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Chapter Two

LILY

A wad of fabric sails over my arm and lands in a wrinkled puddle of my partially yet precisely packed suitcase.

“You need some shorts.” My roommate Delilah dons the expression she normally saves for clients that says, ‘Do what I say or die.’

If I were a client, I would comply, but I’m not. I tuck my index finger under the waistband and lift the shorts, studying the large floral pattern that makes my eyes hurt, before dropping them on the bed next to my suitcase. “I have plenty, thanks.”

Which is a lie. I don’t actually own a pair because, as a professional bodyguard, I’m rarely in a position to dress that casually.

Unless a client requests we blend in more or the situation requires it, I opt for some version of my usual business attire.

And one can never be over-prepared, something I learned during my very brief stint in the Army.

Once my tour ended, I knew I needed to pivot in a new direction.

Intending to take a break and think, I wound up in London, thinking I’d explore Europe.

That lasted barely a week before I went stir-crazy and decided I wanted to find some kind of job that would give me the same structure without the constant scrutiny of my gender.

That realization led me to Remington Security, which is owned by one of the best female bodyguards in the industry. And to meeting Delilah, who the firm recruited a year before me. She had a spare room, and I needed a place to land. The rest is history.

Del snatches the shorts off the bed and stuffs them into a gap between my extra pair of black shoes and the stack of pants, which are either black or navy.

Another pile of neatly folded button-down blouses in shades of white, pale blue, or cream sits next to it.

I add the matching jackets I’ll need for this assignment but ignore her contribution because it’s easier than fighting with her.

She leans over to study the contents of my carefully planned suitcase, then grimaces at me.

“Doll, you’re definitely going to need more attractive choices to pull this off.

Isn’t that part of this whole scenario? You’re posing as his wife.

Don’t you think it will look strange if you always show up,” she waves her hand up and down in front of me, “looking like a corporate exec with a stick up her bum.”

“Shorts offer little protection in a scuffle, and I certainly can’t run in flip-flops.” I pluck the items out and toss them at her.

Using her well-honed reflexes, she snatches them out of the air before they make contact. Her grin turns positively evil. “Your principal is rather yummy, don’t you think? Perhaps you should throw a negligee or two in there as well.”

I roll my shoulders back. “It’s a pretense, remember. Not real, in case you don’t know what that word means.”

“I’m perfectly aware of the meaning, Lil. I’m just encouraging you to let your hair down a little.” She points to my head. “Sometimes, I fear you have that ponytail of yours tied too tightly.”

“It’s a job, not a vacation, Del,” says the woman who doesn’t do vacations.

Unlike my roommate, who plays as hard as she works, I have one modus operandi—work.

I’ve accepted this about myself, and I’m good at it.

But that’s the job. When we’re on assignment, it’s twenty-four-seven.

Can’t let your guard down even for a moment because that could mean the death of the client. And that’s a reputation killer.

She yanks out two pairs of jeans and a few shirts from one of my drawers and hands them to me.

“Trust me, you’re going to need some more casual attire.

I spent a month in Florida for a job, and people there wear shorts everywhere.

Even when dining at bougie restaurants.” She pats the stack of garments. “These will do.”

“Fine.” I shove them into the small space left on one side.

I could tell her I already packed two pairs of yoga pants and some athletic tops beneath my usual garb.

My research revealed this was a popular trend at the moment—to look like you just came from the gym, even if you have no intentions of working out.

Her pout does little to diminish her striking Eurasian features. “And every assignment comes to an end. Why not extend your stay and spend some time on that gorgeous beach? What’s it called again? Avocado something…”

“Mango Key Beach.”

Del ruffles through two of my dresser drawers. “What about a bathing suit? Do you even own one?”

“I’ll buy what I need there.”

She darts out of the room, making me believe I can finish packing in peace, only to return, swinging small swatches of red fabric in each hand. “This is my favorite two-piece. Never fails to grab attention.”

I grab her wrists before she can toss them in. “I’m supposed to blend in, remember?”

“Yes, during the job.” She bounces her eyebrows and singsongs, “But afterward, it’s all fair game. ”

I roll my eyes and snort, releasing her wrists so she can shove the vivid red two-piece—and the shorts—into a gap along the edge. “I’ll make sure you get them back.”

“No worries, luv. I have a spare.”

A spare…like my client, Payton Maxwell, the third.

I assume he’s adjusting to his new role as a spare heir.

The research I did on the Maxwells didn’t look much different from what I imagine any average English family would look like.

Parents married for almost thirty years.

An older sister who worked as a pediatrician until she had to relinquish her partnership in the practice to take her missing, now presumed dead cousin’s title of Baronet.

Youngest and only son is a hockey player.

I will say finding that out surprised me—not a typical profession for a Brit.

I zip up my suitcase and carry it to the door where my backpack is sitting.

“That’s it? No books or special items?” She crosses her arms. “They’ll never buy a new bride with no possessions?”

“I’ll simply explain they’re being shipped from the UK. Takes weeks. I’ll be on my way back before they can start to question. Besides, no one’s going to know the difference.”

“What if he invites his teammates over?”

“I’m sure they don’t go poking into his bedrooms, but I’ll hang some of my clothes in his closet and leave some extra toiletries on his bathroom counter.”

“You have that part all figured out, then?”

“As much as possible at this point.” I tap my backpack. “I made some preliminary notes and a list of things to discuss on the flight. That way, we can get to know each other and create a cover story.”

“A whirlwind summer romance?”

I nod.

“Fell in love and eloped?”

I shake my head. “They’re very traditional. Married at his parents’ estate.”

“Did they approve?”

Now, she’s just being cheeky. “Yet to be determined.”

She looks impressed as she shrugs. Then her eyes widen, and her mouth forms a circle all at once.

Del dashes back into my room and returns with a white, strapless sundress I bought on a whim last year during a moment of weakness.

I’d spent a month on assignment in the Caribbean only to return to the constant drizzle in London.

I’d told myself then I needed a pick-me-up.

“Just a pretense.” She yanks the tag off, giving me a sly glance. “You would have worn some kind of dress and surely brought it with you. Brides are sentimental that way.”

Convinced she has ulterior motives, I lower my eyelids to study her micro-expressions.

“I’m not that easy to get rid of, doll. Remember, I’m part of your team on this assignment.”

That’s my one comfort in this unusual scenario. I grab the dress and stuff it into the front pocket of my suitcase. “Whatever makes you happy, Del.”

She laughs. “And gets me off your back, right?”

“Affirmative.”

Bodies move around the airport like ants swarming a nest. Delilah flew out the day before to check out the arena and the principal’s apartment complex in Sarabella.

Since the Maxwells are mostly unknown in the States, and a definitive threat hasn’t been confirmed, she and I will operate as a basic team.

Meaning, we’ll tap into local resources if needed, which she’ll establish as well.

I probably know this airport better than most who work here, but the people are always changing. After checking in and dropping off my bag, I scope the general areas from the entrance to security before backtracking to wait outside for my client.

Head constantly on a swivel, I make note of those lingering in the near vicinity. Most move quickly into the airport, carrying bags and suitcases with them as they scurry inside. Those don’t concern me. It’s the ones hanging around outside that have me watchful.

Like the tall brunette standing to my right, toting only an oversized bag. She crosses her arms and nervously searches the constant flow of vehicles moving through the passenger drop-off zone.

I suspect she’s looking for the boyfriend she fears may be a no-show as she checks her cell for the umpteenth time.

Mentally, I shake my head, recognizing the impending disappointment as the realization sets in.

Indecision will follow next as she tries to decide whether to leave on her own and make the best of the situation.

Or, if she’s the ballsy type, to find the loser and tell him off.

Of course, there’s the slim possibility that she’s a hired killer, and this is all an act, but reading people is one of my strengths. My gut tells me she’s exactly what she appears, so I move on, scouting the area while watching for the vehicle transporting my assignment.

Maxwell Payton, the third. I hope his insistence on meeting at the airport with the excuse that an escort would create unnecessary fuss isn’t his way of being artificially noble. This charade of playing his wife will prove challenging enough as it is.

A black sedan pulls up to the curb, displaying the plate number I memorized from his family’s credentials.

Before the vehicle comes to a complete stop, the rear door opens, and my principal jumps out, slinging a duffel across his shoulders.

For a moment, I’m transfixed by the contours and definition of his forearms as he adjusts the strap across his chest. The picture in his file showed him with short hair.

Not the collar-length, tousled style he’s sporting now.

I move in closer, prepared to make contact. But then he leans in through the open passenger side window and shakes hands with the driver, whose animated expression reveals pure delight.

“Thanks again, Bruv.” The driver holds out a piece of paper and a pen, which Mr. Maxwell takes, then scrawls something across the white surface.

“My pleasure. And if you find yourself in the States, make a stop in Sarabella and say hello.” He straightens as the car pulls away.

Not quite what I anticipated, then again, this is my first assignment with any kind of royalty. But I did expect someone softer and with more luggage.

I close the gap but keep a good three feet between us. “Mr. Maxwell.”

He spins around. Momentary confusion flits across his face before his grin flashes into place. “Did you want an autograph as well?”

“No.”

His smile slips a few notches as his gaze makes a subtle assessment of me right down to my shoes. “Then you’re the bodyguard, I presume.”

“That’s correct.” I hold my hand out. “Lily Evans.”

His brows tug together. “You’re not British.”

“No, I’m originally from the States.”

He shakes my hand, then heads toward the terminal doors. I follow him, keeping my focus on every moving part surrounding us until he steps to the side into an enclosed area away from the throng of people.

“Mr. Maxwell?—”

He stops and turns around. “Payton, please. I prefer not to feel as if I’ve stepped into my father’s shoes, thank you.”

I nod as I knew at some point I would switch to using his first name to fit the whole fake bride persona. Just didn’t seem appropriate to start there right away.

“Of course. Payton. We have approximately forty-five minutes to go through security and get to the gate?—”

He holds up his hand. “Look, I appreciate what my sister is trying to do here, but it’s entirely unnecessary.”

“But I’ve been hired?—”

Again, he stops me by lifting his hand, drawing my attention to his forearms and broad hands with long fingers. And for a brief second, I wonder what he looks like in his hockey uniform on the ice.

“Yes, I know. Emalia filled me in, and I informed her I would go along with her little plan to appease her, but I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“She told me you’d say that.” I scan our surroundings, keeping tabs on a few lingerers.

He pulls his head back. “She did?”

“Oh yes. In fact, she said you’d try to convince me to leave.”

Finger pressed beneath his full bottom lip, he blinks in thought. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Emalia knows me better than anyone. But that just simplifies things, don’t you think?”

“How so?”

Payton shrugs. “My sister already expects that I’ll send you off. So that’s settled, then.”

“No. It’s not.” I shake my head as I say this.

This time, he sighs. “All right. Then I have a proposal.”

I study his angular features—the pulse in his jawline, the set of his mouth, the pinch of his brows—he’s scrambling for a way out of this. The least I can do is humor him until he finally realizes I’m not going anywhere. “I’m listening.”

Hope flashes in his crystal blues, almost making me feel guilty that I’m about to kibosh his plan. “You can escort me through security to my gate. You can even wait until I get on the plane if you’d like. Then you’ll have completed the most important part of your assignment.”

“How do you figure?”

“Any threat,” his brows lift, “if there is any threat, is here in the UK. Not in the States. So once I board the plane, you’re free to go.”

I shake my head for the second time, and I suspect it won’t be the last. “Then we’d best get you to your gate.”