Page 8 of Not the Bodyguard's Princess
Jordan settled into the chair and turned to September. “Face check. Be honest. Do I look like a train wreck? Is anyone’s cell-phone photo going to trend on Twitter?”
September dug through her purse and pulled out a pack of facial wipes. “I think the no-makeup look will work best. Your mascara is smudged, and the makeup is off most of your face. May I?” September crouched down in front of Jordan and gently wiped away the remains of her makeup.
“Do I want to know how bad it is after having two men in my room for the past hour?”
September’s melodic laugh burst out. “Adam’s seen me looking worse than this. And Andrew has too. You’re in a hospital. People expect a certain amount of messiness.” She tossed the wipe in the garbage can and pulled out a hairbrush and removed the hair band from Jordan’s ponytail. “I’ll be careful near your bandage. Only women in daytime soaps look glamorous in hospitals. There. Not too messy and not overdone.”
“I thought you Hollywood types would be more worried about looks,” said the nurse.
“Not much more than any other woman who puts on jeans instead of pajama bottoms to go grocery shopping.” September put everything back in her bag. “We worry more about people trying to snap a photo of us and the photo trending on social media.”
“My grandmother won’t leave the house without full makeup and hair done,” said Jordan.
The nurse pushed the wheelchair into the hallway. “My grandma does the same thing.”
Paul, Adam, Andrew, and a bodyguard she didn’t recognize in a burgundy Hearthfire polo followed them down the hall. The nurse stopped. “I can only take one of you in. Miss Lee, who would you like to accompany you?”
Paul pushed in front of the others. “She’ll take me.”
The show’s producer was her last choice. “Mr. Andrew.” He needed to meet Blake.
“Who’s Mr. Andrew?” asked the nurse.
“Me.”
“Wait just a minute. I have to go.” Paul stepped around the nurse and directly in front of the wheelchair.
“Sir, Mr. Blake specifically asked for Miss Lee. She’s the only one Ihaveto take. However, since I know you guys want her to have a bodyguard, I’ve allowed her to chooseone. Now, if you will please move before I call hospital security.”
“I have rights.” Paul didn’t budge.
“So do patients. And as an employee of this hospital, it’s my obligation to uphold the patients’ rights. Now, will you move, or do I call security?”
Paul stepped aside. “Jordan, you know you should let me see Mr. Blake.”
“No, I don’t. Last time I checked, Blake was in my personal employ, not yours.” Jordan turned to get a better look at Andrew and gave him a nod, silently asking him to intervene.
“We are blocking the hallway. People are beginning to stare. I’m sure you don’t need any bad publicity.” Andrew waved Paul aside.
The nurse pushed the wheelchair around Paul and to the elevator.
* * *
Blake, or Mr. Blake—Andrew wasn’t clear if Blake was a first name or surname—raised the head of his bed as the nurse wheeled Miss Lee into the glass-walled room. A look of relief passed over the injured bodyguard’s face, then was replaced by the same affectionate gaze Andrew’s father had when looking at any of his sleeping grandchildren. The nurse slipped from the room and slid the glass door shut.
“I made a nuisance of myself and refused to take any pain meds until I saw you. I know the meds will help me recover, but I had to see you first.” Blake reached the hand not in a sling out to Miss Lee. Andrew moved her chair closer.
“I’ve been so worried about you.” Miss Lee leaned forward in her chair, trying to grab Blake’s hand. She turned to Andrew. “Will you tell if I get out of this chair?”
“Not as long as you don’t mind me standing close enough to catch you if you fall.” Andrew set the brake on the chair and assisted Jordan to her feet, then pulled the chair out of her way so she wouldn’t trip on it.
Blake focused on Andrew, squinting at the logo on his shirt. “You’re one of Jethro’s boys, aren’t you? The ones with all theAnames. The grade-A Hastings. Did she already hire you?”
Blake’s use of the local nickname surprised Andrew. He assumed no one else knew outside of Chicago-area security companies. “I believe my job is to guard the dog.”
Blake focused on Miss Lee. “Ears?”
“Not here. I don’t think Paul could get onto the floor. But I have ears in my room.”
