Page 22 of Bossy Bodyguard

He extended his hand, introducing himself. “I’m Cillian. Nice to see you again, Emma.”

Cillian. My throat felt a bit sore from screaming his name all night.

“Damon Grant,” my brother said, shaking his hand while I was still processing that Cillian was in front of me. “You met at the club?”

“Y-yes,” I muttered, pulling the blanket closer and glancing at Cillian, looking away when his deep eyes were still on me. They made me wary and nervous. I shivered, for a completely different reason, and continued, “He saved me. Twice.”

Meeting his eyes, I whispered, “Thank you, Cillian.”

He nodded at me and looked at Damon. “What happened?”

My body froze, remembering the events from last night as sleeplessness and exhaustion tugged at me. I was going to be late for school, but I just… couldn’t.

Damon sighed and showed him my phone. “There’s more. Upstairs, in her room. I’ll be right back, okay? I can ask Mis—”

“No.” I stood up, scrunching the blanket around me. “I’ll come with you. I’m fine.”

Cillian’s eyes were burning the side of my face, but I didn’t dare look at him. Because if I did, I would break. He would know how truly shaken I was. How scared and anxious I was.

“Someone sent her this text when she was coming back home.”

Cillian looked over his shoulder at me. “Were you alone, or was there someone with you?”

“No. My driver was driving.”

He nodded, looking at the paintings hung by the wall as we climbed upstairs. My knees buckled, but I was more furious than scared. I didn’t care about anything else right now than to know who had the audacity to play with me, Emma fucking Moore.

If mom was alive, she’d threaten, torture and even kill that person by herself. Not because I’m her daughter, but because someone decided to scare a Moore. She wouldn’t stand by in a blanket if it was her.

Damon paused just before my room. The white double doors were open from when I had rushed downstairs in the middle of the night and called nine-one-one.

Another reason I was mad at Damon was that he had talked with the cops before they could investigate the scene and scolded me for calling them. Giving me yet another lecture on how it’d look bad in the paper and tabloids. That private security would be better than cops.

“Are you sure—”

I glared at Damon. “I am sure. This is my room.”

I walked past the two men even though my body hated going into the room. Everything was still the same. My lilac, pink, and white comforter on the enormous bed, the dresses I had tried on the day before still scattered on the floor, my strewn makeup and perfume collection with my heels placed neatly on the white shelves.

“When I came back home, I-I wanted to shower and when I entered the bathroom, I saw… this.”

The door was open so all of us could see the words written on the mirror above the sink.

I bought a new pair, don’t worry. Hope you like the present.

With a heart in the end in my red Chanel lipstick. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror or the sink. It made bile rise in my throat.

Even Damon averted his eyes.

But Cillian didn’t care. He walked right inside the washroom, his polished shoes silent on the soft white rug. He was hard to read when he inspected my underwear. I covered my arms, trying to rub off the goosebumps and watched him kneel and tilt his head at the pastel box near the bath.

“Is this yours?” he asked, his voice deep.

I shook my head. “I-it’s not. Someone… I don’t know how it got there. O-or who put it there.”

“Interesting,” Cillian whispered, standing up and pulling out his phone. I took a step back when he moved from the washroom back to my room, speaking to someone on the phone.

“What do you think this is?” Damon asked, his phone trilling in his pants, but he ignored it. “Intruder?”

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