Young, rich, and regal. The opposite of me in every way.
“Negative. I love older men.” Jules upped the wattage of her smile as she gave me another once-over. “And you’re hot.”
I didn’t smile back. I wasn’t dumb enough to get involved with a client’s friend. I already had my hands full with Bridget.
Figuratively speaking.
“Leave the man alone.” Stella laughed. Fashion design and communications major. Daughter of an environmental lawyer and the chief of staff to a cabinet secretary. Social media star. My brain ticked off all the things I knew about her as she snapped a photo of her cocktail before taking a sip. “Find someone your own age.”
“Guys my age are boring. I’d know. I dated a bunch of them.” Jules nudged Ava, the last member of Bridget’s close friend group. Aside from Jules’s inappropriate come-ons, they were a decent bunch. Certainly better than the friends of the Hollywood starlet I’d guarded for three excruciating months, during which I saw more “accidental” genital flashings than I’d thought I would ever see in my life. “Speaking of older men, where’s your boo?”
Ava blushed. “He can’t make it. He has a conference call with some business partners in Japan.”
“Oh, he’ll make it,” Jules drawled. “You in a bar, surrounded by drunken, horny college guys? I’m surprised he hasn’t—ah. Speak of the devil. There he is.”
I followed her gaze to where a tall, dark-haired man cut a path through the crowd of said drunken, horny college guys.
Green eyes, tailored designer clothing, and an icy expression that made the frozen tundra of Greenland look like tropical islands.
Alex Volkov.
I knew the name and reputation, even if I didn’t know him personally. He was a legend in certain circles.
The de facto CEO of the country’s largest real estate development company, Alex had enough connections and blackmail material to bring down half of Congress and the Fortune 500.
I didn’t trust him, but he was dating one of Bridget’s best friends, which meant his presence was unavoidable.
Ava’s face lit up when she saw him. “Alex! I thought you had a business call.”
“The call wrapped up early, so I thought I’d swing by.” He brushed his lips over hers.
“I love when I’m right, which is almost always.” Jules shot Alex a sly glance. “Alex Volkov in a college bar? Never thought I’d see the day.”
He ignored her.
The music changed from low-key R&B to a remix of the latest radio hit, and the bar went wild. Jules and Stella scrambled out of their seats to hit the dance floor, followed by Bridget, but Ava stayed put.
“You guys go. I’ll stay here.” She yawned. “I’m kinda tired.”
Jules looked horrified. “It’s only eleven!” She turned to me. “Rhys, dance with us. You have to make up for this…blasphemy.” She gestured at where Ava was curled into Alex’s side while he wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. Ava made a face; Alex’s expression didn’t so much as budge. I’d seen blocks of ice show more emotion than him.
I remained seated. “I don’t dance.”
“You don’t dance. Alex doesn’t sing. Aren’t you two a bundle of joy,” Jules grumbled. “Bridge, do something.”
Bridget glanced at me before looking away. “He’s working. Come on,” she teased. “Aren’t Stella and I enough?”
Jules let out an aggrieved sigh. “I suppose. Way to guilt-trip me.”
“I learned the subtle art of guilt-tripping in princess school.” Bridget pulled her friends onto the dance floor. “Let’s go.”
To no one’s surprise, Ava and Alex called it a night soon after, and I sat at the table by myself, keeping half an eye on the girls and the other half on the rest of the bar. At least, I tried. My gaze strayed back to Bridget and Bridget alone more often than I’d like, and not just because she was my client.
I’d known she would be trouble the minute Christian told me about my new assignment. Told, not asked, because Christian Harper dealt in orders, not requests. But we had enough of a history I could’ve turned down the assignment had I wanted to—and I’d really fucking wanted to. Me guarding the Princess of Eldorra when I wanted nothing to do with Eldorra? Worst idea in the history of bad ideas.
Then I’d looked at the picture of Bridget and saw something in her eyes that tugged at me. Maybe it was the hint of loneliness or the vulnerability she tried to hide. Whatever it was, it was enough for me to say yes, albeit reluctantly.
Now here I was, stuck with a charge who barely tolerated me, and vice versa.
You’re a goddamned idiot, Larsen.
But as infuriating as I found Bridget, I had to admit, I liked seeing her the way she was tonight. Big smile, glowing face, eyes sparkling with laughter and mischief. None of the loneliness I’d spotted in the headshot Christian gave me.
She threw her hands in the air and swayed her hips to the music, and my gaze lingered on the bare expanse of her long, smooth legs before I tore it away, my jaw tightening.
I’d guarded plenty of beautiful women before, but when I saw Bridget in person for the first time, I’d reacted in a way I never had for my previous clients. Blood heating, cock hardening, hands itching to find out how her golden hair would feel wrapped around my fist. It’d been visceral, unexpected, and almost enough to make me walk away from the job before I started, because lusting after a client could only end in disaster.
But my pride won out, and I stayed. I just hoped I wouldn’t regret it.
Jules and Stella said something to Bridget, who nodded before they left for what I presumed was the bathroom. They’d been gone for only two minutes when a frat boy-looking type in a pink polo shirt beelined toward Bridget with a determined expression.
My shoulders tensed.
I rose from my seat right as Frat Boy reached Bridget and whispered something in her ear. She shook her head, but he didn’t leave.
Something dark unfurled in my stomach. If there was one thing I hated, it was men who couldn’t take a fucking hint.
Frat Boy reached for Bridget. She pulled her arm away before he could make contact and said something else, her expression sharper this time. His face twisted into an ugly scowl. He reached for her again, but before he could touch her, I stepped in between them, cutting him off.
“Is there a problem?” I stared down at him.
Frat Boy oozed the entitlement of someone who wasn’t used to hearing no thanks to Daddy’s money, and he was either too stupid or too arrogant to realize I was two seconds away from rearranging his face so thoroughly a plastic surgeon wouldn’t be able to fix it.
“No problem. I was just asking her to dance.” Frat Boy eyed me like he was thinking of taking me on.
Definitely stupid.
“I don’t want to dance.” Bridget stepped around me and stared Frat Boy down herself. “I already told you twice. Don’t make me tell you a third time. You won’t like what’ll happen.”
There were times when I could forget Bridget was a princess, like when she was singing off-key in the shower—she thought I couldn’t hear her, but I could—or pulling an all-night study session at the kitchen table.