Page 62 of Triple Protection
Angela, however, looks stunning. She always does. Whether in PJs with a makeup-free face or dressed to the nines like tonight, she has a kind of beauty that radiates from within, almost as if her body can't contain her beautiful soul it so it leaks out through her pores.
While Angela has surprised me at every step, and she isn't the self-absorbed, shallow, high-maintenance influencer I had expected, part of me was still anxious about this event. The entire purpose is to see and be seen and to curate an image that is as authentic as a facelift. Part of me is nervous she will fit herself to the crowd and I'll be disappointed. I've never seen her in public in her 'persona' and I'm not sure if I'll like it.
Brick pulls up to the red carpet, and I open the door and step out first, taking a slow scan of the audience - a few press and paparazzi in the front, other guests walking up to the door, or making statements. A few random bi-standers that stumbled upon the event stand and watch the celebrities. I make quick work of categorizing each group in order of threat and decide that they are all wildcards. The press hasn't been vetted by us, the randos can literally be anyone with any motive, and even the other event guests could have unknown motives, although I admit these were the lowest on my threat list.
I turn to hold my hand out for Angela, who willingly accepts it. A familiar bolt of electricity from her skin pulses through my hand and up my arm. As she passes me in the doorway, I breathein her sweet jasmine smell. I grit my teeth. Another distraction I don't need.
Angela gives me a sweet smile and a 'thank you' before I shut the door and tap it twice to let the boys know we are clear. I wrap her hand around the crook of my arm and rush her down the red carpet. At least inside there will be fewer variables. I expect her to argue. To want to pose and take pictures, to do some interviews, but to my relief, she follows my lead.
Inside we hit a bit of congestion as guests enter the lobby and are each given a map of the museums and a welcome shpeal - where the swag bags are, the bar, the food, etc. I scan the interior. I had already looked at the layout of the place and thanks to Covid, the museum had a 3D interactive tour that let me pick the perfect location.
Once inside, I bee-line it for a table in the corner next to some dinosaur. It backs to a corner and gives me a view of two out of the three exits, the last exit being just around the corner and behind us. I settle in, Angela next to me, an amused smile on her face.
"You know we're going to have to mingle a bit, right? Take some photos?"
"Yeah, I know, but the rest of the time we're here."
She nods and grabs two champagne flutes from a passing server and sits one in front of me.
"I don't drink when I'm on duty."
She shrugs and moves them both to in front of her.
"And you're not drinking anything I don't see opened and poured," I inform her, putting both champagne flutes on the tray of another passing server. "You're light enough for me to throw over my shoulder, but I'd rather have you avoid being roofied tonight."
She rolls her eyes at me, the brat, but with a soft smile on her face, acquiescing. Thank God, for once in her life, she isn'tfighting me on something. Lord knows I'm already on edge enough.
I grab the arm of a server. "Get me an unopened bottle of champagne, bring it to the table, and open it in front of me," I order. The young, skinny server with a wisp of a mustache briefly looks offended.
"Please," Angela asks, laying a hand on his forearm and shooting him her award-winning smile.
"Of course, Ms. Bazzaratti."
The hair on the back of my neck stands. He knows her. He recognizes her from somewhere. These events hire catering crews. They don't train their servers to recognize their guests by name.
A moment later, the skinny server returns, opens the bottle in front of us and pours. I grab Princess's glass before she can a sip and wait. Once I know I'm not feeling any effects, I nod to her that she can drink it.
"O-M-G, it's you!!" a cute red head squeals as she runs up to Angela. I can see the moment Angela recognizes her from the dossiers that Marshal put together for her. "Margareet! How nice to see you again!" Angela say warmly, accepting the cheek kisses the red head offers. "This is my boyfriend, Alex. Alex, this is Margareet. She has the cutest children's line I've ever seen."
The new woman beams at Angela's praise. "Let's take some pictures together!" The red head squeals. She may be a few Champagnes in already. Angela looks to me for approval. I nod, but raise to walk next to Angela, my hand on her lower back. They pause and pose in front of colorful, strategically placed backdrops. I expect Angela to ask me to take a picture for her, but I don't want my attention to be distracted. Luckily, she simply asks the new girl to tag her in the post.
She's snagged by a few more influencers for posed pictures, calling each by name and asking them thoughtful questions, herkind softness never wavering. I'm grateful my image of her isn't tarnished.
The hair on the back of my neck bristles as I catch movement from the corner of my eye. It's that gym bro, Sammy Muscles. I tense, ready for a fight. He slides up to her the second she releases a fellow female lifestyle influencer and wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her into him. She's surprised and loses her balance, falling into his chest. I watch as he sniffs her hair. Fucking creep. A second later, I've got her by the arm and have pulled her from him. I feel like two pit bulls fighting over the same toy, but I know she doesn't want his touch.
Sammy looks me up and down and I can see him mentally debating if he could take me or not. Ireallydon't like this guy. Every guy should know you don't touch a woman without her enthusiastic consent.
The look of disgust on Sammy's face is quickly replaced with gym-bro arrogance. He's bigger than me, for sure, and while I love weight lifting, my muscles have use. I doubt this kid has ever been in a real fight in his life.
"Hey bro, I'm Sammy." He says, offering me a hand. I look at it, and back up at him, pulling Angela closer to me, her back to my front. Rejected, he withdraws his hand and runs it over his cropped hair.
"Hey Angela," he says to her, shooting her a grin with teeth so white they look unnatural. "What about that dinner you owe me?"
"Dinner?" I tighten my grip on her hip.
"Yeah," he laughs. "Remember, we were going to get together after this and go out for dinner?"
"Um...no? I don't remember?"