Chapter Four

Ididn’t go downstairs for dinner.

I couldn’t stomach anything, was too scared to see him again, and didn’t have an appetite.

Oh, and also, my door was still locked from the outside, though I had no idea what magician-slash-bodyguard trick he used to make that happen.

I was a prisoner in my own home. Simple as that.

That night, sleep did not come. I kept thinking about the plan Keller and I had come up with to get rid of Sergeant Scumbag. It seemed juvenile, half-baked. I wasn’t sure it was going to work. But doing something felt better than doing nothing.

Sunrises had always been my best friend. My constant companion in the lonely existence of being Hallie Thorne. They reminded me that every day was new, fresh, and held endless opportunities.

But when the sun rose the day after Nameless Asshole stormed into my life, all I felt was dread and anger.

Hours crawled in succession. I remained completely motionless in my bed processing, plotting, overthinking. Then, for the first time in my life, I heard the telltale signs of another human in the house.

Despite growing up in boarding schools, I’d always lived on my own. I’d never had any roommates. Mom and Dad forbade it. They’d said that confidentiality was key for people like us. That other kids would kill to have their own room, and I should be thankful for the privacy.

They didn’t care that I wanted company, friends, actual relationships.

Relationships were off-limits for me. They posed a security risk. A political risk.

Each year, my parents would email me a curated list of people with whom I could socialize from my class. Every year, the choices not only consisted of, but were limited to, girls who wanted nothing to do with me.

The Brainiacs, the overachievers, found me lacking. Not smart enough, not interesting enough, not motivated enough. They snubbed me, making the task of living a pseudo-normal life impossible.

I never went to the movies with friends, never attended parties, never slurped neon slushies with a classmate. Nobody wanted to hang out with the weird Thorne girl.

I had also suspected what I now knew to be true—my parents hadn’t isolated me from others for my own benefit. They didn’t want me to have confidantes. People I could share my life and secrets with. They didn’t want a scandalous headline on their hands in case I put my faith in the wrong person. Anthony and Julianne Thorne still didn’t care about my mental health as much as they did their precious reputation.

They wanted me to come back home so they could monitor me.

I always refused. I’d had a taste of what it felt like to be with them during holidays. They fawned over Hera, their perfect child, while berating me for the way I looked and behaved, the second-best grades I brought home.

After I graduated from high school, friendless as a junk food wrapper on a bench, I went to a community college in Los Angeles. Mom and Dad were horrified. They’d wanted me to go to Harvard or Yale. At the very least Dartmouth. But I liked the idea of “slumming it with the plebs” they “protected” me from. Thought maybe, just maybe, I’d finally find my crowd in people who didn’t have a trust fund and shadow yachts.

My parents had rented me this Hollywood Hills mansion. The terms were clear—they were happy to pay whatever the owner was asking, as long as nobody else lived here.

No boyfriend, no roommate, no BFF.

I cried and begged, reasoned and bargained, but nothing worked.

And so, pathetically, today marked the first time I’d heard the noises of someone else living under the same roof as me. And for it to be someone as hostile as him stole a treasured hope. My heart coiled into itself painfully, the vines around it twisting. My chest hurt.

I heard a door on the second floor whining open—probably of the bedroom the bastard had now claimed as his own—followed by footsteps descending the curved stairway. The Nespresso machine coming to life. The drapes were pushed open. A speakerphone call between Nameless Asshole and a man I assumed was his business partner ensued.

“How’s L.A.?” the other person asked. He sounded wide awake, so I guessed Asshole was either from the East Coast or Midwest.

“Filthy. Ugly. Plastic.” Asshole opened the screen door leading to the backyard. The casualness in which he used my house as his own made my blood boil.

“Having fun, I see.” The other man laughed. “Is she…?”

“Bearable?” Nameless Asshole completed. “No. As likeable as an ingrown toenail.”

You’re no ball of sunshine, yourself.

“Have you sat her down in front of our contract?” the other man asked.

There was a contract.

“Not yet. Locked her in her room overnight to tire her out.”

“Ransom!” the man chided, chuckling.

Ransom? Really? What a bad-ass name for a world-class prick. Couldn’t he be Earl or Norman?

“You can’t take a page out of Moruzzi’s book. You ain’t in Kansas anymore.”

Who was Moruzzi?

“She tried to stab me with a bottle. Then called the police.”

“On herself?”

“On me. Brat doesn’t have two gray brain cells to rub together.”

My scalp stung, as if the insult had been poured over me.

Not much offended me at this stage in my life—I’d been called everything under the sun by the press, and by my own sister, too. But it always hurt when people called me stupid.

Maybe because I believed them. I felt so lost, so in over my head.

The other person laughed a hearty, good laugh. He sounded like a genuinely nice person, which surprised me, because he was in business with a sociopath. “You’re getting your fair share of female drama for the first time in your life, and I’m here for it, Ran.”

“I’ll bring the bitch to heel,” Ransom clipped out.

“I’ll make some popcorn in the meantime.”

“She’ll be defanged, declawed, and wearing a collar long before the microwave pings.”

The air got stuck in my throat. I couldn’t breathe. The man was so cruel, so unbearably callous. I’d dealt with bodyguards before. But only for decorative purposes. He’d been right about them—they existed solely for the clout and as stand-in photographers for random Instagram opportunities.

This man actually had power over my life. A frightening amount of it. And it sounded like he couldn’t wait to abuse it.

After he was done making fun of me, I heard Ransom’s footsteps ascending the floating stairway. I held my breath. He unlocked the door from the outside. He shoved it open halfway, but stayed firmly outside, knowing he wasn’t invited. I froze into clay. Even after he’d explained that he was my so-called protector, everything about him made the hair on my arms stand on end.

“Are you decent?” he asked gruffly.

“Why? It hasn’t stopped you before,” I spat out, before sighing. “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s refreshing.” He pushed the door open, propping a shoulder against its frame.

I decided to greet him by clutching the first thing I could grab on my nightstand and hurling it across the room at him with force. Ransom caught it effortlessly, an inch before it hit his nose. He tilted my Magic Wand—unwashed—here and there. A cocky sneer smeared across his haunting face.

“Not my first choice for a weapon, but it beats the banana in Scary Movie.”

I huffed to cover the embarrassment. Pain and shame swirled in the pit of my stomach like eels. “Give it back to me. That was a mistake.”

He must have thought I was a sex maniac. Just another rumor I’d never bothered to correct. According to the tabloids, I’d gone to bed with more than twenty Hollywood heartthrobs. No one, not even Keller, knew the truth.

That I was still a virgin.

That I’d never even gone on a date.

Not a real one, anyway.

Ransom tossed my vibrator behind his shoulder, ignoring my request. “Make sure you charge it often, because like I said, no boys under this roof while I’m here. Sleep well?” He moved along my room like a demon, seeming to hover over the floor. He flung open all the curtains. Natural light spilled into the room.

Not a vampire, then.

“None of your business.”

He tsked. “Where are your manners, princess?”

I was about to tell him they were hiding in whatever hole his decency had crawled up into, when he raised a manila file in the air, boomeranging it my way.

“My company’s contract. Read it.”

I tossed it on my nightstand, unblinking. “Sorry, my literary taste runs more sophisticated.”

“I wouldn’t believe that even if there wasn’t a copy of the National Enquirer on your nightstand.”

Touché. I’d only bought it because they’d published a nip-slip picture of mine that looked altered. No matter how bad it seemed, though, one thing was for sure—Ransom looked like a predator, but not the kind who wanted to eat me whole. The way he looked at me, with such disinterest, told me there was no way he was going to try to touch me in a sexual way.

I examined my fingernails with boredom. “I might skim it in my spare time if you play your cards right.”

“You’ll read it now.” His glacial steeliness made my skin pebble. “Aloud. We need to discuss the details.”

My heart stopped inside my chest. I felt like I was about to throw up. I couldn’t read it aloud. I also couldn’t tell him that. What kind of kick would he get from knowing the truth about me? Had Dad even made him sign an NDA? Of course he had. He would never risk having the truth about his daughter come out.

Drawing a shaky breath, I grinned. “Know what? I changed my mind about skimming. I don’t feel like reading your stupid manual after all. Not now. Not ever.”

He leaned a shoulder against the wall, looking morbidly bored. I wondered if anything in the world could fluster him. He seemed so heartless, so robotic. There was no way this man had a partner. No one could deal with this kind of impassive demeanor.

“What?” I barked defensively.

My face was unbearably hot. Sweat pooled under my armpits. I was so sickeningly close to danger that the metallic taste of humiliation exploded on my tongue.

He produced something from the back pocket of his jeans and raised it in the air. My phone. The screen was popping with messages and notifications.

The battery was so low, the line was red.

A grin found his sculpted lips. “Read the contract, agree to the terms and conditions, and you can have your phone back. How does that sound?”

Divine.

But that didn’t change the fact that I couldn’t…

Not without sufficient time and a clear head…

“I’m not for sale,” I said detachedly. “And I’m not reading your stupid contract.”

“You want to play?” His smile widened, and it was so mean, so full of venom, I could feel it in my bones. “Let’s play.”

He turned around and walked away, leaving me to cry into my pillow.

Stupid, stupid Hallie.

Two hours and a mental pep talk later, I mustered the courage to traipse out of my room, descend the stairs, and venture into the kitchen. I found Ransom sporting a sweat-soaked wifebeater and gray sweatpants, making himself an egg white and spinach omelet on my stovetop.

His muscles glistened. Every inch of him was long and lithe. My eyes lingered on his veiny forearms. On the outline of his abs, as they appeared through the thin fabric of his shirt.

The perfection of him—so acute, so mouthwatering—depressed me. I knew, despite his horrible personality, that he was probably considered a godsend to women.

What surprised me, though, was the realization I did not disagree with said women. I did find him attractive. And I never found anyone attractive.

Dragging my feet toward the Nespresso machine, I poured myself a cup.

“I’ll have one, too.” Ransom flipped his omelet expertly.

“Do I look like a Starbucks?” I bit out.

He paused with the spatula in his hand, frowning. “Expensive, overrated, with an obsequious, post-liberal belief system. Now that you mention it…”

“The only beverage I’m willing to serve you is poison.” I slammed my cup on the granite, coffee sloshing everywhere.

“Bad news for your phone, which is currently still in one piece, but I understand.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a tyrant?” I could swear smoke was coming out of my nostrils.

“Yes, often. Your point?”

He slid the airy, fluffy omelet onto his plate. Despite his flat, husky tenor, I recognized something in his face I hadn’t seen before. It was confusion, or maybe mild surprise. I had a feeling this guy was not used to people standing up to him. I caught him off-guard. He’d expected me to acclimate to my new situation after he locked me in my room for a whole night.

Recognizing this was an opportunity, I changed my tune.

“Know what? Fine.” I poured coffee into a second cup. Sneakily, while he wasn’t looking, I slipped the pink Himalayan salt from behind him and poured a generous amount into his cup. At least five teaspoons.

I handed him the cup just as he was taking his omelet to the kitchen island.

He perched on a stool and began digging in. “Read the contract yet?”

I leaned against my counter, holding the steamy coffee to my nose. “Nope.”

“It’s a five-minute read.”

“Still more time than this bitch is willing to waste on you.” I examined my red-tipped fingernails, letting him know I’d heard his conversation with his business partner.

He took a sip of his coffee. I watched him intently. At first, his eyes flared. Then they met mine. Something zinged inside them. A touch of darkness.

Spit it out, I thought desperately. Show weakness, goddammit.

He swallowed. My knees went weak.

How did he do that?

“How is your cup of joe?” I batted my eyelashes innocently.

He shook his head, pounding the rest of the drink without flinching. “A little bland, but I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

I coughed out a chuckle. “Bland and I don’t know each other.”

“Why? Because of your funky hair dye and ‘edgy’ tattoos?”

“Why are you so mean?” I knew the answer. Why were people mean, in general? Because they weren’t happy with their lives.

In his case, I wouldn’t put it past my parents to tell him to be extra harsh on me.

“Because someone needs to teach you a lesson, and unfortunately for both of us, that someone is me.”

He’d drained the entire coffee cup. Even though it had more salt than the Dead Sea. Who was I dealing with here? Now I wasn’t only terrified but also worried he wasn’t entirely human.

Quickly, and before I could chicken out, I grabbed my cup of coffee and plopped in front of him. “Listen, I need my phone back. It’s for work.”

“You don’t work,” he reminded me, finishing his breakfast in two bites. He took his plate and coffee cup and washed them in the sink.

I shifted around in my seat. “I do, actually. I’m an Instagram influencer, for your information.”

“That’s a hobby, not a job.” He made his way upstairs. I darted up, running after him.

“Of course, it’s a job. Actually, I’ve made a commitment to appear at someone’s new bakery on Rodeo Drive with my friends for brunch today.”

I wouldn’t call NeNe and Tara friends, exactly, but they were people I saw on the reg. Besides, I shouldn’t have to justify my life to this guy.

Ransom went up the stairs with me on his heels.

“Fun-fucking-tastic,” he said dryly. “Read the contract, accept the terms, and we can attend your obligation, after I scope out the destination and figure out how and when you’ll make your appearance. Your new budget is a hundred bucks a day, by the way. Use it wisely.”

My what?

Ransom tugged his sweaty wifebeater off by gripping the back, and letting it slap the wall with a thwack! before entering his room. Desperately, I followed him there, too. He was about to get naked. This was the part where I ran for the hills, but again, this man wouldn’t take me against my will. He was too prideful for that.

He turned around, popping an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Negotiating?” I winced.

“Get out.”

I dug my heels deeper into the floor. “Give me my phone first.”

“Read the contract first,” he quipped back.

I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Was I really going to share my biggest insecurity to this monster? No. There was no way I was talking to him about something so intimate, so humiliating.

“I…” I licked my lips. “I’m…”

“You are not too busy. Don’t even pretend with me.”

Ugh. “That’s not it.”

“Is this an autonomy flex, or an influencer thing about how you’re too important to bother reading your own emails?” His mocking tone seared through me.

“No!”

The words felt like bullets, piercing through my chest. The air felt hot and charged in my lungs.

“Forget it. I’m not moving an inch until you give me my phone back.”

“Very well.”

With that, he lowered the waistband of his gray sweatpants. I caught a glimpse of the sharp V bracketing his abs. The golden, smooth skin of him, and the trail of hair rolling down from his belly button to…

“Jesus!” I looked away, coughing to conceal my embarrassment. “What are you doing?”

“Making you run away. Or, alternatively, setting the ground for a nice, cushioned settlement agreement after the sexual harassment lawsuit I’m going to file against you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. He was playing chicken with me. And winning. How was I going to survive him for six months?

You’re not. You’re going to have to make him quit.

“Well?” he asked. With my eyes closed, I could feel his warm breath fanning the side of my neck. Shivers trailed down my spine. “Your move, Brat.”

He saw this as a chess game, as nothing but entertainment. This was my life.

“I’ll read the damn thing,” I heard myself say. I opened my eyes. Fortunately, his pants were still on. Unfortunately, so was a condescending smirk.

“If you come across any big, intimidating words, let me know.”

“Fuck you, Random.” The words came out shaky, and I hated myself for it.

“It’s Ransom,” he corrected.

“Random suits you better.”

He paused, scanning me through hooded, ominous eyes that reminded me he was a man who fought—protected?—for a living. My lower lip trembled. He looked like a heartless prince, distant and untouchable.

Whatever he saw in my eyes made him realize I was too easy a prey. His locked jaw loosened, and his expression turned from murderous to done-with-my-shit.

“I’m hopping in the shower. When I get out, you better be ready to sign, having understood the contract.” He flung a towel over his shoulder and exited the room.

I went to my bedroom and perched on my mattress, my fingers clutching the wad of papers. My eyes roamed the pages.

The words all bled together, as if the paper were wet. I tried to take it one word at a time, but I was too upset to concentrate. After a few minutes of trying, I stood up and opened the balcony doors to try to get enough air.

You can do it. You’ve done this before. All you need to do is focus.

By the time a knock sounded on my door, I’d only made it to the second paragraph. Something about personal liability.

Ransom waltzed inside, wearing a dashing Prada suit and shiny loafers, looking like he was attending the Oscars. He buttoned his cufflinks. I leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb of the balcony, pretending not to want to hurl myself over.

“Well?”

“Boring and uninspiring. One out of five stars. Would not recommend.”

I walked over to one of my nightstands, taking a pen from a drawer. I signed the dotted line at the bottom of the contract, even though I hadn’t actually any idea what it entailed. I handed the file back to Ransom, flashing him my femme fatale smirk.

“So. You are capable of making a good decision after all.” He plucked the contract from between my fingers.

I expected a pat on the head, he was so demeaning, but of course, I wasn’t good enough for Ransom’s touch.

“Your father owes me a hundred bucks,” he said, matter-of-factly.

They’d bet on it? I wouldn’t put it past my father. He always viewed me as his little, simpleton, adorable Sugar Pie. With the big eyes and the small brain.

Maybe Dad had told him about my…issues. Maybe Ransom knew I hadn’t read the contract. And how sad was it that this complete and utter stranger who didn’t even like me had more faith in me than my own pops?

Tears filled my eyes, and I felt my throat clogging up with a scream.

“Look at me now, Brat.”

Brat. It was so patronizing, so belittling…and there was nothing I could do about it. My parents wouldn’t even take my calls.

Why hadn’t I answered them when I still could? When it was still up for discussion?

I turned my head, giving him a hate-filled look, squaring my shoulders.

“I fulfilled my side of the bargain. Now give me my phone, jerk.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please, jerk.”

Chuckling darkly, he produced my phone from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to me. I reached to take it. He raised the phone in the air, not letting me touch it just yet. He was so tall the phone brushed the ceiling. In that moment, I could tell liquid gold ran through his veins, not blood. He was no mortal. Nor was he a god. He was, quite simply, something else entirely.

“Remember the rules: no telling anyone your whereabouts. You are only allowed to post pictures of a place after you’ve left it, and once it’s been cleared with either Max or me.”

Max? Who the hell was Max? I supposed the manual/contract covered it.

Ransom continued. “No check-ins. No telling anyone about your schedule. And absolutely no showing off your cars and their license plates. Capiche?”

I nodded, feeling like a punished child, loathing him more and more each second that passed, but he hadn’t said I couldn’t post pictures after leaving said locations, which felt more practical while being restrictive. Still, I didn’t have an optimistic glow about the rest of the contract’s mysterious contents.

“I would just like to make one thing clear, though.” I tilted my chin up.

He stared at me with his signature, would-rather-be-anywhere-else expression intact, waiting for me to continue.

“I do have a real job, and it is important to me. Contrary to what you believe, I’m not some scatterbrained heiress with entitled teenybopper friends. Got it?”

He slipped the contract into a briefcase and ignored my words, which I supposed was better than laughing in my face.

Waltzing through the vast hallways of my mansion, he vanished, like a ghost in the stories my mom told me not to read after dark.

“So where do y’all think Sundance will be held this year?” Nectarine, or NeNe, wondered aloud when we sat at Bakersfield, a new bakery on Rodeo Drive. She flung her lavender hair to one side, popping an orange pill bottle open and sliding a Xanax down her throat.

Ransom was sitting at a table next to us outside by the curb, working on his laptop and looking like he wanted to murder everyone on the premises. I was hyperaware of his presence, so I noticed when his fingers stilled over the keyboard. He’d definitely heard the verbal fart NeNe had just let loose.

“Where it is held every year,” I said woodenly. “In Sundance.”

NeNe pouted, swirling the straw inside her iced coffee without drinking it. “I thought it was like the Olympics.”

“It would make sense if the Olympics were only held in Greece,” my other companion, Tara, said. She tugged at her ash-blonde chignon, making it purposefully asunder.

Tara was a leggy supermodel. I could safely say we three had never shared an enlightening or intellectual conversation, but we found ourselves hanging out together more often than not. Advertisers liked our combined market pull. Tara brought the fashion-obsessed audience, Nectarine the makeup buffs, and my specialty was Midwestern women between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four.

Despite that, I couldn’t call Tara and NeNe my friends. They knew very little about my life. Not that there was much to know. All I did when we were together was hang out with Keller and post stories of my freebies on Instagram.

Ransom’s nostrils flared as he kept working on his laptop. It was obvious he thought the three of us were a waste of space.

“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.”

Hewas 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.

Despite my best efforts to look unaffected in front of my so-called friends, I caved.

“What are you doing?” I asked him finally.

“Canceling all of your professional obligations for the week. I gave myself access to your Google calendar yesterday when you were busy screaming into your pillow.” He didn’t look up from his screen.

Tara cupped her mouth. NeNe keeled over, pretending to gag.

“You can’t do that.” I shot up to my feet, balling my fists beside my body.

“Already did.” He tucked his phone into his front pocket. “Ladies.” He nodded toward them. “It was a displeasure, if not a complete nightmare.”

Tara and NeNe did not produce a sound. I couldn’t think of a single occasion where they might have encountered someone as rude and as unimpressed with their existence as Ransom.

Rather than stand there and convince me to come with him, he began making his way to my Nissan LEAF. This reminded me that he had my car keys—he had insisted on driving here himself because, quote, “I don’t trust you with a Q-tip, let alone a vehicle.”

He was leaving me there to fend for myself. After canceling my credit cards and putting Dennis on paid leave.

I glanced around me, and saw that Tara and Nectarine were staring at me with a mixture of shock and horror.

“I…I have to go.” I followed Ransom, who was already rounding the street corner and walking into the parking lot. I put my hand on his arm to try to slow him down, but he was fast.

“What’s your problem?” I roared.

His face was stone-cold, his jaw tense as he answered. “Some abandonment issues with a dash of anger management, and inherent impatience. All self-diagnosed. Your turn.”

“My problem is you!” I panted, trying to keep up with his steps.

“Shame.” Mild amusement colored his tone. “Your opinion means so much to me.”

“Did you really cancel all my obligations for this week?” I demanded.

“Yes.” He unlocked my black Nissan LEAF, sliding into the driver’s seat. “You overstayed at the café, breaking your contractual obligation, not even two hours after signing it. If you can’t play by the rules—you won’t be playing at all.”

He revved up the engine before I got inside. I had to jump in quickly from fear he’d leave me there.

Shit. If only I’d read the stupid contract, I’d know what on earth he was talking about. What else I’d signed up for.

“You’re a sadist,” I remarked.

He backed out of the parking space and bolted out of the lot like a professional racecar driver. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“It was, coming from someone with the rhetorical prowess of a nursery schooler. Nice job you got there. Cool friends, too.”

NeNe and Tara weren’t really my friends, but I didn’t want to wash my hands of them just because this man was the most condescending creature on planet Earth.

“My friends aren’t idiots. They’re just…” I tried to think of a flattering way to describe Tara and Nectarine.

“Morons?” Ransom suggested unhelpfully.

“Sheltered.”

“From what? Libraries?” he spat out. “Your friends are a reflection of who you are. And right now it’s looking pretty damn shallow, Brat. You’re aiming too low.”

“We conduct business together. That doesn’t make us soulmates,” I said shortly.

“Those girls couldn’t even spell the word business if they put both their heads together.” He weaved through the condensed Los Angeles traffic. It was so hot the palm trees looked like they were trying to hunch down to avoid the sun.

“I’ve never met someone more judgmental than you!” I flung my arms in the air.

“Try leaving L.A. The world is full of people who actually appreciate substance.”

No point in going back and forth with this guy. We spent the rest of the drive in tense silence. I didn’t dare imagine what Tara and NeNe must have been saying behind my back right now. The scene with Ransom was beyond humiliating. I couldn’t afford to be seen bickering with him in public. He was going to ruin what little respect I’d gained for myself in Tinseltown.

But caving to his tyrannical ways was not an option, either. I had to get rid of him, fast.

When we got back to the house, Ransom informed me he was going out to run errands. He did so in his signature, obnoxious fashion. Flinging open my bedroom door without knocking, and giving me his wouldn’t-burn-you-with-my-last-match expression.

Despite his crudeness, I was ecstatic. Finally, I was going to have some alone time to execute my get-rid-of-Ransom plan.

“I’ll try not to miss you too much.” I jumped up from my bed, about to slam the door in his face. I was on my phone, calling people he’d canceled on that week—party promoters, PR managers, and even Keller—and apologizing for the last-minute bailout.

“Max’ll keep you company, so don’t get any ideas.” Ransom scowled.

Yes. Of course. Max. If only I had the faintest idea who the man was.

“Remind me about Max?” I twirled a lock of my burgundy hair around my finger.

“Your second close protection officer.”

“Oh, right.” I laughed airily. “Is he all sunshine like you?”

He walked away, done with the conversation. Ten minutes later, I heard the front door open. Ransom was talking to this Max guy, who arrived at four in the afternoon sharp. I loitered in my room, listening closely to their conversation in hopes to gain some intel on what was going on. It felt like my house wasn’t mine anymore, with all these strangers coming and going.

When Ransom left, I tried desperately to call my parents. They didn’t answer. When I called their secretaries, I got the same runaround—they were too busy, unable to deal with me right now.

Dejected, I dragged my feet downstairs to introduce myself to Max. No point in making two enemies under this roof.

When I got to my living room, I found a lean, jarringly young-looking man sitting on my couch, flipping through a thick fantasy book. Boyish and unassuming, Max looked like your best friend’s older brother in a ’90s chick flick. He didn’t look threatening like his boss. Better yet—he didn’t stir in me the same discomfort most men caused.

“Oh. Hi.” He stood up awkwardly as soon as I came into view. He put down the book on the couch, wiping his hands over his pants. He offered me his hand. I decided, against my usual judgment, to take it.

My shoulders loosened some. He didn’t look like a bodyguard at all. Not that Ransom did. Ransom looked like a stunning, wealthy heir who found it unbearable to share a planet with average folks.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you upstairs,” Max explained.

Now, that’s the kind of bodyguard I was down with.

“Thanks, I was just working.” The lie rolled smoothly over my tongue. “I’m Hallie.”

“Max.”

We both smiled. He looked so young, for a moment I wondered if he was my age.

“I’m twenty-five,” he said, as if reading my mind. He ducked his head, his cheeks pinking. “It’s just that everyone asks, because I look kinda young. I’m a former SEAL. You’re in good hands.”

“Oh, uhm, I wasn’t doubting your abilities.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Are you gonna live here, too?” I blurted out, making my way to the kitchen to make both of us smoothies.

Maybe if Max and I got along well, Ransom would take the back seat and give him more shifts and I could have some of my freedom back.

He shook his head in my periphery. “Ran will be with you most of the time. I’m just going to be on standby. But I’ll be on call no matter what.”

My heart sank.

Max sat on a stool in front of me, watching as I shoved a banana, kiwi, strawberries, crushed ice, and coconut milk into my smoothie machine. I poured the finished product into tall glasses and glided one his way across the kitchen island.

He raised his glass in a toast. “Been a second since I’ve had one of these.”

“A smoothie?” I asked.

He nodded. “I used to live in Oceanside. Jamba Juice was like my second home during high school. Quit the healthy habit when I got deployed, though.”

I smiled in understanding. “I’m like that, too. I change my habits, depending on where I live. When I was in New York, I was all about the Sicilian pizza and cosmos.”

“Sicilian pizza is a sin. Pizza dough needs to be like a condom—thin, airy, without any unnecessary extras,” Max said.

“Well, sin is delicious.” I shrugged, laughing.

“So is your smoothie. Thanks for that.” Max grinned around the reusable straw I’d put in his drink.

There was a beat of silence as we both took a breath.

“You’re really different, you know,” he said finally. His smile immediately dropped.

I knew what he meant. Ransom had painted him a different picture of me. Difficult, unruly, and rude. I didn’t know how anyone could take Ransom’s word at anything. He seemed to have such a cynical, gloomy outlook on life.

“How so?” I asked gently. I didn’t want to scare Max away. He had the potential to become an ally.

He took a sip from his smoothie to buy time. I waited patiently.

“I don’t know. I just imagined…”

“Someone unbearable?” I quirked an eyebrow, propping my elbows on the surface between us.

“Pretty much.” His ears turned tomato-red.

“Did Ransom have anything to do with this image by any chance?” I tilted my head sideways. I knew I was treading dangerous waters. Ransom was his boss. The security company they worked for had his last name. But I needed to feel validated.

Max frowned, looking genuinely confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Did Ransom tell you that I’m a nightmare?”

“No. Ransom only discusses the technical stuff. That’s why they call him The Robot.” Max’s entire body went into rigor mortis, stiffening. He knew he shouldn’t have said that. My ears perked.

“They call him The Robot?” I asked.

“Well…yeah.”

“Who’s they?”

“Just about everyone in the industry.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s never made an illogical, heat-of-the-moment decision—ever. He’s the most pragmatic creature on the planet. Almost like he’s been wired a certain way. He’s a…you know.”

“Robot,” I finished, satisfied with the fact that at the very least, Ransom’s lack of interest in me wasn’t personal.

Max nodded. “Anyhow. I thought you’d be unbearable because, uhm, I googled you and you seemed kind of high maintenance. Ransom doesn’t talk about clients. Like, at all. He’s insanely professional like that, so don’t worry.”

I wanted to tell him that this insanely professional man had canceled my credit cards, stole my phone, and caused a scene in front of my friends, but by the glint in Max’s eyes when he talked about his boss, I wasn’t going to succeed at convincing him Ransom was out of bounds.

Instead, we sipped our smoothies and Max told me about the time he’d had to smuggle a pop star out of a hotel room in a service trolley.

Max was nice, funny, and engaging. By the time the clock hit ten, I’d grown to like him and wished he’d have more shifts with me.

I still had the war with Ransom to think about, and time was not on my side. Sometime after ten, I stretched my arms and pretended to yawn. “I think I’m going to take a shower and hit the sheets.”

“All right, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

“When will Ransom be back?” I asked, standing up. I wanted to know how much time I had to execute my plan.

And another, smaller part of me, wondered where the hell he was, and why it was taking him so long to return.

Max worried his lower lip, thinking about it. “Probably not until the middle of the night. Maybe the morning. I’m set to stay here until nine a.m. But don’t worry, I don’t plan on falling asleep on duty.”

So Ransom was getting some action tonight. Hypocrite. I wondered what kind of women he went for. Tall and leggy? Smart and sharp? Geniuses? Probably all of the above. My sister, Hera, could surpass all of them. Now I was thinking about Hera and Ransom dating, and a shiver ran down my spine.

Weirdly enough, the thought of my bodyguard showering another woman with attention—positive attention, no less—made me feel irritated and uneasy. Though I doubted an asshole like him would take the time to seriously woo a girl.

“All right. I’ll just grab dinner to eat in my bedroom.” I smiled sweetly, flinging the fridge door open and taking out one of the huge raw steaks Ransom had stocked up in my fridge.

It infuriated me that he did not take into consideration the fact that I was a vegetarian on moral grounds. Putting what I considered to be an animal corpse in my fridge was a huge middle finger to everything I believed in.

Covering the steak with another plate, I made my way upstairs, where I stopped by one of the bathrooms to get scissors, before entering Ransom’s room.

It was the first time I’d been in this room since he’d moved in, if I didn’t consider the show-down that happened earlier today, in which I hadn’t had a good chance to take a look at it. I glanced around me, hungrily taking in every detail and filing it to memory. One of the most important strategies of war was to know your enemy.

Unsurprisingly, the room was extremely organized and neat. In fact, almost nothing had changed in its appearance, save for the fact that all the decorative pillows which were previously on the bed were now gone, probably stuffed into one of the closets.

It felt weird, to sniff around a room that was a part of my house. Ransom’s scent clung to the sheets, woodsy and leathery and rich. I opened one of the drawers and found a watch and belt collection. The belts were looped around themselves tidily. The watches were at least 50k a pop. Ransom was minted.

I opened another drawer and found his socks, cufflinks, and underwear. They were all black, all designer, and all brand new.

Next to it lay a gracefully pleated rope. Sorry…what?

Why did the man need a rope?

Trying to convince myself that it was normal, that maybe he needed it for his job (but how?) I shoved the drawer shut. There had to be an explanation. Ransom was an asshole, but he hadn’t given me creeper vibes. And I could pick up creeper vibes pretty well. Experience and all.

Moving to the closet, I found his suits and dress shirts. Snapping the scissors in the air, I got to work. I cut the steak into tiny pieces, then hid them in darkened and discreet places in his closet, where he’d never be able find them. If he loved his meat so much—it was only fair that he smelled like it, too.

I’d never done something so conniving in my life, and I was beginning to feel twinges of regret when the last of the steak pieces was tucked into a corner of the carpeted walk-in closet.

This was stupid. The man was actively ruining my life, and all I’d done was a harmless prank to make his clothes smell bad. It was infantilizing.

I advanced toward his laptop, which was sitting on his nightstand, and flipped it open. It needed both a fingerprint and a password to allow access. Dammit. I put the laptop back on the nightstand, wondering if Ransom was having sex with another woman right at this moment, and flipped open his briefcase. There—voila—I finally found something interesting. Paperwork. About me.

I skimmed the pages, gulping as much information as I could—within reason. It listed Ransom’s weekly salary—wow—and the job description, including my father’s specific requests for him. My heart beat loudly in my chest. I could barely make out the words before I felt dizzy and clammy. I was about to shove the papers back into the briefcase when a steely, husky voice ricocheted over the walls like a bullet, piercing a gaping, painful hole in my back.

“Big mistake.”

Whirling around, I clutched the scissors in my fist and tried to duck beneath his arm to dash into my room. He caught me by the waist, scooping me like I was a toddler and positioning me back in front of him. I looked up at his face. His green eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His lips became flat with anger. His fa?ade of perfection remained in place, but his hair was tousled and his neck flushed.

Where were you?

What did you do?

Why do you look so glowy?

Best question of all—why do I care?

I fisted the scissors by the finger holes, aiming the blades for his thigh. He quickly caught the shears between his fingers, his gaze never leaving mine.

Shaking his head, he sighed. “We’re past this, surely.”

He pried the scissors from my hand, tossing them onto his nightstand behind me. I caught a glimpse of his palm. It was bloodied. I’d made him bleed. Somehow, I didn’t feel horrible about it. It was good to know he was flesh and blood after all.

“What are you doing in my room, Brat?”

I gulped, feeling my throat bob with a swallow. His face was close. Too close. Close enough that I could taste the whiskey on his tongue and the hint of cherry. My lips curled in revulsion and I shook all over. I wanted to spit in his face. He was giving me all this grief for my behavior and was hooking up with someone who used flavored lip gloss?

And he’d told Tara he had standards!

“Snooping, Random. What else?” I smiled casually, smoothing the fabric of his already ironed shirt. “I wanted to find out things about my new roomie.”

“And did you?” He swatted my hand away, his eyes dead and cold.

His body was flush with mine. My thighs brushed his knees. I felt his heat engulfing me. It shot a thrill through my spine. Never had I felt someone else’s warmth against my own like this.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to run away from a man. It made no sense at all. I hated men. Men, in general, were a threat to me. And this one had already proven he was capable of hurting me. But something about Ransom was unfamiliar. Maybe even a little surprising. Weirdly, I kind of got off on our hatred toward one another.

Inside the avalanche of chaos he brought into my life lived a measurement of safety. I knew he would never raise a hand to me. Conversely, he’d protect me from whatever harm might come my way.

“Yes.” I licked my lips, not moving an inch back, not cowering or showing him that he scared me. “I learned, for instance, that you’re hooking up with a twelve-year-old.”

“Dafuq?” he boomed. He looked disgusted…but also a little alarmed? Like I was onto him.

Dear God, please don’t make my bodyguard a pedo. I’d have to kill him, and I really don’t want that on my conscience.

I flicked my hair. “Who else would wear cherry-flavored lip gloss? C’mon, Random. Don’t make me alert the authorities.”

With that, I winked and tried to make my way out of his room. He caught my wrist, spinning me in place, baring his teeth ferally. It was the first time I’d seen him angry. Up until now, all he’d given me was his bored and disinterested version—even when he’d thrown me over his shoulder and tossed me in my room… I did not like angry Ransom.

“Listen here, Brat. This room is off-limits for you until our time’s up. Am I understood?”

“Will this be reciprocated?” I demanded.

“Will what be reciprocated?” he asked shortly.

“Will you stay away from my room, too?”

“I’m your fucking security!”

Oh, boy. He never dropped the F-bomb. I’d really hit a nerve tonight.

“You can secure me that closely outside of my safe haven,” I answered smartly. “I want some privacy here.”

“And I want a bearable client. Tough luck. I will enter your room whenever I feel it’s necessary, Princess. But let it be known—if you come in here uninvited, you’ll leave through the goddamn window.”

Threatening me with violence. That was pretty counterproductive to his role in my life. But I had a feeling he already knew that. He was full of bullshit. He’d never hurt me. I didn’t know how I knew. I just knew.

“Aw, too bad. I pegged you for someone with a little more self-control than that.”

Ransom bent down, his lips almost touching mine when he spoke. “Get out of here before I tell your father you tried to seduce your close protection officer.”

Thatgot my attention.

My mouth dropped in shock. “That’s a lie!”

He shrugged. “Your constant presence in my room raises red flags. If it’s not your intention—stop wandering in here. Either way, my conscience is clear. I never use it. Now leave.”

I did. In a flurry of tears and feverish panic, slamming my bedroom door behind me dramatically. As soon as I was alone, in the dark, I picked up my phone and called Hera. I’d been hoping to avoid it, but my parents were obviously not going to call me back and I was out of options. I couldn’t continue living under the same roof with this man. Hell, I needed to sage the whole neighborhood to get rid of his demonic vibes.

Hera picked up on the fourth ring. She sounded sleepy, in comparison to my hysterical panting and sobbing.

“Hallie?” She yawned. Her voice alone felt like a slap in my face. “Are you okay? Are you safe?”

Yes? No? How was I to even answer this question?

“Hera. I need—need—need your help!” I howled, burying my face inside my pillow. This douchehole was manipulating me, controlling every aspect of my life…he wasn’t a protector. He was an abuser.

“Are you okay?” She sounded alert now.

“Physically, I guess.” I huffed. “But mentally—”

“If this is about the bodyguard, there’s nothing I can do for you.” The concern in her voice morphed into annoyance. I heard her sit upright, the bedsprings squeaking under her slight body.

“You don’t understand!” I said desperately. “He is a nightmare, he—”

“You showed your tits to the entire world, Hallie. Do you really think what you need right now is more independence? He’s been hired to help sort things out. Let him help.”

“He is threatening me. Manipulating me. Not to mention he confiscates my belongings.”

“Yeah, well, let’s admit it, if you still act like a teenager, maybe it’s high time someone confiscated your things.” She let out another yawn.

I closed my eyes, gritting every single word out of my mouth like they were made out of glass. “Hera, Mom and Dad won’t answer me. I know they’ll listen to you. You’re their favorite.”

She loved hearing that.

“Mom and Dad don’t play favorites,” she countered primly. “I don’t think you stand a chance at getting through to them, regardless. They’re really upset. They’ve tried so hard for you. I can’t even start counting the ways you’ve broken their hearts. They are, however, asking that guy they sent to babysit you for updates, so maybe if you finally come to your senses and start behaving like a grownup, he’ll tell them to call you back.”

“Hera! I—”

“No, Hallie. I’m sorry. You need to deal with this on your own. I have to catch up on sleep. I have a shift in two hours.”

With that, she hung up, leaving me in a darkened sea of satin sheets and misery.