Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
“What else is new with you guys?” I redirected the conversation, taking a sip of my dairy-free cappuccino. I needed to stir the subject to safer territory.
“Well, I think I’m going to stop with the eyelash extensions. I saw this documentary—” NeNe started.
“Oh my gosh, me too!” Tara cut in. “It was so sad. That girl is never going to be able to even put mascara on again.”
“You know what would’ve worked to unglue the eyelashes?” NeNe jumped in passionately. “Acetone. That shit removes anything!”
“Including your eyesight…” I muttered under my breath.
I shot another disgruntled look at Ransom, who glanced at his expensive timepiece. I’d never felt embarrassed about keeping company with Tara and Nectarine before. I did now. I hated that his mere presence was like calling me on my bullshit. Suddenly, my empty existence had a context. I didn’t like it.
All this while, a photographer we’d invited from a medium-sized gossip website had been taking pictures of us enjoying our time at Bakersfield. Or at least pretending to.
“A bit of subtlety, Hal-Pal,” Tara mewed. “We can all see you checking out Mr. Hot Shot at three o’clock.”
She was talking about Ransom. My stomach churned. It was time to fess up. They were going to find out sooner or later.
“Actually.” I cleared my throat. “That’s my bodyguard.”
“Shut the fuck up.” NeNe slapped her chest, like this was national news.
“Gladly.” I sighed. “Everything I say is used against me with this guy.”
I sneaked a peek to see if he found my barb funny. His expression remained blank.
“He is gorgeous,” NeNe gushed. “Where’d you find him? Ford Agency?”
“Is he single?” Tara demanded. “Is he rich? His Rolex says yes, but his job description says no.”
He was listening to the entire exchange. My so-called friends were so used to discussing their staff when they were in the room, they forgot that people could actually hear them. Or that that should matter. My cheeks stung. It was like he’d put a mirror in front of my face, and suddenly I’d realized I was no beauty. I was a beastly creature.
“I don’t know his financial situation, and frankly, I don’t care,” I said, pushing through despite the metallic taste in my mouth. “We’re not exactly thick as thieves. We don’t discuss our finances.”
“Hey! Yoo-hoo! Bodyguard dude!” NeNe leaned over her straw chair, waving at him frantically. She wore a very tiny, very flowery dress and a hot pink smile. “You got a name, or what?”
Ransom completely ignored her. He just continued working on his laptop, refusing to acknowledge our table. What a toolbag.
“Is he deaf?” NeNe turned to me, twisting her mouth.
“He can’t be deaf, stupid.” Tara rolled her eyes. “How would he be able to hear if someone attacks her? He’s just trained. Like…you know, guard dogs.”
I closed my eyes, dropping my face into my palms.
The owner of the bakery, a former reality star who’d made it to the semi-finals of a baking show, trudged out, snapping off her apron. “Can y’all look a smidge less interested in the hottie at table five and be more focused on my pastries?” She pointed at the mouthwatering basket she’d put in front of us, still untouched. “What am I even paying you for?”
“Question of the fucking millennium,” Ransom muttered under his breath, continuing to type.
“I like this guy.” Tara grinned, jerking her finger in his direction. “He’s got sass. Do you have a girlfriend? A boyfriend?”
“Irrelevant,” he said, not tearing his gaze from his screen. “I have standards.”
“Rude.” Tara wrinkled her nose.
“Honest,” he shot back.
“How can you even let him talk to us like this?” NeNe gasped in my direction, offended on Tara’s behalf.
“Technically, you were completely ignored before you interrupted me, so you’re not in a position to complain.” Ransom slapped his laptop shut, stood up, and turned to me. His look sent a chill down my spine. “Playdate’s over. Wrap it up.”
Anger simmered in my blood. He couldn’t tell me what to do with my time. He was my bodyguard, not my nanny. Plus, as I’d said—I was working.
“Sorry, you want me to leave because…?” I crossed my arms, sprawling on in my seat.
“You’ve been here for longer than an hour, which means you’ve completed your professional obligation, and that people probably know your whereabouts by now.”
His explanation made sense. Unfortunately for both of us, sense was currently overruled by my need to rebel against this guy. What can I say? Women didn’t burn their bras in the sixties just so I could take orders from some jerk with an inflated sense of importance.
“Nah. I think I’m going to stick around.”
“As history taught us, your thinking has never led to anything good.” He tsked. He produced his phone from his pocket and began texting someone. My spine stiffened. He’d managed to screw up my life plenty in less than twenty-four hours, and it didn’t look like he was running out of ideas.