Page 8 of Triple Protection

I mean, he's gorgeous, sexy as hell between the muscles, tattoos and now reading glasses. Seriously, it should be a crime to be that sexy. But I still barely know him. Shit, he could be gay for all I know. Except, the hard on he was sporting might mean otherwise. Although, all guys get morning wood, right? Maybe it wasn't from me at all. Except he had warned me that the sounds I was making... Oh God. Butterflies and electricity attack my lower abdomen, making my sex ache.

Before he can answer, heavy steps sound on the stairs. I shoot back up again and stand in the kitchen, trying to look innocent. Innocent of what, though, I'm not sure. I'm frazzled. And I'm pretty sure I saw Brick chuckling at me as I ran. Or as much of a chuckle as Brick does.

The other two boys offer their greetings and help themselves to the coffee, Liam with his easy smile and Alex with his scowl.

"What's on the docket today?" Alex asks, leaning back against the counter. His tight black t-shirt strains against his massive biceps and his messy bedhead is delectable. Shit. Maybe I should call Miriam and ask for three ugly bodyguards. Living with these three was going to wear out my favorite vibrator in a week.

I shake my head and force myself to focus. I grab my phone from the coffee table and check my calendar.

"I have to work out this morning after breakfast, then I'm answering comments. I have a product call this afternoon and some admin work after that." Alex rolls his eyes, while Liam hangs on to my every word like it's the most interesting thing he'd ever heard. He makes me smile.

My phone rings.

"Good morning, Marshal." I answer. Alex motions for me to put it on speaker.

"Marshal, you're on speaker now. I'm here with my new bodyguards Liam, Alex and Brick."

Marshal pauses. "Bodyguards?"

"Yes. After the latest... I felt it was time to call in professionals. They'll be staying with me until the stalker goes away or is caught."

"Are you sure you're not overreacting, dear? You'd had adoring fans for years."

"Marshal, he was in my bedroom." I snap back, anger barely in check. "I was lucky all he did was take a picture. It could have ended much worse than that." I can't outright say what my deepest fears are, but my entire body clenches and begins shaking involuntarily. I admonish myself for being weak and afraid, but Liam notices the change in my mood and takes pity. He carefully comes to stand beside me, running his hands up and down my arms in a comforting motion. I close my eyes, focusing on his touch and calming myself down. Unfortunately,panic attacks have become a regular feature of my days, no matter how hard I try to fight them.

"Of course," Marshal says dismissively. "So, I'm working on the Her Secret collaboration. We have the DigiCon event next month, and two podcast recordings this week."

"Can you please email me the itineraries for the DigiCon event and set me up with a trip to visit Her Secret's HQ. I want to confirm with my own eyes they're American made and not using slave labor or children seamstresses. Are the podcasts listed on my calendar? I need time to research them before we record."

"Of course." He pauses and I can hear his keyboard clicking. "Are you sure you're alright? I don't like the idea of you being surrounded by strange men all the time."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "It's not like I pulled three randos off the street, Marshal. They're the best security money can buy and, frankly, they're already worth every penny."

I'm sure to Marshal it's not a big deal. Most men have no idea how vulnerable women are, especially to men. Men can fight men. Women hardly ever have a chance. Especially one as small as I am.

....

In the shower, alone with my thoughts, however, I contemplate Marshal's words. I love my job. I get to go to beautiful places and try on beautiful clothes! Even better, though, I get paid to inspire people, to bring smiles, and maybe just a little bit of joy to their lives. What started out as a silly hobby for a lonely girl turned into a thriving community of mostly women of all ages, sharing about their joys and passions and struggles.

Anyone who has been following me for any amount of time knows that the comments sections of any of my posts are only positive, friendly, open, and non-judgmental. I spend a lot of time every day deleting and blocking any internet trolls, oranyone slinging negativity or hate in my little corner of the internet. Because of that, women of all ages feel comfortable asking for advice, and giving it! And they are alwaysalwayssupportive and positive. That makes it worth it, right?

A lot of people, I'm sure Alex included, probably think being an influencer is all about putting on makeup and taking selfies by the pool. But the amount of work I put into curating images for my profile, deleting negative comments, replying to positive ones, and inspecting any product I was asked to sponsor to ensure it was worth being promoted is more than a full-time job. I refuse to betray my audience's trust by promoting a product that is subpar or made from toxic chemicals or made in sweat shops in other countries.

But is it worth it?

Is it worth the thousands of hours I put in? Am I so desperate for connection, for affection, for love that exposing myself to the world was the answer? Is it worth being constantly exposed to the worst of the worst of humanity? Is it worth it to put my own physical safety in jeopardy? If this stalker managed to kidnap me? Or murder me? Would it have been worth it? What would my life have meant? A social media profile with a million followers that would be deleted after so long? Or forgotten?

A deep-body shiver runs through my body and even under the hot water and steamy bathroom, I'm chilled. I rub my sternum, my breaths coming in fast and ragged.

Shit. I'm having a panic attack. I close my eyes and run my knuckle down my sternum painfully, trying to center myself, giving myself something to focus on, but it doesn't work. The steam from the shower means every breath I suck in; I'm still not getting enough to breathe. I stumble out of the shower. I just need fresh air.

I'd had a few panic attacks after that night, but I was usually alone for them. Mostly, they happen at night, when Carlita andJose have already left for the day, and I'm forced to face the night alone. I panic, pass out, and wake up hours later on the floor. It was one of the things that encouraged me to call Cerberus. I hate making a big deal out of my situation, but I couldn't go on like that - panic, pass out, wake up on the hard floor.

As I stumble out of the bathroom, hitting the door jamb hard with my shoulder, I grab the nearest towel I can find with my vision starting to tunnel, and throw it loosely over my back as I hit my hands and knees in my bedroom, still struggling for air. I'm going to pass out and one of the boys will find me. Shit. I don't want them to worry. I should have told them about the panic attacks, so they'd be prepared. Too late now. And worse, they'll find me naked on the floor. Fucking classy.

I press my forehead to the ground, enough to cause pain in a vain attempt to give my body something to focus on. My eyes are clenched tightly closed because if I open them, the room will spin.

"What the fuck!?" I hear a manly voice shout, even though it sounds like it's far away. Shit. I had started to pass out. If only he'd let me. Strong arms grab me by the shoulders, lifting me upright while bodies shuffle around me.