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Story: Road Trip with Her Bodyguard
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JORIE
Idon’t know the city, I’m surrounded by thousands of people, and I have no idea which way is north.
The streets of Nashville are packed with music lovers drifting between venues in search of their favorite bands. I got separated from Tara and Ashley twenty minutes ago when they darted into a dark bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of some podcaster they’re in love with, who just posted an update from that location.
It’s okay. I’m actually happy to be outside and get a few minutes of fresh air and peace.
The problem, though, is that I’m supposed to meet them at a place “one minute north”, but that requires me knowing where I am. Pulling out my phone, I see I suddenly have a bunch of texts.
Tara: OMG, this band’s singer must have a cold because he sounds awful and I guess Patrick and his podfolks have moved on already. Can’t see them anywhere. We’ll be out to meet you in a minute.
Dad: You’re being picked up by a man named Dane. He’s going to be your bodyguard. Do everything he says TO THE LETTER. You’re being tracked.
Mom: I saw the photos of you and your friends. So cute! Your hotel looks lovely. But honey, you need more eyeliner in a place like that to pop in those bright lights. Sorry your concert weekend is being cut short.
Unknown Number: Jorie, this is Dane. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Please be ready to move.
Ashley: We’re on the street now. Where are you?
Ashley: Ack, what kind of rich snob travels to a music fest by helicopter? LOL!
The roar of the engine can be felt before the chopper comes into view, heading for the top of an office tower. There’s a name and logo on the side – Lowell.
Yep. That would be my ride. OMG.
“Jorie!”
I spin to see Tara and Ashley shouldering their way through the crowd, looking at the chopper as it lands.
Ashley makes a face. “Sorry, girl. I didn’t know it was, you know…yours.”
“Notmine. Dad’s.”
They exchange a look. They’re familiar with my exasperated tone. Ever since my father became ridiculously wealthy througha series of hotel and tech deals, he’s been flaunting it with fancy vehicles and other ostentatious displays like this one. It’s been even worse since he started his own tech company last year. It’s always about how things look…sorry, the “optics”…to the media, his associates, and whatever organizations he’s trying to merge with these days.
Two weeks ago, he was ranting about one of his competitor’s daughters being kidnapped a few years back. I vaguely recall it making the news, but not the details. Just that it was intense. And now Dad’s acting weird, like he expects someone to come after me. Honestly, I think it’s more that he didn’t want me coming to this festival.
“Does your dad seriously expect you to leave right now?” Tara asks.
“Apparently. He sent some guy to pick me up. Like I’m just going to jump into a helicopter with?—”
“Jorie.”
I spin toward the deep voice coming from right behind me. Then my heart feels like it’s lost its place, stumbling through the beat like a drunk drummer.
My body flushes with warmth as I stare in disbelief. This guy ishot. More ripped than the singer of the last band we saw.Muchmore gorgeous than the breathtaking guitarist I was staring at four bands ago.
“I’m Dane.” Dear God, he must be at least six foot three. His eyes are a dark, rich brown, glinting in the glow of the streetlights around us. His chiseled cheekbones and sharp jawline would photograph so well that I’m tempted to pull out my phone.
He steps closer, his gaze flitting around. “Your father sent me – he is concerned that people are after you in order to get to him. You posted photos just a few hours ago in that lilac t-shirt.Anyone could find your location, and you’re far too easy to spot out here.”
He reaches out to take my arm, but Ashley’s hand darts out to stop him. “I don’t think so, buddy.”
He scowls, eyes still scanning the crowd as it flows past us. Then he leans forward to murmur in my ear, his warm breath sending prickles up my spine. “Your middle name is Clara. You don’t like it because you think it’s a little girl’s name. You still keep a purple stuffed bunny in your room. Your favorite sci-fi book isThe Rainbow Cadenza, but you don’t tell anyone because there are dirty parts in it and you get embarrassed easily.”
There’s no doubt in my mind: he was sent by my parents. Apart from anything else, Mom is the only one who knows about the “questionable reads” shelf in my closet.
JORIE
Idon’t know the city, I’m surrounded by thousands of people, and I have no idea which way is north.
The streets of Nashville are packed with music lovers drifting between venues in search of their favorite bands. I got separated from Tara and Ashley twenty minutes ago when they darted into a dark bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of some podcaster they’re in love with, who just posted an update from that location.
It’s okay. I’m actually happy to be outside and get a few minutes of fresh air and peace.
The problem, though, is that I’m supposed to meet them at a place “one minute north”, but that requires me knowing where I am. Pulling out my phone, I see I suddenly have a bunch of texts.
Tara: OMG, this band’s singer must have a cold because he sounds awful and I guess Patrick and his podfolks have moved on already. Can’t see them anywhere. We’ll be out to meet you in a minute.
Dad: You’re being picked up by a man named Dane. He’s going to be your bodyguard. Do everything he says TO THE LETTER. You’re being tracked.
Mom: I saw the photos of you and your friends. So cute! Your hotel looks lovely. But honey, you need more eyeliner in a place like that to pop in those bright lights. Sorry your concert weekend is being cut short.
Unknown Number: Jorie, this is Dane. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Please be ready to move.
Ashley: We’re on the street now. Where are you?
Ashley: Ack, what kind of rich snob travels to a music fest by helicopter? LOL!
The roar of the engine can be felt before the chopper comes into view, heading for the top of an office tower. There’s a name and logo on the side – Lowell.
Yep. That would be my ride. OMG.
“Jorie!”
I spin to see Tara and Ashley shouldering their way through the crowd, looking at the chopper as it lands.
Ashley makes a face. “Sorry, girl. I didn’t know it was, you know…yours.”
“Notmine. Dad’s.”
They exchange a look. They’re familiar with my exasperated tone. Ever since my father became ridiculously wealthy througha series of hotel and tech deals, he’s been flaunting it with fancy vehicles and other ostentatious displays like this one. It’s been even worse since he started his own tech company last year. It’s always about how things look…sorry, the “optics”…to the media, his associates, and whatever organizations he’s trying to merge with these days.
Two weeks ago, he was ranting about one of his competitor’s daughters being kidnapped a few years back. I vaguely recall it making the news, but not the details. Just that it was intense. And now Dad’s acting weird, like he expects someone to come after me. Honestly, I think it’s more that he didn’t want me coming to this festival.
“Does your dad seriously expect you to leave right now?” Tara asks.
“Apparently. He sent some guy to pick me up. Like I’m just going to jump into a helicopter with?—”
“Jorie.”
I spin toward the deep voice coming from right behind me. Then my heart feels like it’s lost its place, stumbling through the beat like a drunk drummer.
My body flushes with warmth as I stare in disbelief. This guy ishot. More ripped than the singer of the last band we saw.Muchmore gorgeous than the breathtaking guitarist I was staring at four bands ago.
“I’m Dane.” Dear God, he must be at least six foot three. His eyes are a dark, rich brown, glinting in the glow of the streetlights around us. His chiseled cheekbones and sharp jawline would photograph so well that I’m tempted to pull out my phone.
He steps closer, his gaze flitting around. “Your father sent me – he is concerned that people are after you in order to get to him. You posted photos just a few hours ago in that lilac t-shirt.Anyone could find your location, and you’re far too easy to spot out here.”
He reaches out to take my arm, but Ashley’s hand darts out to stop him. “I don’t think so, buddy.”
He scowls, eyes still scanning the crowd as it flows past us. Then he leans forward to murmur in my ear, his warm breath sending prickles up my spine. “Your middle name is Clara. You don’t like it because you think it’s a little girl’s name. You still keep a purple stuffed bunny in your room. Your favorite sci-fi book isThe Rainbow Cadenza, but you don’t tell anyone because there are dirty parts in it and you get embarrassed easily.”
There’s no doubt in my mind: he was sent by my parents. Apart from anything else, Mom is the only one who knows about the “questionable reads” shelf in my closet.