Page 42 of Boss Abroad
“How about you, Terry?”
“I’m a… freelancer, Dr. Hadden. I work a lot for Mr. Gunn, his family, and friends.”
I don’t think I fit into any of those categories. Must be Terry’s first time body guarding Liam’s mistaken-hooker, actually-coworker, one-night-stand, not-for-his-lack-of-trying… Stop it, April. Terry is body guarding Max Sinclair’s doctor. That’s where you fit in.
Liam’s car is pure opulence. A Cadillac Escalade so big it looks like a limo and an SUV had a baby. There are two rows of back seats facing each other and the smell of new leather still hangs in the air. The windows are tinted black, giving me a much needed sense of privacy and security.
My mood is so sour, it’s probably safer for everyone else that I’m alone. Even I don’t want to be in my company right now.
It’s still too early back home for Callie or Jett to have heard the news. I was shocked that the PR people at HSS already had something to say.
I lay down and stare at the car ceiling, contemplating how this is not what my first days at work should look like. My pity party's still going strong when Terry opens the car door for me.
“We’re clear. Please come with me.”
Terry and I walk side by side, passing straight through two gates, and by the time I raise my head, I recognize the place. We’re at the same hotel Liam brought me less than forty-eight hours ago.
George hands me the room keycard and I smirk when I see it’s also the same room we stayed in.
Is Liam playing mind games or sending me a message? I’m so over this day I refuse to give it another thought.
“Thanks, George. And Terry?” I ask, defeated. “Will I attract more trouble if I have a drink at the bar or should I go hide away in my room?”
He gives me a solemn smile. “This hotel is one of Mr. Gunn’s properties and it’s heavily secured against paparazzi. That’s why we brought you here. You should be fine. But I’d still like to stick around if you don’t mind. You won’t notice my presence.”
I don’t fight him, just nod, knowing that’s his job.
“Of course,” I tell him, and of course it’s Liam’s hotel, I tell myself.
I say my goodbyes to George and thank him for his help. Terry guides me to the bar and I take a seat at the back. Next to the one I was drinking tequila and having the time of my life just two nights ago. How quick the tables have turned.
I see George talking to who I assume is the bar manager and nodding my way. The man comes over and says he’s been told to indulge my every whim. I laugh, not doubting George would have used those exact words and decide to do what I can to save this day.
“In that case, can I have a bottle of tequila and every dessert on the menu?”
My phone is off, my buzz is on and I’ve sampled about eight desserts.
No. No, I didn’t. I ate them all and licked the plate clean of the chocolate one. I’m not even sorry. Alcohol and sugar are my best friends right now, giving me all I need.
Terry refuses to sit and keep me company, and I don’t dare turn my phone on to talk to Callie, so I get bored and decide to go to my room for a nap. The waiter doesn't let me pay my bill, saying it’s been taken care of already.
Well, if that’s so, I’m taking the bottle with me. And into the bag it goes.
I focus on every step I take to the elevator, trying my best to pose as a sober person. I won’t affirm or deny that Terry needs to help me a couple of times during this herculean task of walking a straight line.
Oh, crap. I must be drunker—and hornier—than I thought because the next time he helps steady me, his firm hands grasp my waist and I can feel every nerve tingling, my skin pebbling, every hair on it standing to applaud that grip.
Tequila is making me horny for the bodyguard. I giggle, singing a Whitney Houston song in my head. God, I hope it’s only in my head.
His hands stay there while I push the elevator button and I turn around to tell him that I’m good and he can let go now.
All the air leaves my lungs when I see Liam on me.
I mean, behind me. Well, no. I mean on me because I must have lost balance again since I’m leaning on him. Damn, he’s big. And strong. And a jerk, I try reminding myself. A big, strong jerk.
“I thought you were Terry.” I look many miles above me to find his eyes. His fingers dig into my waist with too much strength, but instead of grunting in pain, a moan slips out. Oops.
I try telling my vagina we’re mad at him, but she’s an awful listener.