Page 14 of Bad For A Weekend

“How old are you?” she asks out of nowhere.

“Why?”

“Just curious. If we have to spend all this time together, we might as well get to know one another. Might help with my trust issues.”

I think on it a minute, wondering how her knowing my age could backfire. But she has a point that I can’t ignore. If we’re ever in a situation where she needs to follow orders, it’s important she trusts in me. If I have to give her a few basic facts about me to instill that, I can concede.

“I’m thirty-two.”

“Are you from around here?”

“Sherman Oaks. Lived there my whole life until now.”

“It’s not like L.A. is a different country.”

Even though it feels like it to me, I agree. “True.”

“This is the part where you ask me a question.” She looks at me, resting her cheek on the rubber padding of the crutch.

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a conversation works. I ask you questions, you ask me questions, and we talk back and forth while we get to know one another.”

“I didn’t know there were rules.”

“Well, there are. And you suck at them.”

I fold my arms across my chest, wishing I didn’t have to wear this damn monkey suit. I’m hot and sweaty. “Did you grow up in L.A.?”

Her brows lift. “Ask me something you don’t already know.”

“How do you know what I know?”

“I’m not an idiot. Any good bodyguard would do a full background check of their charge. I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew my blood type.”

“O-negative,” I say, and she laughs.

“See?”

I stare at the darkening city, trying to think of something I don’t know. “What’s your favorite class at school?”

“That’s easy. Journalism.”

“You wanna be a journalist when you grow up?”

“Ugh. That makes me sound like such a kid. I’ll be nineteen in three months, you know.”

“I do know.” Her birthday is also her last day of high school.

She’s older than most seniors because she took a year off school when her dad was filming a movie in Argentina. He thought it would be more beneficial for her to spend the year exploring new cultures than learning math and English.

“How long have you worked in personal security?” she asks.

“Well, how long have I been working for your dad?” I return, though Hudson asked me not to tell them they’re my first. He didn’t want Corey to think he had some newbie in charge of his daughter. But I don’t make it a habit of telling lies.

“Seriously?”

“I was a cop before this, so you’re in good hands.”

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