Page 2 of Daddy's Bodyguard
I laugh and shrug. “You work plenty, I just … can’t stop.”
“I know the feeling.” He motions to the elevator. “But remember that you’re young, Sofia.”
“That’s not an excuse to slack off. I can be productive no matter how old I am. I don’t want to wait until I’m physically unable to help.”
Nick doesn’t reply at first. His body intermittently brushes against mine as we silently walk to my car. I fiddle with my keys as he lingers, his soft eyes taking me in. “You should really take some time off,” he says.
“For what?”
“For you. You’re one of the best here, and I don’t want you burning out before you take my job.”
I blink at him, then laugh. “Don’t tease.”
“With allyourenthusiasm and promise, I thinkI’llend up promoted, which means finding my own replacement.” He inches further, a gentle smile on his lips. “Who better than the one person in the office that works harder than me?”
The compliment makes me want to do a backflip, but instead, I give him a calm nod. I know better than to count my chickens before they hatch. “I’d be honored to fill your shoes.”
“I think you’re a bit too delicate for mine.” He brushes a stray lock of my dark hair from my face. “And I do like seeing you in heels.”
A blush warms all the way down to my chest. I lightly touch his chest with a giggle, then lean back against my car. “Power shoes,” I mumble.
“Oh, no doubt.” He steps back, and I experience an instant flash of disappointment. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sofia.”
“Good night, Nick.”
Such a tease. I shake my head as Nick turns and walks away, glancing back twice. We have both been involved in this subtle flirting game since my first week at the company. But Nick has never made a solid move, and while I enjoy his teasing, I’m not sure if I want him to make a move. We both have our focus locked on our careers, which leaves no time for a social life, anyway. I don’t want a relationship to derail my goals … again.
Once was enough. Relationships strain my focus, leaving space for people to swoop in and take advantage of me. Even if I know Nick wouldn’t do that, I can’t afford to get distracted from my dreams. Not for anyone.
So, I put our little moment to the back of my mind, get in my car, and drive home while planning what I can possibly do to provide better homes and hot meals to people less fortunate. Even as I unlock my door and head into my apartment, I’m working out how to get more donations to help the local shelters.
I slide off my shoes and set them on my shoe rack near the door, then head to my fridge to pull out a pre-cooked, oven-ready meal and continue in my routine. It’s like clockwork: smooth, predictable, and dependable. It’s the reliability that makes it easy and allows my brain to wind down.
With everything else going smoothly, I can focus on other things, like getting through a shower and into comfortable clothes. I haul on cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt that shows the original poster forNight of the Living Dead.
Sitting before my mirror, I remove my thick hair from the trademark bun and watch as it cascades down my shoulder. Reaching for a brush, I spend a few minutes detangling the curls before heading to the kitchen to get my food as well as the folder from my teaching bag.
Teaching English as a second language isn’t a difficult task, but I have to ensure my methods are interesting and effective. Half of the class has the attention span of a four-year-old. The rest give me hope to carry on.
Perching on my bar stool, I look over my lesson plan for the week as I eat. A gentle knock on my door soon pulls my attention, and I stare at it with a frown. I wait for another knock, but all is silent. Did I imagine it? Was it a mistake? No one but Carissa knows where I live, and she never drops by unexpectedly. Plus, I only order takeout once a week. Who the hell could it be?
The silence continues. Satisfied, I return to my meal. I’m about to take a bite when another knock comes, then another, each one getting louder than before. I quickly reach for my phone to dial 9-1-1 because those definitely aren’t friendly knocking on my door. The phone starts ringing as the door flies open, and I fall off the stool with a cry. I scramble to my feet, my eyes locking on the row of kitchen knives attached to the magnetic strip on the wall. Damn it. They are too far away.
The tall, Viking-looking man standing in the doorway is wearing an amused smile. Hardly the reaction of an intruder, but maybe he’s one of those deranged assholes who murder people while smiling from ear to ear. Like the Joker. But he’s definitely easier on the eyes.
Fuck. What am I thinking? There’s a stranger standing in my foyer! I need to get somewhere safe. Fast!
But as I start backing away, he steps aside, revealing a handsome dark-haired man with greying hair at his temple. His perfect navy suit – never black because it’s not a funeral – screams money. Dirty money. Yeah, that’s my dad, and he’s arguablyworsethan a run-of -the-mill intruder. He seems a little worried at first, but his face clears when he sees me.
“Dad?”
“Buenas tardes, mi amor. Thank God you’re okay.” He takes a step towards me, but I stop him with a raised palm.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay? And why are you—” My head lifts a little as two other guys come up behind him, reducing Dad to hobbit-size next to them. What in the name of active duty is going on here?
Puzzled, I look back at him. “What’s going on?”
“We’re going to take a trip, princesa.”