Page 1 of Daddy's Bodyguard

Chapter 1

Sofia

“Hey, your dad is on the news again,” my best friend and co-worker Carissa says, tapping my shoulder.

I glance at the TV, then stifle a groan. My father is standing on the steps of the courthouse before a cluster of microphones, talking about yet another of his cases. But this time, there’s a change to the norm. The grimness in his tone and the hardness in his eyes tells me he’s lost. Good. It’s a much-needed win for the good guys.

I cut my eyes at the screen before motioning to the stack of paperwork before me. “We need to get on top of this.”

“Are you serious?” Carissa asks, staring at me in disbelief. “Your dad just lost a case, Sofia. Aren’t you least a little sad for him?”

“Why would I be sad? He defends criminals, Carissa, men who deserve to rot in prison. If it were up to me, he would lose every single case, the old devil.”

“Come on, just because he’s on the opposite side of the law doesn’t mean he’s the devil. He’s just doing his job. Give him a call, Sofia.”

“My answer hasn’t changed since the last time you suggested it. It’s still no.”

Carissa purses her lips while picking up a healthy stack of papers from my desk. “Even if you don’t talktohim, you’re allowed to talk about him.”

“I don’t want to do that, either. I’d rather talk about this program. It’s our job to make charity work look easy, Risa.” I tap a folder on my desk. “And to do what we can to make sure everyone gets what they need.”

It seems Carissa wants to push me further, but she eventually nods. I don’t want anything to distract me from what’s actually important: getting the less fortunate what they need to survive, even if the rest of the world would rather forget they exist.

My dad can focus on his life, and I’ll focus on mine. It’s better that way. I don’t approve of his clients or the way he defends them, and he thinks I’m throwing my life away by working at a non-profit organization that pays peanuts—according to him. He would rather I join his legal team, but I would rather climb Mount Everest blindfolded before I succumb to his heinous request. Talking with him is wasting time – time I don’t have if I want to fulfil my dream of becoming a congresswoman someday.

“You know, I realize our possible conversation topics just keep getting less,” Carissa says, coming back to stand before my desk. “First, I can’t talk about setting you up with guys, now we can’t discuss your dad. Next, you’re going to tell me we can’t talk about that wild night in Cancun where you-”

“Nope.” I point at her. “We agreed never to bring that up again.” That night was an anomaly, the only time I ever lost control. Never again will I get drunk and have random sex with a hot guy in a club. I know how those actions can come back to bite you in the ass later on. And if I’m going to run for congress, my slate needs to be squeaky clean.

Carissa giggles and winks at me. “Fine, you naughty girl. I’ll let it go. But final advice; you need to get laid.”

“Why don’t you pay attention to your sex life?” I ask her. “I don’t see you getting laid, either.”

“Because I’m waiting for Mr. Right, that’s all. But you don’t want commitment, so you are free to sleep with whoever you want.”

“I’m going to pretend I never told you about my political aspirations because your ignorance is showing just a teeny bit.”

“Oh, please,” Carissa says, rolling her eyes. “Why should a woman’s sex life determine if she’s fit to pass legislation?”

“I agree, but we both know that’s not how it works. I can’t afford to be a sinner, Carissa. I need to be a saint.”

“Whatever, saint. I’m going back to work.”

I roll out my neck and prepare for another late night. As much as I love my job, it gets exhausting sometimes. Designing and implementing fundraising strategies for a non-profit is no walk in the park, but thework we do helps hundreds of thousands each year, and I know the end result matters more than a few under-eye bags.

So what if I’m not earning a six-figure salary or living in a mansion like my dad? I’m satisfied with the job I’m doing here. There’s no way I could relax in a cushiony job while people starve. I’m better than that. I’m definitely not my father’s daughter.

I finish a proposal that needs to be emailed by tomorrow morning, then I check the clock. It’s already nine, time to shut this down for the night.

Groaning, I peel myself from my chair, step into my heels and make sure all is in place for a successful day tomorrow. Satisfied, I head out, and on my way, I drop off a wireless copier I’d borrowed from the stationery room. As I step through the door on my way out, I run smack into my boss.

Nick grips my arms to keep us both from falling as he apologizes over and over. He’s always been clumsy but in a cute, charming way. Backing off, I take in his tousled blond hair, the softness in his grey eyes and the gentle smile on his lips. Nick Arrowell is definitely my type. If he weren’t my boss, or if I weren’t so hell-bent on being a good girl, I’d give it up to him in a heartbeat.

“You’re not teaching tonight?” he asks.

Of course, he remembers my favorite side hustle. I shake my head. “Tuesdays and Thursdays only until we either get more volunteers to teach or more funding.”

“Another project.” He shakes his head. “How do you make me feel like I don’t work enough.Me?”

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