Page 28 of Protection (Mobsters + Billionaires 2)
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MADS
He thinksI don't see the bodyguard. I can see the goddamn bodyguard. Tall, broody-looking motherfucker with a baseball cap and sunglasses. He's been following me for two days, which pisses me off. He even followed me up to the Highline for my evening stroll. Jackass.
I go back to Addiction because fuck it. If Anthony’s gonna put a body on me, I’m going to make him work for it.
“Two visits in one week, Mads? A girl could start to feel special,” Cat cracks, approaching the counter. “So what will it be today? Diet keeper or diet buster?”
“Diet keeper for the coffee but give me a doughnut.”
“I like it. Going off-script. Keeping your body confused.”
“A confused body burns more calories. At least that’s what I heard,” I snark back.
She pauses in the middle of her preparation. “You look like you're having a shitty day, my friend. What's happening? You sure you don't need the sugar bomb?”
“Fuck it. Give me the sugar bomb but hold off on the doughnut. I don't want my dentist to hate me.”
“But fuck your endocrinologist,” she says, grinning.
“Yeah, fuck that douchebag.”
I laugh for the first time in a few days and feel a little bit lighter.
“Thanks, Cat. I really needed this.”
“Should I get a black coffee for the stern, handsome man following you around? What's his name? Anthony?”
I check him out in the mirror behind Cat’s head, and there’s my bodyguard across the street. And…damn. How the hell did I not realize my mystery bodyguard is Anthony?
Jackass.
“Cat, you are brilliant. And yes, one black coffee to go. Make mine to go as well.”
“You got it.”
Cat is fast, and a few minutes later, I've got two go-cups of coffee. I start on my way back to the office, enough to make him think I don't see him, then I pivot and walk right up to him.
“Anthony, you motherfucker. I specifically said don't put a body on me, yet here you are. Your body on mine.”
I immediately visualize him looming over me, sweaty and thrusting hard, taking me apart with passion in his eyes. I stifle a grunt.
People mill around us, everyone averting their eyes from our argument because, in New York, nobody sees anything.
“How did you clock me?”
“I didn't. Cat did—though I know you’ve been following me for two days. She asked me if I wanted to get a coffee for you. So here's your fucking coffee.”
“It's eighty degrees outside. Why are you still wearing that stupid jacket? Are you trying to make it easier for people to track you?”
“It's comfortable. I'm anemic. I'm cold all the goddamn time, and it doesn't matter the temperature outside.”
“Why are you anemic?” Anthony asks, standing close to me. I look up at him, confused. Why is he worried about my anemia?
“It's a genetic thing, Anthony. Chill out. Anyway, it makes me cold.”
“Well, that, and you're too skinny.”
