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"For one, tell me what a choad is."
A dark flush crept over Jace's handsome face. The light skin at his jaw, covered with a scruff of beard, twitched with a hidden smile. "I think you'd better check Urban Dictionary for that. I'm not really comfortable using those words with a lady."
I sank my elbows to my defiled counter. "Oh for fuck's sake."
He didn't tell me, but he did pull out his phone and swipe until he found the definition on Urban Dictionary.
"Oh. I see. Okay, yes. Zac is a choad." I stifled a giggle. This was not the time for giggles.
"What else?" Jace asked, shoving his phone back in his pocket.
"What?" The definition I’d just read had me forgetting whatever I’d been about to say.
"The deal."
"Oh. Promise me you won't keep things from me again. You see more than I do. You know what's going on when I don't. Can you be my second set of eyes, Jace?" I knew it was more than I was supposed to ask of my security team. But I didn’t have anyone else. I didn’t have family here, wasn’t close with the family I did have. And now I didn’t have a husband either.
He shifted on the stool and I got the sense he was uncomfortable.
"I'll pay you more," I said quickly. Was he worried I was asking him to do more work?
"No," he said. "It's not that. It's just ..."
"I need someone I can trust." I dropped my head into my hands. "It's like I don't even know what's real anymore. Does that make sense?"
He didn't say anything for a long second, and I swiveled my head so I could see his face. I'd had lots of bodyguards since that first incident, most of who kept their distance and didn't say much. They opened doors, they lent a hand when needed. But they were like shadows. For some reason, since the day Jace was assigned to me just over a year ago, I'd felt something different from him. I was more comfortable in his presence, more at ease.
And I couldn't pretend I hadn't entertained a fantasy or two about those muscled biceps, that hard wide torso. He was like a statue in a dark T-shirt, and something about him looked fierce and dangerous. But at the same time, he was always quick with a gentle smile, a kind word. The other guys didn't speak to me most of the time, but Jace always said hello. I'd come to think of him differently.
It was possible I had a little crush on him. And the thrill of having him alone here with me, in my kitchen, even in the face of having just discovered my asshole husband face down in our chef, was intriguing, even through my misery.
"You can always trust me, Miss Manchester," he said, his rich dark voice earnest and sincere.
"Please call me Juliet."
"Juliet."
I smiled at him then. My heart was ripped to shreds and I felt lonelier than I ever had, despite being more successful professionally than I'd ever dreamed I could be. But there was a little glimmer of something inside me when Jace smiled back.
Chapter Two
Jace
I'd never been the kind of guy who went after the most popular girl. I knew who I was—and that was just a regular guy from a small town. Not a celebrity, not even a fan. But there was something about Juliet Manchester that made me rethink everything.
In the weeks after Zac made his spectacular exit, the firm decided to station one guard inside Juliet's house based on the fact her on-again, off-again stalker had been spotted in the neighborhood. We'd always held posts outside—two of us taking quarters in the two-bedroom guest house off the driveway. But in light of Juliet's changed circumstances, I'd been assigned to move into the main house.
"Hey, Jace?" A light knock came at my door one night after I'd seen Juliet off to her room and turned in for the night. Things had been polite and a little tense between us. We were both getting used to the change. I liked being closer to her, and I told myself it was only because I could do my job better if I kept her in sight. But when her quiet knock came at my door in the stillness of the night, the twisting want stirring inside me had little to do with work. I knew there was nothing urgently wrong—her voice was too soft, too calm for that.
"Juliet?" I pulled open the bedroom door, realizing a beat too late that I hadn't managed to pull my shirt back on before answering. "Oh, sorry, I was just ..." I moved across the room, pulling a loose USMC T-shirt over my head quickly. She didn't say anything until I faced her again, and it was hard to read the expression on her face. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, I uh … listen, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you." She began to pull the door shut again, looking so sad and defeated I nearly pulled her into my arms as my pulse raced.
"Hey," I said, stepping to block the swing of the door. "What's up?"
Those green eyes met mine then, her little chin tilting up to meet my gaze. She stared at me a second, and then her expression shifted and fell before she gathered herself again. "It's silly really, I just ... I didn't feel like going to sleep and I kind of wanted some company." She looked around the dark hallway at her back. "It's hard to admit this, but I guess I don't really have a lot of friends. And Elvis is out for the night. Sometimes it's lonely, that's all." She didn't meet my eye again.
The part about the dog was no surprise. Elvis, Juliet's narcoleptic pug, was often "out." I didn't see the appeal of this particular dog, but Juliet seemed to love him, so I took on the additional responsibility of scooping him up whenever he went to sleep in the midst of a run or out in town. But the idea of Juliet being lonely made me think for a second. She was arguably the most beloved star in America—how could she be lonely? The idea made me sad.
