Page 10 of Forced Proximity

Even though I should stop and put on some crap TV, I keep searching. I click on his family background, and my gut goes hard. Because of course. His parents were wealthy real estate developers in Nashville. Seriously, what exactly does someone have to do to win the trifecta lottery? Good-looking, talented, born into wealth. I’m gonna bet myself twenty bucks he can probably sing, too. I’m so irritable that I check my blood sugar just to make sure it’s not going bananas. Because this irritation isn’t logical. I know it’s not logical. And yet my fingers twitch to hit a punching bag.

I push the empty ramen pot aside, stuff a pillow behind my back and continue clicking.

It’s after midnight when my eyes officially reach max dryness. I close my laptop and step into the bathroom. I scrub my face harder than needed and push out an exhale.

Tomorrow the countdown starts. No chance in a fiery hell can I handle being Justin’s bodyguard for six months. For everything holy in this world, it better end in less than three.

Chapter 5

Lexi

Pulling up in front of Justin’s West Hollywood home is only a fraction less irritating than the first time. I still cursed Marcus a hundred times on the way over here for bringing me this assignment in the first place. But ultimately, I’m the one to blame for being soft and folding after seeing that unnerving video.

Thank God today’s a logistic meeting only. I’m going to pop in, confirm his house staff’s credentials, check the property and line out protocols. If all goes well, I’ll be done in an hour.

I throw my shoulders back, walk up the stone steps and ring the doorbell.

A few moments later a smiling Justin opens the door. Oof. He has a great smile. Plush lips, dimples … he’s probably a cover model overseas for some fancy cologne.

‘Hey, Doc. Come on in.’

He actually answers his own door like the rest of us? Interesting … Okay, enough. My parents raised me to be a lot of things – tough, hardworking, stable. Judgmental was not one of them, and yet, that’s the area I most succeed in. If I’m assigned to protect his life, I really, really need to let this go. My deep-rooted views on income disparity are not Justin’s personal fault.

I wipe off my boots on the mat and follow him through the home.

‘I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.’ Justin glances at me through his peripherals. ‘Anthony and I chatted after you left. I didn’t realize they’ve been keeping some things from me, and you took the brunt of my irritation.’

His deep voice with a hint of a Nashville drawl is a tad disarming. Almost as much as that scent rolling from him. ‘It’s fine. People often do that to protect the client. We want you aware but not terrified.’ When he motions to a seat at the kitchen island, I set down my bag and sit. ‘What did he tell you?’

He rolls up the sleeves of his perfectly tailored button-down shirt, clearly cut to accentuate everything. Damn. He has great forearms, too … firm, strong, the type of ridges and lines where he must spend a solid chunk of time swapping between wrist and hammer curls. Come on. Give me something that’s physically wrong with this guy. I’d even take four toes at this point.

‘Can I get you something to drink?’ he asks. ‘Tea? Coffee? Soda?’

‘Is it too early for vodka?’ I joke. Just because I won’t back down from conflict doesn’t mean I like it, and nothing felt good about the way things ended yesterday.

‘I maintain a dry house, so I couldn’t offer it even if I wanted to,’ he says.

Holy shit. He’s serious. Everything I read on him indicated a typical party boy – paparazzi photos from Cancun, late night New Year’s Eve bash in NYC, nightclub photos from this past spring.

‘I’m just kidding,’ I say. ‘You don’t drink?’

He shrugs. ‘Not usually. And I rarely allow it into my home.’

A hint of pride laces his voice, and I’m officially intrigued. ‘Coffee would be great.’ I reach into the bag for my notebook and pen.

‘Notebook, huh?’ He taps the ground coffee beans into the portafilter like he’s on shift at a Starbuck’s. ‘Are you one of those that thinks we’re being bugged by our electronics?’

If he only knew the type of personal data companies have access to. Protecting some powerful people both domestically and abroad, I’m privy to more information than I want. ‘We are being bugged.’ I lighten my tone. No need to freak him out until he’s in real danger. ‘Haven’t you ever said a product and your social media pops up that product ad a few hours later?’

‘Ha. True.’ He grabs two glass mugs from the cabinet above his head. ‘Cream? Sugar?’

‘Cream, please.’

The espresso machine squeals and an earthy aroma fills the room. He sets a mug in front of me, then swings back to the fridge to grab the cream.

Making coffee for me? Maybe he’s not a complete jerk. I wrap my palms around the cup and sip. Oh … oh shit. This is delicious. The velvet drink tastes like the beans were flown in from Columbia this morning. Perhaps I can get used to this.

He pulls up a seat at the bar across from me. ‘Are you anti-technology in your line of work?’