Page 22 of Awestruck (Starstruck Love Stories #4)

Chapter Thirteen

Elliot

Wade:

Yo Reid, when were you going to tell us you’re a bodyguard?

Bax:

Nah, he’s a freaking celebrity now.

North:

How does someone get a gig like that? Asking for a friend.

Wade:

It’s him. He’s the friend.

North:

You know it.

Bax:

No wonder you won’t come back to the team, bro.

Wade:

Reid, I don’t think this counts as lying low for a while, by the way.

Bax:

He lived with Griff’s family on base for almost a year. I think that counts as a while.

By the way, if this princess thing doesn’t work out, there’s still a spot here for you.

Wade:

No there isn’t…

North:

There will be when the rookie cracks and drops out.

Bax:

That’s happening sooner than later. Cap’s about to lose his mind.

North:

But seriously, when they inevitably kick us out I’m expecting you to get us all jobs with hot women because you clearly know what’s up.

I curse as I lock my phone and set it on the bed next to me.

Then curse again because the first one wasn’t strong enough.

How did they find out? At least it’s only three guys on the text, but I’m under no illusions they won’t eventually tell the rest of the squad that my face is all over the internet.

I knew pictures of me with Freya were going to surface at some point, but holy hell. There’s a slideshow. A freaking slideshow. Most of them are closeups of me, as if there’s a universe where I am more interesting than the literal princess having casual conversations with people on the street.

My phone buzzes again, and I’m afraid to look.

My old compatriots aren’t going to leave me alone until I respond, but what am I supposed to say?

They already have all the facts about my new job thanks to the most recent Hollywood Hot Scoop article, and this is only going to fuel their attempts to get me back on the team because they won’t take my position seriously when this is what they see of it.

Considering I haven’t talked to any of them in months, I don’t know why they’re trying so hard.

Worse than that, I have no idea how to interact with them anymore.

I’m in a different world from them now, and jumping into conversation with them feels like a step backward. It took me long enough to get over the guilt I felt over Griff’s death and abandoning the rest of the guys because of it, and I really need to focus on my current mission.

The current mission being convincing Freya that she’s never going to wander the city like that again.

The woman spent over an hour talking to people in the street this afternoon before I could get her to climb into the car that was waiting for us, so she’s not going to be easily persuaded.

Not even a handful of irritated nobility dimmed her pride, even when they not so subtly suggested she might be forgetting her station.

She held her head high throughout their criticisms, and I reluctantly have to admit that her conviction is admirable.

Even if it stresses me out.

After several more texts come in, I gingerly tap the screen and flinch when I see the previews of the texts from my old comrades. They are not holding back, now commenting on Hot Scoop’s high praise for my appearance. But there’s another text below that thread, and that’s the one I open.

Derek:

Holding up okay?

If my old ODA knows about the Hot Scoop slideshow, it’s no surprise that Derek knows about it too. But I am surprised that he’s worried about me.

I should really be sleeping—today was exhausting even though it went as smoothly as an unplanned excursion could have gone—but sleep is going to elude me for a while. I prop up a pillow against the headboard and get comfortable as I type out a return text.

Elliot:

Aside from being tempted to murder Freya, I’m all good.

Derek:

When she gets an idea, she doesn’t like to deviate.

Elliot:

I’m learning that.

Derek:

Was there any trouble? I noticed you were the only protection agent in the photos.

Of course he caught that. Thankfully, no one on the internet has mentioned that there weren’t other guards around, and I would like to keep it that way.

If someone decides to stir up trouble because they think I won’t be enough to keep Freya safe, they might actually have a chance to get to her.

A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

Elliot:

No trouble, but I’m attributing that to luck. She got the drop on me, or I would have made better arrangements.

Derek:

She’s good at that.

“Oh good,” I mutter, not really needing confirmation that Freya is going to be more of a handful than I anticipated.

I wonder what someone like Wade would do in a job like mine, or North.

Knowing North, he probably would have started flirting with Freya immediately and lasted less than a day as her bodyguard.

Wade is more sensible, but he’s not one to take charge unless he absolutely has to. Freya would walk all over him.

“What about you?” I ask my phone, as if my words might reach Derek.

He played a bodyguard in a movie once, and he has the muscle mass to at least look intimidating.

That’s all the tabloids seem to care about, though the Hot Scoop article makes me itchy.

I guess I should be flattered that whoever the author is, they think I’m attractive?

Yeah, I’m not flattered at all. There’s something slimy about that website.

Elliot:

Is this Hot Scoop’s nasty side coming out?

Derek:

Not in the slightest.

Elliot:

Did you read the part where they talked about Freya?

Derek:

That’s tame for them.

I swear again.

“You’re worse than Hex,” a voice says at the door.

Sander. Tempted to tell him to go away so I can try to get some sleep, I glance at the door that separates my suite from Freya’s, then grab my gun and move to the main door to undo all the locks.

“Up late?” I mutter as I crack the door open, relaxing only when I see that it really is Sander and he’s on his own.

He looks down at the gun in my fingers and fights a smile. “Paranoid?”

“I won’t dignify that with an answer. What do you want?”

“Can I come in?”

I open the door wide, nodding to the two guards stationed in front of Freya’s door as Sander slips inside, then lock the door behind him.

When my phone buzzes several times in succession, Sander lifts an eyebrow. “Do you need to get that?” Like I’m the one interrupting something.

Chuckling, I gesture for him to sit in one of the chairs while I fall onto my back on the bed. “It’s either my old squad torturing me about those photos, or it’s Derek giving me unhelpful advice.”

Sander makes a noise in between a scoff and a grunt.

I lift my head. “Do you have something against Derek Riley?” The twins know Derek got me the job, but they don’t know he’s my cousin, and I am suddenly extremely interested in Sander’s opinion of Derek.

Queen Ingrid thinks Derek can do no wrong, and Hex seems indifferent.

But I don’t think I’ve ever heard Sander talk about the guy.

Not specifically, anyway. He usually refers to Freya’s friends as “the Americans.”

Rolling his eyes, Sander shakes his head. “Not here to discuss Freya’s weird friendship with the actor.”

Interesting. “Then why are you here?”

“Because Markham Grimstad is down in the lobby and wants to talk to you.”

That gets me to sit up, suddenly alert. “What?”

He nods. “The guards came to get me first, after you had me tail him yesterday, but he’s pretty determined to have a conversation.”

I run a hand through my hair, which has gotten long in the time I’ve been Candora.

I haven’t cut it since leaving the States, and this is the first time in almost a decade that I haven’t kept it regulation.

I’m surprised none of my ODA mentioned it.

Or maybe they have, but I’m still ignoring their texts.

“Why would Grimstad want to talk to me?” I ask, a bit distracted by my hair and the realization that I can do whatever I want with it for the first time in eight years. Not important, El.

“He’s keeping that bit to himself,” Sander says with a shrug. “I’m happy to tell him to bugger off if you want me to.”

“No, I’ll talk to him.” I stand and grab a t-shirt, pulling it over my head as I think about what Grimstad might have to say.

More than anything, I’m concerned that he’s in the same place we are once again.

He might have seen all the articles and posts about Freya’s impromptu meet and greet and hurried to Windgaard from wherever he was, but my gut says he’s following us.

Or he got his hands on our schedule, which would be a lot more complicated and force me to figure out who on the staff let things slip. Gregor trusts everyone we have with us, but the right motivation can make a desperate person go rogue.

I really don’t want to have to start shaking down guards and cooks.

When I slip my holster on and slide my gun into it, Sander snorts a laugh. “Not going to hide it?”

“I’d rather he know what he’s dealing with.” Once I tug on my shoes, I unlock the door and head out, Sander behind me. I lock the door again right as the next door down opens and Freya steps out, and I curse.

Freya lifts an eyebrow. “That is some colorful language, Mr. Reid.”

“Apologies.” Even if it’s warranted. “I thought you were asleep.”

“It is hard to sleep with the two of you yammering next door.”

It’s a good thing I was texting Derek instead of talking to him. “You’re not coming with me,” I say with as much force as I can muster in my exhaustion.

She narrows her eyes. “If Grimstad is here, I would like to talk to him.”

“He didn’t ask to talk to you,” I counter.

“Well…” Sander flinches when I turn my glare to him. “If you want to be technical, he first asked for Freya but said he would settle for you if she wouldn’t come.”

I am sorely tempted to punch him, but he would block me and dish it right back. “We need to work on your ability to keep things to yourself,” I grumble before blocking Freya’s way out the door. “You should have been asleep an hour ago, Rapunzel.”

Her nose wrinkles at the name I started calling her earlier today.

It isn’t especially apt right now, with her hair twisted up and out of her way, but I like the way the name ruffles her.

It’s a small form of payback for the way she ruffled me when she put her hand on my knee on the bus. “As I said, you were keeping me up.”

“Sander came in less than five minutes ago,” I argue.

Freya steps forward and rises up on her toes, mere inches from me because I stand my ground.

She looks both irritated and amused, which is an intriguing look for her.

“In case it hasn’t caught your notice, you are a giant of a man, Elliot Reid, and your steps are far from light.

The next time you choose to pace, perhaps you could do it somewhere that isn’t the room next to mine. ”

“Two contractions in one go,” is the response that comes out of my mouth when it’s one I should hold back. I purse my lips as her smug expression turns fiery, and then I shake my head. “Proud as I am that you’re learning, I still won’t let you go down and talk to Grimstad.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need to figure out why he’s following us, and I can’t do that if you’re distracting me.”

She lifts a delicate eyebrow as her eyes trace my face.

She looks…different. She’s not wearing her usual makeup, so she looks younger than normal.

Softer. But she’s as beautiful as ever. “Distracting you?” she asks, her voice low and husky.

“How am I a distraction when I am already the focus of your job?”

That’s a good question and a clear sign that I can’t do any more solo outings with the princess if I want to have the brain power to stay alert.

I’m too tired for this nonsense. I should have Sander send Grimstad away.

But the determination in the princess’s gaze says she’ll find a way to get down there with or without me, and I groan.

“Fine.”

Freya crows in triumph and shoves me out of her way, which works only because I wasn’t expecting her warm hands on my chest. I stumble back but manage to grab her arm before she gets very far.

“Hold up,” I growl.

She turns to me with wary eyes. “What now?”

I nod at her silk pajamas at the same time Sander snickers. “Maybe you should change first.”

“Oh! Yes.” With no sign of embarrassment—surprising—she hurries back into her room and shuts the door.

Groaning again, I run a hand down my face as Sander starts full-on laughing now. “She’s going to be the death of me.”

“It’s nice to see her coming into her own again,” Sander replies.

“She was getting a little too subdued for a bit there.” Is he trying to tell me that the stubborn, obstinate, and reckless woman I started working for was the subdued version of her?

There must be horror on my face because Sander’s laughter grows louder.

“Oh, you’re in for it now,” he says, then heads for the lobby, ideally to prep a room for us to have this discussion with Grimstad that we shouldn’t be having.

Freya appears back at her door in only a couple of minutes, now wearing a pair of jeans and a soft-looking navy sweater that makes her eyes look gray. “Is this more appropriate?” she asks, her words full of derision. She doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, instead leading the way down the hall.

I glance at the two guards, both of whom have been trying not to laugh this whole time, and sigh. “Come on,” I tell them, and the three of us follow the princess to what I am sure is going to be an interesting conversation.