Chapter 51

Chapter

Fifty-One

"Soldiers can sometimes make decisions that are smarter than the orders they've been given."

― Orson Scott Card

Alexsei

I shook the man's hand, surprised by how solid it was. I gestured for him to sit and took my place behind the desk.

"So, an ex-Marine from France?" I raised an eyebrow, glancing at his impressive résumé again. "Didn't expect someone like you to show up here."

He nodded. "Yep, ten years in the military. Needed a change of scenery. Volk sent me your way."

I leaned back in my chair, giving him a once-over. After I got home last night, I called up Volk to see if he knew anyone who could actually handle being Scarlett's bodyguard. He promised to take care of it. This morning, I woke up to a text from him bragging about the ‘perfect' guy showing up at my office.

But I sure as hell didn't expect to see someone like this guy. Normally, top-tier bodyguards are a bit older—like in their 40s. Théo LeRoy, at 36, looked more like he should be gracing the cover of Vogue than handling military or private security.

The big scar on his neck was the only sign he'd seen some real shit. Despite looking like he belonged on a magazine cover, he seemed solid and capable. Yeah, he had a bit of charm, but let's be real—he wasn't as hot as me. Still, I was betting he could handle the job just fine.

"Well, Volk's got a knack for finding the best," I remarked, tapping my fingers on the desk. "So, what made you ditch the military for private security?"

His gaze sharpened, a hint of intensity in his eyes. "After my time in the military, I wanted to keep serving and protecting, just in a different way. Private security felt like the next logical step."

"Well, Mr. LeRoy," I paused. "Why the States? A lot of guys would kill for a life in Paris and hang out at the Moulin Rouge every night."

He smirked. "Been there, done that, sir. Needed a change."

A man of few words.

For some reason, he had no French accent—sounded like he was born and bred in Brooklyn. Apart from his name, nothing would've made me guess he was French.

I sighed. "Alright, let's cut the crap. Are you ready to be on call 24/7 for a junkie princess who's more of a dragon than anything? Don't get me wrong, Scarlett is my protégé, but she's a real pain in the ass."

LeRoy nodded, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "I've dealt with worse in the military, sir. A spoiled, drug- addicted superstar? That's a walk in the park compared to some of the crap I've handled."

I studied him. "Well, let me tell you, Scarlett isn't your average superstar. She's like a hurricane on Louboutin heels, and her relationship with authority is a disaster."

LeRoy kept his stoic expression. "Understood, sir. I'm ready for whatever she throws at me."

"Good," I nodded, relieved he seemed unfazed by Scarlett's reputation. "Let's hope your military training comes in handy. Welcome aboard, LeRoy."

He stood, offering his hand. I shook it, rising to match his grip. "I can start whenever you're ready, but I need to sort out a few things first."

"Perfect. I'll set up a meeting with Scarlett tomorrow at 4 p.m."

LeRoy frowned. "That seems a bit late for such an important meeting."

I let out a scoff, walking around my desk to escort him out. "Scarlett tends to roll out of bed around 2 p.m. To her, 4 p.m. is practically breakfast time."

We reached the elevator, and I pressed the button.

"Oh, I almost forgot," LeRoy said, adjusting his coat. "There was a woman waiting outside. She wanted to see you but left and asked me to tell you she needs to talk to you."

I furrowed my brows. "A woman?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his temples. "Wait, I forgot her name… Ah, got it! She said her name was Caia and that you'd know who she is."

My heart skipped a beat, and a chill ran down my spine.

Caia wanted to see me?

How the hell did she know I was in New York?

How did she find my office?

Then it hit me hard.

If Caia is reaching out to me after all this time, something's gone seriously wrong. Either she's in deep shit, or she's finally realized she can't talk her way out of the hell she's gotten herself into.

I hadn't slept a goddamn wink all night.

After LeRoy left, I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

Caia came to my office?

I knew I had to wait until the next day, not wanting to scare her off by dropping by her apartment unannounced, only for her to ask how the hell I found her.

But seriously, how did she find me? How did she even know I was in New York?

If this wasn't fate, then I didn't know what was.

I had to keep my head screwed on and not let my hopes go wild. Maybe she wanted me to sign divorce papers or, worse, tell me to fuck off for good.

Nyet.

She needed me.

I could feel it deep in my bones.

So, I took a leap of faith. I texted her from the number I found months ago, pushing through my fear and pain. I refused to let doubts hold me back and asked her to meet me at 6 p.m. in my office.

She didn't respond, but I knew, down to my core, she'd show up.

"Alexsei, listen to me," Scarlett hissed through gritted teeth. "I don't want another bodyguard! "

I sighed, tapping my pen against the sleek black marble table in Scarlett's living room.

I knew she'd make this complicated. I called her two hours ago to let her know I found a new bodyguard for her, and of course, Miss Little Princess wasn't thrilled.

"Scarlett, if you mess this up, I'll have no choice but to take drastic measures," I warned, my tone icy. "Rehab or a convent—your pick. And I'm not fucking bluffing."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You wouldn't dare."

The doorbell chimed, and I stood, adjusting my suit. "Don't test me, Scarlett," I said quietly as I walked past her. "This is your last chance."

She let out a heavy sigh, arms folded tightly across her chest.

With her fiery red hair sleek and straightened, bold black eyeliner accentuating her intense blue eyes, and clad in a tight black leather mini dress paired with six-inch Louboutin heels, she looked like she'd just stepped out of a music video shoot.

"Fine," she muttered begrudgingly.

"Perfect," I winked and opened the door. "LeRoy, good to see you," I gestured for him to enter.

"Mr. Romaniev," he shook my hand.

"Please, have a seat," I said, motioning towards the living room where Scarlett sat, her expression a mix of annoyance and resignation.

Théo LeRoy made his way to the living room clad in black jeans, a black Ralph Lauren long-sleeve polo, and black leather boots. He stopped at the table, standing guard like a sentry, arms crossed behind his back, his face stern.

"Good afternoon, Miss Harper," he said firmly. "I'm Théo LeRoy, and I'll be your new bodyguard. I promise to keep you safe and sound."

We all fell silent at his seriousness .

"Well, damn," I said, an amused smile tugging at my lips. "At ease, soldier. See, Scarlett, that's exactly what you need! A strict, intimidating, muscly man to keep you in line."

Scarlett arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Well, isn't this just fabulous," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Now I have my very own shadow to remind me that danger is always lurking around the corner. How reassuring."

I stifled a cough, shooting her a dark glare. "Oh, come on, Scarlett," I sighed. "Think of LeRoy as your personal reminder to stay out of trouble."

She let out an exaggerated sigh. "Right, because I'm just a magnet for trouble, aren't I?" Scarlett turned to LeRoy, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Tell me, LeRoy, do you specialize in protecting damsels in distress, or is that just a happy coincidence?"

LeRoy's expression remained unyielding. "I specialize in keeping my clients safe, Miss Harper, regardless of their... predisposition to trouble."

Scarlett smirked. "Well, lucky me," she pouted, leaning back in her chair. "I've always wanted my very own personal babysitters."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at her antics. "Looks like you two are going to get along just fine. I mean, you have to, right, Scarlett?"

Scarlett sighed deeply, her irritation evident in her voice. "Yes, please, spare me the convent."

Finally settling into the chair opposite us, LeRoy 's hands rested calmly on the table, his eyes scanning the room with a hint of skepticism.

Scarlett's living room, with its deep blood-red couch and grand chandelier, was just a peek into the chaotic elegance of her apartment. Any unsuspecting visitors would surely be in for a shock .

Picture this: black floors and furniture, decked out with bold red and gold accents—a décor choice that screams "welcome to the lair of Lucifer and his merry band of demons."

Sometimes I can't help but wonder if Scarlett's hidden talents extend beyond her sharp wit to include a bit of witchcraft. After all, her place practically oozes with a dark energy that makes you half-expect a cauldron bubbling away in the corner.

"So, LeRoy, let's dive into the nitty-gritty," I said. "Scarlett's about to embark on a tour in six weeks, which gives us a sweet spot to iron out a routine. You'll practically be setting up camp here; she's graciously offering up three guest bedrooms and bathrooms, access to the gym on the third floor, and the cherry on top, a rooftop pool." I handed him a document. "Here's your ticket to the show—your contract, detailing your salary, expectations, and?—"

"Before we get ahead of ourselves," Scarlett cut in sharply. "We need to talk NDA. I'm not in the mood for another 'former bodyguard spills the tea' headline."

I shot her a warning look, discreetly pinching her leg to shut her up.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed, shooting me a glare. "What's that for?"

"Professionalism, Scarlett," I whispered. "Let's not scare off the new guy before he even starts."

She rolled her eyes.

"I promise you, Miss Harper, that your private life will remain just that—private," LeRoy assured her, his tone authoritative.

"Besides, Scarlett, who needs paparazzi when you've got LeRoy here? With those eagle eyes, he'll spot a camera from a mile away. You'll practically be living in a fortress of privacy," I winked .

Scarlett shot me a mock glare. "Well, first, let's just make sure he's more Liam Neeson in Taken and less Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard , okay?"

LeRoy remained steadfast. "Consider it done, Miss Harper."

"Oh, and LeRoy, make sure to keep Scarlett away from men. I don't want her with any boyfriends, nothing," I remarked, leaning back in my chair.

Scarlett's eyes widened, and she shot up from her seat. "What?!" she exclaimed, disbelief coloring her tone. "No way! Alexsei?—"

"Will do, Sir," LeRoy responded, his tone respectful and composed.

Scarlett gave him a dark stare, her breath quickening. "You bas?—"

"Scarlett, focus on your tour!" I interrupted as LeRoy busied himself with signing his contract. "Your choreographer told me you're drunk all the time, and I can't even keep up with your dancers anymore. So, no more fucking excuses! No more boyfriends, friends, clubbing, partying, drugs. Nothing! End of discussion."

"But... but that's not fair," Scarlett protested, her voice tinged with frustration as she glanced between me and LeRoy. "I can't believe?—"

Before she could finish, I raised a hand, cutting her off. "End of discussion."

Scarlett fumed, muttering curses under her breath as she stormed out. Her high heels clacked angrily against the floor, the noise growing louder until she reached her bedroom door.

With a forceful push, she slammed it shut, the sound reverberating through the apartment.

Yep.

Typical Scarlett behavior.

I checked my watch casually. "LeRoy, you're on from Monday. Gives you some time to get your stuff together," I said, rising from my seat.

He followed suit, getting up as well.

"Thank you, Sir," LeRoy said respectfully, shaking my hand firmly.

With that, he left silently, disappearing from the room with the contract in hand.

And I left too in a hurry, my heart racing because in just an hour, I'd finally see my wife after two fucking years apart.

Two. Fucking. Years.