Page 31 of Desperate Games

My brows lift. “One guard or a team?”

“Just one.”

“Okay. You want me to assign someone?”

He gives me a look.

The kind that says I already know you’re going to say yes, but I’m gonna drag it out anyway because I’m your boss and also a smug bastard.

“Thought you’d want this one yourself,” he says, then slides a slip of paper across the desk.

I reach for it. He yanks it back with a shit-eating grin.

“Are you sure about this?”

I grit my teeth. “Give me the paper, Connor.”

“You’re positive? You’re not gonna screw it up? Get handsy? Go full caveman in a ballroom, maybe start growling if another man talks to her?”

I stare.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He sighs, sobers.

“It’s Andrea,” he finally says. “She’s got some kind of gala tonight. Requested an armed escort.”

She requested me.

Whether she knows it or not.

And just like that, everything in me tightens. Snaps into place.

I hold out my hand.

“Give me the address.”

He passes the paper over.

My fingers close around it like it’s a fucking lifeline.

Because I’ve spent a week fantasizing about being with her.

Now? I get to do it for real.

Chapter Eight-Andrea

I’ve been pacing the hardwood floor of my apartment for the better part of an hour.

Back and forth, back and forth. Wearing nothing but a pair of pajama shorts and one of my old college tees, the fabric soft and clingy from too many washes. I was supposed to be dressed already.

Hair done. Makeup on. That perfect gold gown zipped up like armor.

Instead, I’m barefoot and jittery, spiraling in circles and second-guessing everything.

The plan was airtight.

Clementine helped me hatch it.