Page 10 of Songbird
She throws a troubled glance toward the spot, and her manicured hand strays to Dakota’s coat.
“I don’t know why it took me so long to admit that Chip is a bad guy. I mean, I’ve known for a while, but I couldn’t find the courage to do something about it. But he is, you know? A bad guy.”
She pauses for my response, and my jaw feathers. I’m not her bodyguard anymore, but it’s still the dynamic that defines our relationship, and it’s not a bodyguard’s place to voice opinions on his client’s personal life. It’s definitely not his job to pass judgment on her choice in men. But Rosalie’s fiancé is a world-class creep, and I could tell as much from the first and only time I met him. The day afterthatnight.
Rosalie nods to herself with a contemplative tilt to her mouth. “You agree. No—don’t try to deny it. I can tell. And as long as I’m not paying you to be diplomatic, you may as well say exactly what you think. It would be good to know there’s at least one person in this world on my side. Someone to tell me I’m not paranoid or weak for running away.”
Rosalie’s lonely. She’salone. And it’s his fault. Time to cut through the bullshit.
“The guy’s a dick,” I agree. “And you’re better off without him.”
Rosalie stares, blinking quickly, before she suddenly sits up straighter. “Exactly. And that’s why I’m here. I need somewhere to hide while I figure out my next move.”
“Hide? Fromhim?”
What the fuck did that monster do to make Rosalie have tohide?
“From Chip,” she agrees. “From Lauren, my personal assistant. From my security team. And from the press.”
“Wait.” I set my elbows on my knees and lean in as she raises red flag after red flag. “Why do you need to hide from your assistant? Or your personal security?”
Rosalie nibbles her bottom lip as her fingers tighten in Dakota’s fur.
“You can trust me,” I assure her, “with as much or as little as you feel comfortable sharing, but if you want my help, the more I know, the better.”
“So… you’ll take the job?”
I growl a little, a deep rolling protest that comes from my chest, and she bites back a tiny smile.
“Fine,” she says. “But did you know that when you came on board last year, you were the only person on my entire protection team that I hired myself? The only person I’d hired foranyteam in the last three years?”
I didn’t know that, but her question is rhetorical.
“I wasn’t supposed to do it,” she continues, “but… I don’t know. That moment is the first time I remember being aware that Chip’s need for control wasoutof control. I waited until I was alone, then opened my laptop. I did an internet search, chose an executive security firm on a whim, and sent an inquiry. And they sent you.”
That security firm belonged to a military buddy—someone I considered a best friend who built his own private protection business after he was medically discharged five years ago. I never had any intention of getting into the bodyguard game, but I also wasn’t prepared for how lost I’d feel leaving the SEALs after ten years of service. How I’d miss having a reason to get out of bed every morning. My buddy Jack needed help and I needed focus, so stepping up when he asked was a no-brainer.
In hindsight, taking the job with Rosalie wasn’t the kind of help Jack needed, but given everything that happened last spring, I don’t know if I’d change anything. And that’s a hard thing to admit even to myself.
“I didn’t know Chip was going to fire you,” Rosalie adds. Her expression is open and honest. “After what happened in New Orleans, I thought he’d want to promote you but…”
My fists curl as fear flickers in Rosalie’s eyes. “We don’t have to talk about it,” I tell her, referring to both the attack and what happened afterward, and it occurs to me that maybe she doesn’t want to talk about any of it. Certainly not a crazed man with a knife in her penthouse suite, but perhaps not evenwhat happened afterward. That brief moment between us, if it happened at all. Being in her orbit again, I’m reminded of how exceptional she is, and it’s laughable that she ever thought of me as more than just her bodyguard. It’ll be easier to get through the next few hours if I believe that. So if she doesn’t want to talk about that night, then neither do I.
Rosalie clasps her hands in her lap. “After New Orleans, Chip said the situation was too serious to risk inexperienced people on my team. He hand-picked everyone after that. Everyone. Everywhere.”
I bristle at being labeledinexperienced. I wasn’t the one who put Rosalie in danger, and who knows what would have happened if I hadn’t been there to answer her door?
“What about Lauren?” I ask. “She was your assistant long before last year. That makes one person you can trust.”
Rosalie’s throaty chuckle sounds forced. “She’s been sleeping with Chip for weeks, if not months. And she spies for him. Tells him where I am, what I eat, what I say, what Idon’tsay. Not that he doesn’t manage every facet of my life anyway, but there are some things women only share with other women, you know?”
Her hands fidget in her lap, and I wish I could reach out and settle them. Rage is rarely helpful in situations like this, but just because I know to ignore it doesn’t mean my blood isn’t boiling. Rosalie laughs again, a nervous sound that aims to trivialize her hurt, and I wonder if, despite the circumstances, she still loves Chip. I suppose, if I’m being charitable, I can understand why.
Chip Daniels is a music industry mogul—a record executive and producer responsible for some of the biggest acts in the business. Fifteen years Rosalie’s senior, he’s also her manager and has been since her first label dropped her at twenty-one. Chip and Rosalie went public with their relationship a year later and they’ve been together ever since.
This isn’t the kind of information I usually know, but Rosalie’s personal life was part of the background file I had to read when signing on as her bodyguard. I know more about her than she realizes.
“I’m sorry about Lauren,” I say. “Sometimes people let you down.”
