Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Protecting a popular rock star from overeager fans when no one would be trying to take him out with sniper fire from across the red carpet… presumably? This would be a walk in the park compared to my previous assignment.
I was supremely confident about this. Perhaps, one might say, excessively confident. So confident I momentarily forgot that old expression about hubris leading to downfall.
Then I stepped out of the elevator and saw the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on… and hubris literally knocked the breath out of me.
Gorgeous face. Long, sun-kissed hair. Honey-brown eyes that regarded me curiously. A mouth so soft and sensual my gut went painfully tight in an instant.
I needed no Ventdestinian mystical woo-woo to know “the winds of fate were blowing ill” in regard to my ability to do this job without complications.
In fact, the real reason I’d quit my job in Ventdestine and moved back to the United States was even clearer than before.
I wanted to have sex with men.
Ventdestine was a beautiful country, full of wonderful people and charming traditions, but their laws and cultural expectations regarding LGBTQ issues remained locked in an earlier, intolerant era. I’d spent twelve years closeted and practically celibate because I couldn’t afford to get caught breaking the ancient law. The scandal it would have caused to the royal family would have been devastating.
I’d known what I was getting into when Asger bestowed the royal guard position on me. At that time, the opportunity to travel and make more money than I’d ever imagined had been worth the personal sacrifice. But now… now I was ready to have a life outside of work. To live a little and fuck a lot.
A thought that should not have been at the forefront of my brain the moment I met my new client.
Violet performed the introduction. “Zee, this is Ryan Galloway. Ryan, Zee Barlo.”
“Hi, I’m Zane,” he said with a polite smile, surprising me since I hadn’t known Zee was short for anything. “I hear you’re my new close protection officer. Welcome to the team.”
We were standing in the reception area of the recording studio, and the morning sun had slanted in through one of the high windows, lighting up the golden strands in his long brown hair. The air-conditioning had even kicked on, making the strands blow in an artificial breeze.
Winds of fate, indeed.
“H-hi,” I stammered before reminding myself I was a professional. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Nice to meet you. I know you have a recording session today. Anything else you have planned?”
He shook his head. “No. The session will take most of the day, and they’ll order in lunch for us. Ready?”
I nodded and followed him toward a hallway while he walked and typed messages in his phone at the same time. Clearly, he didn’t take any personal responsibility for situational awareness, but maybe that was simply due to feeling safe in such a familiar space. Or maybe he was an entitled ass who left the pesky security shit to the hired help.
You can ignore a pretty face if it comes attached to a self-important celebrity, I told myself. There’s nothing sexy about that.
Zane pointed me to a chair against the wall between the sound booth’s door and the door to the editing suite. After glancing around both spaces to get a sense of who was in the room with us and what other exits there were and determining there were no active threats, I sat.
Violet had prepared me for how tedious a day in the studio could be, but I’d spent years keeping watch over a king whose favorite activity was watching the news on TV. This couldn’t be much different.
Then Zane began singing.
I sat up straight in my chair like I’d been jolted by a live wire.
That voice. Sweet fucking god. It was phenomenal.
It was also, I realized, familiar. Several younger members of the Ventdestinian royal family—Asger’s grandchildren—had been obsessed with Zee and had played his music nonstop out by the pool last summer.
Song after song, take after take, I let that glorious voice wash over me. For some reason, it felt like he was singing right to me, even though his eyes were closed in concentration most of the time.
When we broke for lunch, he was inundated with people who needed to talk to him. An assistant asking him questions, his manager, Micki, informing him of schedule changes, and a member of his band telling him a long, detailed story of how he’d spent his weekend. Throughout all of it, Zane listened as if the person he was talking to was the only person in the room.
He had the patience of a saint and the kindness of a damned Disney princess.
And that was when I came to a couple of mortifying realizations.