Page 11 of Gluttony
“I meant, she’s family. I’ve given her an all-access pass to the set,” he fibbed.
“There will still be records. We’ll ask her too. Anything else I need to know?” She pulled out her cell phone and began to take notes. “Disgruntled colleagues. Crazed fans?”
He rolled his eyes. “They all love me.”
“Right. Because that’s so believable.”
That was the last straw. He didn’t need this crap. He didn’t need a fucking bodyguard. He straightened, tensed, and instead of shrinking away, she blocked his exit at the door with a challenge in her eyes.
“You have something to say to me, Lazarus?”
Long seconds passed. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t like me, Bailey. Be honest.”
Her jaw tightened and Tony saw the truth in her eyes. It was more than not liking him. She didn’t respect him. Suddenly, the fight went out of him and he sighed. Just get this over with.
“There was a note,” he admitted and found the scrunched paper ball to hand to her.
She opened it. “It says ‘I know.’ That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
She folded it and put it in her pocket. “You have a secret. Someone knows. They don’t like it.”
“You want your Scooby snack now?”
Attentive eyes laced with suspicion weighed on him.
He was done. “I don’t need a nosy babysitter. I can take care of myself.”
He moved for the door, but she stopped his exit with her body. The pure retribution in her eyes cut him to the core.
“I amnota babysitter. I am a trained security specialist. Eleven years serving my country, which far outranks your drop in the ocean.”
His three collective years of training with the SEALs and the SAS (both Australian and UK) was a public fact and she knew it. He’d completed all in record time. It helped build his action-hero credibility. Granted, the public didn’t know about the four other years traveling the world, learning the Art of War, or his old nighttime escapades bringing the city’s worst to justice. They didn’t know about his training by one of the most lethal women in the world—his mother, a deadly assassin.
She continued. “I’mthe bodyguard. I make the rules. Everywhere you go, I go first. Understood?”
Her scrutiny made him realize he was supposed to be acting like the dumb playboy actor. The one who hated responsibilities. The one incapable of being one of the Deadly Seven. Without another word, he reached around her, got in her personal space like only a narcissistic actor would, then opened the door and used his body to get by.
She let him.
“Bodyguards don’t investigate,” he pointed out. “You guard.”
The fidget of her fingers told him he’d hit her right in the squirming spot, just like she’d done with him earlier. She didn’t like being told not to investigate. She thought she was better than a bodyguard.
“You coming?” he asked over his shoulder. He put his skateboard down, planted a foot to stop it rolling and waited for her. He should be used to people ordering him around by now.
She shut the trailer door and, after giving a searching look around, gestured down the alley in the direction of the parking lot. “Let’s go.”
Watching her stride away, he felt a growing hollow in his stomach... a hunger forming. There was nothing he could do but follow.
* * *
Much to Tony’s chagrin,Bailey insisted she drive him back to his place in her SUV, meaning his bike had to stay at the studio lot. The woman was serious about the bodyguard business. When they’d arrived, she made him stay in the car until she exited first and checked their surroundings—even though they were in the private Lazarus House underground garage. They took the civilian elevator up to his level, and then she checked the corridor leading to his apartment before she let him out of the lift.
