6. Kiana

6

KIANA

ONE WEEK LATER…

"You're overreacting, A," I sigh. "It wasn't that serious."

Amari's jaw drops open. "K, are you kidding me?! You were shot at!"

"I wasn't… he never… I hit the floor before anything happened."

"I'm sorry, but are you arguing that you narrowly moving out the way of the bullet means it doesn't count?" Amari asks, blinking slowly. She follows me through my penthouse apartment until we're in the kitchen and I'm opening the fridge. "Do you realize how bad things could've got? You could've died… or at least been seriously hurt!"

"But I wasn't. Grape?" I hold up the container of seedless purple grapes I'm about to snack on.

When Amari remains frozen in place, still gaping at me, I move on. Popping a grape into my mouth, I return to the open space of my living room.

It overlooks West LA, the sky a bright blue outside my wide, panoramic windows. Amari eventually shuts her jaw and follows me back toward the sofas.

"I just think you're not taking it seriously."

"You sound like Tommy."

"He's been your manager for almost your whole career. Maybe he knows a thing or two."

I'm still considering what Amari's said when there's a hard knock at the door.

I let out a sigh. "That's probably the new security guy. Tommy insisted I hire him."

"You mean the one who saved you from a bullet? Um, sounds like he knows what he's talking about."

"We'll see about that."

I set down my container of grapes and cross the large space to answer the front door. Even in the aftermath of the shooting, I hadn't been convinced the man Tommy said would be my new head bodyguard was a good fit.

First of all, one look at him told me he was too strict. Too serious. Too stuck with a stick wedged up his ass if he was scowling all the damn time.

At least my old head of security, Arnold, had a good sense of humor. He was kind of incompetent and flighty at times, but he tried his best and kept the mood light.

This guy looks like he's never laughed a day in his life.

Then there was how he'd acted after the shooting—like I was at fault that some psycho in a hoodie ran up on me in the club.

I open the door to him on my doorstep and roll my eyes on principle alone.

"Oh," I say. Then I sigh. "You. Come in… I guess…"

To say Tyson Jeffries towers over me would be an understatement. He's what most would call a mountain of a man.

Tall. Broad. Huge.

Intimidating.

His wrists look like the size of my thighs. His thighs are the size of my whole body.

His beard's grizzly in a barbarian sort of way and his eyes are dark and foreboding, like he's not beyond crushing skulls for looking at him wrong.

He's nothing but intense energy and sizable presence.

Attractive if tank-sized men are your thing.

But they're not mine.

Sure, I like tall guys—I was with an NBA player for four years—and I like a man who's strong and capable, but a grumpy grizzly bear has never been on my Mr. Right bingo card.

I turn away from the door on the assumption he'll follow me deeper into the apartment.

He does. His presence becomes a tangible feeling, so dominant and thick that it eclipses me as if this is his space and not mine.

"This is my sister, Amari," I say, gesturing to the living room where she's curled up on the loveseat. I put my hands on my hips when I turn around to face him again. "Look, I realize Tommy made you come by for this sync up, but how about we keep it real? How about you stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours? Then, when you hand in your inevitable resignation letter, we can pretend this little ordeal never happened. Sound good?"

You'd think he didn't even hear a word I said the way he peers down at me like I'm an inconvenient insect that's crawled across his plate of food. His gaze remains dark and foreboding, his expression stoic and unreadable.

What the fuck's this guy's problem!?

I glance over my shoulder at Amari to check if she see's what I'm seeing. She gives a shrug, then returns her attention to the TV. The reality show we're watching has returned from commercial break.

Thanks a lot for the backup, A.

I huff out a breath and then put on a stank-eye kind of face of my own.

"We good here, Goliath?" I prompt when silence stretches on between us. "Let's not forget you work for me. So you will answer me when I'm talking to—excuse me?!"

Tyson the Bison, as Hal's called him, walks away without dignifying my statement with a response. He walks over to the wide windows that overlook West LA, peering out like he's checking for something.

Then he's moving on to other parts of my penthouse apartment. He scopes out my stainless steel kitchen and wanders down the hall that leads to the other rooms.

…this guy can't be for real. Am I being pranked right now?

"Uh, what do you think you're doing!?" I call out, scurrying to follow.

I catch up to him as he's opening and closing the door to the laundry room. He moves into the bathroom for an appraisal of the window pane.

"Hello!?" My hand flies out to grab at his arm and I discover just what it's like touching Tyson the Bison Jeffries.

I might as well be latching onto a steel rod.

I might as well be trying to wrap my arm around a thick tree trunk.

Feeling foolishly under equipped to stop him, my skin warms all over. I'm flushing hot as my skin comes into contact with his skin.

He stops suddenly and peers over his broad, muscled shoulder. His eyes snap to mine.

I'm practically burning up as I quickly let go of his arm and stand straighter.

Words escape me. My stomach flutters. I'm pretty sure the heat that's creeping onto my cheeks is a blush , even if my brown complexion protects me from it showing.

Why in the hell am I blushing right now? Why am I speechless? He's in my apartment!

"I… you…" I stutter, then draw in a sharp breath and fix my hands to my hips again. "What do you think you're doing? This is my apartment!"

"Yeah," he answers, the first words he's spoken. "I know."

Then he steps around me and continues his perusal of my private space.

It occurs to me as I trail behind him into my bedroom in disbelief that he's assessing everything. He's doing some sort of security check .

He waltzes right over to the glass doors that lead onto the balcony and tugs at the handles like he's testing their durability. He tips his head slightly back for a glance up at the hinges, admiring those too.

"Who else has a key to this place?" he asks.

"None of your damn business," I snap defensively. "You're my bodyguard. Not my roommate. You shouldn't even be in my bedroom!"

"That boyfriend of yours. He have a key?"

More heat floods my cheeks. I'm so taken aback that, for a second, I lose my voice. "That… that…" I sputter. "That is none of your business either! That's it… I'm calling Tommy and letting him know this is not a good fit?—"

"Alarm," he interrupts. "You got one?"

"I've never needed an alarm. This is a building with security. It has a doorman. Private access elevators."

He scrubs his thick beard, his expression still a stoic mystery. "Because doormen don't go on break. Doormen can't be bribed."

"Well, the private access elevators?—"

"Easily bypassed once initial entry is gained to the building," he goes on gruffly. "You don't seem to understand the situation here. So allow me to school you, princess . There is a credible threat to your life. An attempt has already been made. An attempt that was narrowly prevented. If you think the person who ordered that hit on you is about to stop there, I've got a beach house in Arizona to sell you. Because you'd have to be the most gullible fucking person in the world to believe it.

"Now, I've been hired on for a specific task. Keeping your careless, clueless, spoiled, bratty little ass alive and breathing. I have never failed at protecting a client, and I've got no plans to start with this gig. So long as I'm your bodyguard, you will follow all the security protocols I set forth for you. You will slow the fuck down and realize the gravity of the situation. You will live to see another day. We good here, princess?"

No one has ever read me like this before.

Told me about myself while laying down the law.

All matter-of-factly as he peers down at me, issuing a challenge for me to object.

I dare you , his glare says.

It's such a surprise that I can't think up a comeback. My mind goes blank as it dawns on me how close we've stepped to each other.

How I'm no longer just eclipsed by Tyson but sucked up into his intense gravitational pull.

He not only dominates the space, he commands it.

His alpha energy's so unapologetic, so thick, that I'm not sure if I'm insulted or turned on…

No one ever dares speak to me like this. I'm Kiana, the worldwide superstar. The modern-day second coming of other great female music icons like Diana Ross and Whitney Houston.

He might be the first person in a long time who's not intimidated by who I am.

Yet he couldn't care less. He doesn't give a single fuck.

I swallow against the shock and stitch together the only response I can think of.

"I'm not a brat," I mumble.

He shows the first sign of human emotion— humor . The corner of his lips tics up slightly. The vaguest, slightest, quickest half grin in the history of mankind.

"Yeah, you are," he says. "But you're my brat to protect. Which is what I'm going to do so long as my contract is in place." He pulls out his phone, his thick fingers moving quickly across the screen. "I'm arranging for some guys to come out and set up a state-of-the-art alarm system for this place. Motion sensors, smart locks, internal cams, emergency alerts direct to the local police. We'll talk about installing a panic room in this place soon. You have more than enough space for it."

Panic room!?

I can only blink at him, feeling hot and breathless as he takes charge.

There's something undeniably sexy about it…

It's like my safety is his number one priority.

He strides past me without waiting for my permission, then stops once he reaches the door. "Oh," he says, "and in case it's not clear, I go where you go. Me and the rest of my security team. You're never to leave our sight from the second you step outside your home. Until the threat is eliminated, I want eyes on you at all times."

He leaves the room, leaving me to stare after him, questioning what I've gotten myself into.

Wondering if Tyson Jeffries is about to change my whole world.

And if I'm about to let him.