Page 19 of Escorting the Bodyguard (Hearts for Hire #4)
Chapter One
Olivia
What the actual hell am I doing here?
I look down toward my continuous glucose monitor, which sits flat against my hip between the folds of my dress. It’s bailed me out a few times since I got it put in six months ago. Being a workaholic means I often forget to keep track of the self-care parts of life.
My palms are slick. My hands are shaking.
My heart is running into my ribs at a rabbit’s pace.
Normally, I’d be desperately checking my sugar levels, but I know this has nothing to do with my pump, which is dead quiet.
Nope, this is all nerves. For a moment, I think about using my sugar as an excuse to bail, but I've never been good at lying to my big brother, Dom, and he and his girlfriend Maya will be here any minute.
I need another glass of champagne. Pronto.
Oh my god, what am I doing? A blind date auction? Seriously? Since when is this societally acceptable?
My assistant (and best friend since I moved back to the city after college), Gia, has been shamelessly flirting with the cocktail waiter since we got here.
Normally, I’d support it, but her current position of tits-out seductive staring means he’s not restocking on flutes, and both of our glasses are empty.
If she turned around, she'd notice I downed both hers and mine.
But I doubt Gia will, because the waiter guy is her type to a T: rugged, tall, tan, curly head of wild hair.
Unfortunately, I’m also pretty sure he’s gay and enjoying the conversation about her new balayage for different reasons than she might think. No straight man has eyebrows that nice.
I don’t believe in god, but something divine must be intervening when his boss calls him back to the bar. Gia watches him walk away, staring at his ass like a frat boy at a sorority party, and when she finally turns back to me, I’m midway through shaking my head.
“Really?”
“If you can’t score at a charity event, then you can’t score,” she says. “I gotta prove I’m still back in the game. You know, since…”
Right. After she found out Kaden (her boyfriend of a year) was sticking his dick in his girl best friend, she’s sworn off assholes and become vigilant about red flags.
Lately, she’s been dipping her toes in the pool of casual dating.
Gia is gorgeous and smart, but she tends to have bad taste.
Not that I can judge, given my love life has been dead in the water since my teens.
Now that I’m veering a little close to thirty for my own liking, it’s less yaaaassss independent queen and more old spinster.
“Well, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree with him,” I say, “But the guy by the bar, the one in the suit, he’s been checking you out.”
“Really? Where?” She starts scanning the crowd.
We’re in a massive ballroom at a five-star hotel.
The venue is dimmed with mood lighting, which reminds me a little bit of the cheesecake factory, but I suspect it was meant to be ‘romantic’ for the occasion.
White tablecloths with electric candle centerpieces adorn each section.
Waiters carry hors-d’oeuvres and champagne flutes on their silver trays, snaking between the aisles and offering guests refreshments.
I snort. “Nine o’clock. But be subtle. Be cool.”
“Cool,” she echoes, her cheeks flushed. “Right.”
“You could always bid on a date,” I suggest.
“You and I both know I’m picky. What if he’s ugly?” Gia pauses. “I mean, no offense to you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been thinking the same thing.” I mean this could be the guy to break my dry spell. I’m a little more worried about the personality as opposed to the looks part, but she’s got a point.
“Besides, I don’t have the money to blow on a mystery bachelor.”
“Want a bonus?”
She shakes her head. “I’m just fine with my job and my salary the way it is.”
I want to escape this place and get something to eat with Gia instead of being here, but none of the reasons to leave in my mind outweigh the facts. And the fact is, I need a plus one, and my love life’s DOA , as the Friends theme song reminds me during my binge-watching sessions.
I'm here because Dominic and Maya reminded me not-so-subtly that I need a date for the 30-under-30 Women in Technology banquet sponsored by Forbes .
It's an insane honor to have received the Woman of the Year award in the first place, but the implicit pressure to bring a date, to prove that you can have the career and the arm candy at the same time, means I have to blow the dust and cobwebs off the tombstone of my inner romantic.
Unfortunately, I haven't been on a date in god knows how long, and I couldn't come up with a reason to nix the invitation and stay home watching The Great British Bake-Off fast enough for Dom.
Maya's perfume envelopes me before her arms wrap around my neck. "Oh my God, Liv!"
Maya is one of the only people Dom allows to share his nickname for me.
He used to be a womanizing, devil-may-care type before her, but the second he looked into her eyes, he was lost. In typical man fashion, he couldn't seem to figure out his feelings for her for a long time, but she's unlocked something in him, some hidden ability to smile and break that stoic, stony exterior.
She's in a classic black dress that complements her bronze skin and makes her glow, even under the dim auditorium lights.
Her wavy, ebony hair falls effortlessly over her shoulders, and the gold bangles on her wrist clink together, calling attention to her matching white-gold hoops.
Her red lipstick is smeared on the corner of her mouth, and judging by the fact they arrived fashionably late, I bet my brother is to blame for any makeup malfunctions.
Dom is suited up in his sharpest Valentino suit and sleek dress shoes I'm certain are brand new. His Rolex, one of many in his collection, peeks out of his sleeve.
"You're late, big brother," I reply.
"I'm a guest of honor," he says, glancing at his watch. "Party starts when I get here."
"I tried to leave on time," Maya stage-whispers, dramatically cupping her hand over her mouth and flashing her immaculate manicure. My nails are a mess from picking at them, which sucks, because we got ours done at the same time not twenty-four hours ago.
"I believe it," I say knowingly. "Well, you haven't missed anything. Just some mediocre champagne."
"The good stuff is in the back," Dom tells me conspiratorially. "For us donors, we get good liquor. The rest of you get to partake in the watered-down stuff. I can sneak you another flute."
I shake my head. "It's fine," I reply. "I think the champagne is all going to my head. I'm dizzy."
Dom's eyebrows furrow. "How's your sugar? I can have the staff make you something to…"
"Dom," I interject. "It's fine. I'm all good."
I’ve never been the kind of person who lets anything hold me back—Type 1 Diabetes included.
I was diagnosed with it as a teenager, and honestly, it was like a lightbulb went off over my head.
Suddenly, a lot of things made sense. Unfortunately, with the Scooby villain unmasked, I was introduced to the challenges of sugar monitoring, diet, and insulin medications.
Ironically, I used to be afraid of needles. Now, I stab myself like a pro.
I've always been the sort of person who works a little too hard, and when I'm not careful, I wind up realizing I need to eat a little late in the game.
With my diabetes, that's not exactly an option, especially the older I get.
The body bounces back a lot easier when you're fifteen, but definitely not in your late twenties.
My big brother has always been there for me, but he's also always been the type to smother me a bit. With the people I have feelings for or any assholes who take jabs at me at work, he's ready to defend me. It's nice, but sometimes, it's stifling.
Maya has gotten him to take it down a notch.
Well, kind of. Now she's filling his head with notions of finding my Mr. Right like this is the early 1800s and the head of the household is the one who arranges marriage matches.
It's sweet, in its own way, but I prefer not to have my brother act like he needs to defend my honor at every turn.
Especially when my honor isn't really being threatened.
"So there are a few suitable candidates I hear," Dom informs me. "I'm not allowed to disclose who I nominated and which matches I find favorable, but I have to say that number?—"
Maya elbows him hard in the ribs. "Dominic!"
"Right, right," he says. "Well, I guess I'll have to trust your gut on this one."
"Why did I agree to this?"
"Because you loveeeee us," Maya sing-songs. "I'm going to grab a drink before it starts." She bends down, kissing Dom on his cheek. The tiniest blush floods his face, and it's such a shift from the imposing, Bruce Wayne type I've come to know. He's a shark at work, but he melts for her.
Gia mimes a vomiting motion from her seat. "Do you two need a room?"
"I own this building," Dom replies dryly. "If I want a room, I could have any of them."
Gia frowns. "Weird flex."
He looks over at me. "Did you really have to bring her?"
Gia's grin is a little too smug. "Aw, Dominic, are you getting tired of me?"
"Yes. It's a shame I can't fire you."
“So that’s why you’ve been hellbent on recruiting me to manage the marketing department," she chirps back. “It all makes sense now.”
Gia is practically family at this point.
I don’t know why she’s so hellbent on keeping her job as an assistant and nothing more, but she maintains it’s about work/life balance and free time.
That doesn’t mean Dom and I haven’t tried to get her a cushy job more suited to her incredible mind and talent, but no dice.
For someone who loves to chatter, she’s Fort Knox about this stuff.