile and agree, but I’m baffled and appalled by the strange direction this conversation has taken.

“I’m joking, of course,” she says when she realizes I won’t agree with her.

“Of course,” I say, taking in Regina better in this new light. She’s pretty at first glance, older, but clearly someone who takes care of herself, but when you look closer, you see it: the ugly creeping under her skin. It’s not anything to do with her looks but from greed and envy, and probably a bit of the other five deadly sins as well.

Her smile drops as she leans in, resting her hands on the table before her. “We’re looking for someone who will travel with her, make sure she gets from place to place safely, but know that we’re also retaining your firm to keep her in line.”

I sit up straighter with a shake of my head.“No.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not a babysitter. I’m a bodyguard. My job is to protect, not stop some spoiled brat from causing trouble.” I turn to Greg, whose face is a mask of irritation or frustration.

“Excuse him, Ms. Miller. He’s not used to dealing with the clientele end of things.” He turns back to me, the politeness theremoments before melting away instantly. “You’ll do whatever the assignment requires of you, Mr. Wilde, as we spoke about earlier.”

My jaw goes tight, but I reluctantly nod when I remind myself of what’s at stake.

So I get to follow around some brat for three months, keep her in line while she smiles and pageant waves or else I lose my job. It’s a waste of my skills and my time.

”Plus, there’s more to it than that, Jaime, don’t worry.” Greg starts. “A little something for you to sink your teeth into. It’s not just babysitting. You see, she’s got fans.” I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to expand. He looks at the paperwork in front of him, flipping through it until he finds what he’s looking for. “It seems she won because she went viral on social media and then did it again and again. She’s built a rabid fanbase, and some of them are…intense. You won’t just be following around some pageant queen and be bored out of your mind. In the past month, she’s filed three police reports due to the messages she’s received.”

“What kind of messages?” I ask, sitting straighter.

“One death threat, two admirers sending candid photos of her out and about,” Greg reads from the paper. “And last week during a practice, someone attempted to break into the event space to meet her.”

Well fuck. That’s the kind of shit Atlas Oaks deals with, the shit Willa Stone reports regularly. Just how popular is this pageant queen?

“Interested now?”

I sigh, then nod reluctantly.

Greg looks at Regina and smiles, and she nods.

“Perfect. I’ll meet you at the Miss Americana offices in two hours to meet your next assignment.”

FIVE

AVA

Sitting in the Miss Americana offices in South Jersey, for the first time since I filled out the application, I feel completely out of place, and no level of false bravado can knock the feeling from my mind.

The walls leading to the meeting room we’re in were lined with photos of past winners with their perfect teeth, hair, smiles, and outfits. I know someday soon my picture will be in this hall of fame, with my too-wide smile, the slight gap between my front teeth, and probably too much mascara because I decided when I was sixteen that going natural just wasn’t in the cards for me, and the more blush, the better.

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