Page 9 of Crossing the Line
“Waverly.”
He was pleased when she stopped, automatically obeying the command. It was a test, as everything else would be over the next few days. He needed to know her so he could predict her. This job wasn’t just about protecting starlets from outside threats. It was more often about protecting them from themselves.
She must have realized that she’d subconsciously obeyed because she straightened her slim shoulders under her hoodie and marched toward the pool house.
“Stop.” He put enough authority into the command that it should have scared the girl. The time and energy it took to win a battle of the wills with stubborn and spoiled was a waste and Xavier had crafted a workaround.First step: Make sure she knew he was in charge.
Waverly turned around to face him and marched back to him, temper flaring. “You bellowed?”
If he didn’t have to ensure her safety, he might have actually liked her. Her barely contained temper was entertaining. He decided to push her a little bit further.Establish authority early.
“For an actress, you don’t hide your feelings well,” he commented.
“For a bodyguard, you have a lot of opinions about my acting ability. I guess I’ll just go cry myself to sleep over your review.”
“You’re not mad at me,” Xavier said mildly. “You’re pissed because you feel like the family puppet.”
“Dancing monkey, actually,” Waverly corrected.
“Potato, po-tah-to,” he quipped. “The bottom line is you can cut the spoiled brat act with me and deal with the fact that I’m not leaving.”
“Calling me a spoiled brat is you trying to cement our relationship? Clever.”
He rewarded her with a smile to show her she wasn’t getting to him. “You’re going to have to get used to me, Angel.”
“Angel?” Her well-shaped eyebrows arched.
“Your code name.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet?” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“I like to go for irony with my code names. Besides, if I used Bride of Satan it wouldn’t be much of a code, now would it?”
Waverly’s jaw dropped at the insult, but she recovered quickly. “What’s the sentence for manslaughter in California?” she asked innocently.
Yeah, under other circumstances, he’d definitely like her.
“Three to eleven. But I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Why’s that?” she asked him.
“You’d be thirty and irrelevant before you got out.”
It was meant as an insult, a dig at the Holy Grail of Hollywood, but the spark of yearning he saw in her eyes surprised him.
“Okay, you want to talk? Let’s talk. Put your cell phone on the table.” She nodded at the polished driftwood table next to him.
“Why?”
“I want to make sure you’re not recording this conversation.”
Protocol dictated a firm ‘no’ to diva demands, especially in the beginning when establishing authority. But if it helped to build trust, what could it hurt? He reached into his jacket and fished out his phone.
“Does that happen often?” he asked, placing the phone on the table. “Do people record you when you think you’re safe?” He put a hint of sympathy into his tone to disarm her.
Waverly stepped past him to the pool’s edge. Arms crossed, she stared out over the vista of hills and homes.A lonely princess surveying her kingdom, he thought.
“It happens sometimes.” There was a quiver in her voice.
