“Why don’t we get to know each other?” Booth said in a jovial, too-loud voice. “Er, I mean you and Rhys, Your Highness. We can talk needs, expectations, schedules…”
“Excellent idea.” I mustered a strained smile and gestured Rhys toward the couch. “Please. Sit.”
For the next forty-five minutes, we ran through logistics for the transition. Booth would remain my bodyguard until Monday, but Rhys would shadow him until then so he could get a feel for how things worked.
“This is all fine.” Rhys closed the file containing a detailed breakdown of my class and weekly schedules, upcoming public events, and expected travel. “Let me be frank, Princess Bridget. You are not my first, nor will you be the last, royal I’ve guarded. I’ve worked with Harper Security for five years, and I’ve never had a client harmed while under my protection. Do you want to know why?”
“Let me guess. Your dazzling charm stunned the would-be attackers into complacency,” I said.
Booth choked out a laugh, which he quickly turned into a cough.
Rhys’s mouth didn’t so much as twitch. Of course it didn’t. My joke wasn’t Comedy Central worthy, but I imagined finding a waterfall in the Sahara would be easier than finding a drop of humor in that big, infuriatingly sculpted body.
“The reason is twofold,” Rhys said calmly, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “One, I do not become involved in my clients’ personal lives. I am here to safeguard you from physical harm. That is all. I am not here to be your friend, confidant, or anything else. This ensures my judgment remains uncompromised. Two, my clients understand the way things must work if they are to remain safe.”
“And how is that?” My polite smile carried a warning he either didn’t notice or ignored.
“They do what I say, when I say it for anything security-related.” Rhys’s gray eyes locked onto mine. It was like staring at an unyielding steel wall. “Understand, Your Highness?”
Forget love and passion. What I wanted most was to slap the arrogant expression off his face and knee him in the family jewels while I was at it.
I pressed the pads of my fingers into my thighs and forced myself to count to three before I responded.
When I spoke again, my voice was frigid enough to make Antarctica look like a beach paradise. “Yes.” My smile sharpened. “Luckily for us both, Mr. Larsen, I have no interest in being your friend, confidant, or ‘anything else.’”
I didn’t bother dignifying the second part of his statement—the one about me doing what he said, when he said it—with a response. I wasn’t an idiot. I’d always heeded Booth’s security advice, but I’d be damned if I fed into Rhys’s inflated sense of self.
“Good.” Rhys stood. I hated how tall he was. His presence obliterated everything else in the vicinity until he was the only thing I could focus on. “I’ll assess the house before we discuss next steps, including upgrading your security system. Right now, any teenager with access to YouTube tutorials can bypass the alarm.” He shot me a disapproving glare before he disappeared into the kitchen.
My jaw dropped. “He—you…” I sputtered, uncharacteristically speechless. “Why, I never!” I turned to Booth, who was trying to melt into the giant potted plant by the front door. “You’re not leaving. I forbid it.”
Rhys could not be my bodyguard. I would murder him, and my housekeeper would murder me for staining the carpet with blood.
“He probably has first-day jitters.” Booth looked as uncertain as he sounded. “You’ll get along just fine after the, ah, transition period, Your Highness.”
Perhaps…if we made it out of the transition period alive.
“You’re right.” I pressed my fingers to my temple and took a deep breath. I can do this. I’d dealt with difficult people before. My cousin Andreas was the spawn of Satan, and a British lord once tried to grope me under the table at Monaco’s Rose Ball. He only stopped after I “accidentally” stabbed his hand with a fork.
What was one surly bodyguard compared to entitled aristocrats, nosy reporters, and evil family members?
Rhys returned. Surprise, surprise, his glower hadn’t melted.
“I’ve detected six security vulnerabilities we need to address ASAP,” he said. “Let’s start with number one: the windows.”
“Which ones?” Stay calm. Stay reasonable.
“All of them.”
Booth covered his face with his hands while I contemplated turning my hairpin into a murder weapon.
Rhys and I definitely weren’t making it out of the transition alive.
2
Rhys
Princess Bridget von Ascheberg of Eldorra would be the death of me. If not literal death, then the death of my patience and sanity. Of that, I was certain, and we’d only been working together for two weeks.
I’d never had a client who infuriated me as much as she did. Sure, she was beautiful （not a good thing when you were in my position） and charming （to everyone except me）， but she was also a royal pain in my ass. When I said “right,” she went left; when I said “leave,” she stayed. She insisted on spontaneously attending crowded events before I could do the advance work, and she treated my security concerns like they were an afterthought instead of an emergency.
Bridget said that was the way things had worked with Booth, and she’d been fine. I said I wasn’t Booth, so I didn’t give a damn what she did or didn’t do when she was with him. I ran the show now.
She didn’t take that well, but I didn’t give a shit. I wasn’t here to win Mr. Congeniality. I was here to keep her alive.
Tonight, “here” meant the most crowded bar in Hazelburg. Half of Thayer had turned out for The Crypt’s Friday night half-off specials, and I was sure the bar was over max capacity.
Loud music, loud people. My least favorite kind of place and, apparently, Bridget’s most favorite, considering how vehement she’d been about coming here.
“So.” Her redheaded friend Jules eyed me over the rim of her glass. “You were a Navy SEAL, huh?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t fooled by her flirty tone or party girl demeanor. I’d run in-depth background checks on all of Bridget’s friends the moment I took the job, and I knew for a fact Jules Ambrose was more dangerous than she appeared. But she didn’t pose a threat to Bridget, so I didn’t mention what she did in Ohio. It wasn’t my story to tell.
“I love military men,” she purred.
“Ex-military, J.” Bridget didn’t look at me as she finished her drink. “Besides, he’s too old for you.”
That was one of the few things I agreed with her on. I was only thirty-one, so I wasn’t ancient by any means, but I’d done and witnessed enough shit in my life to feel ancient, especially compared to fresh-faced college students who hadn’t even had their first real job yet.
I’d never been fresh-faced, not even when I was a kid. I grew up in dirt and grit.
Meanwhile, Bridget sat across from me, looking like the fairytale princess she was. Big blue eyes and lush pink lips set in a heart-shaped face, perfect alabaster skin, golden hair falling in loose waves down her back. Her black top bared her smooth shoulders, and tiny diamonds glittered on her ears.