“Hold up. I’m not an escort.” I sighed, somehow resisting the urge to rake my fingers through my slick hair. “I’m just…selling my soul for a couple of months.”
She fluttered her long eyelashes and set her hands on her hips. “I see. And would this happen to have anything to do with the producer’s visit to Casa? Don’t look at me like I’m nuts. Derian told me you were talking to some bigwig the other night. And I’m guessing that’s related to the curly-haired cutie who popped in a month ago. Christ, Trenton…sounds like your ship has come in.”
I huffed sarcastically. “Yeah, right.”
“Fortune comes in all shapes and sizes. You meet one person who introduces you to another and maybe the third or fourth person down the line is the one who sees your potential. That’s how fate works. I know these things.” Macy cocked her head. “Explaining that you’re an escort to your parents might be tricky, though. Are they coming out for their yearly summer visit?”
I walked to the mirror in the foyer and adjusted my collar, unseeing.
“They already know about the bodyguard gig,” I replied matter-of-factly. I felt like a real prick, but technically, I wasn’t lying. “And I’ll take time off when they come around anyway.”
“You can do that?”
“Of course. How do I look?”
Macy must have sensed my angst. My tarot card-reading, crystal-loving friend didn’t like negativity.
She came up behind me and rested her chin on my shoulder. “Fishy but fabulous. Good enough to eat. Stay out of trouble, big guy. And have fun.”
Was this fun?
Well, it wasn’t terrible. I mean, not many people could say they’d stood in the same room as rock royalty and legends in the making. Close enough to see them and hear them…from a distance.
Charlie had greeted me when I parked my car as instructed at the far end of the garage and asked me to wait for him in the garden, mumbling something about a photograph.
So here I was.
I’d spent the past hour or so strolling the garden, lurking just out of hearing beyond the pool where pretty people partied on the lawn beside a cliffside perch overlooking the city. I wondered if this was what it felt like to be a real bodyguard. Part of the scenery, observing the action.
Real bodyguards were in charge of protecting their client too, but my job description was to stand around looking official till Charlie summoned me. It sounded easy enough, and though it should have been boring as hell, it wasn’t. This was the closest I’d been to rock royalty since I’d scored floor seats at a Bon Jovi concert twelve years ago. Jon had still been blurry from the twentieth row. Nothing like this.
Music and laughter drifted from the house. I spied a few guys I thought were band members smoking on the lawn, chatting with a musician I knew my mom loved. I couldn’t remember his name, but even his speaking voice was familiar. James something…she had all his records and had seen him in concert a dozen times or so. This was one of those rare occasions that I would have walked up to a stranger and asked for a selfie for my mom’s sake. If I wasn’t being paid to skulk in the shadows, that is.
“Hey, Charlie said to give you this.”
I did a double take, squinting at the kid offering me a plate of appetizers. “Thanks.”
“You’re my dad’s bodyguard, right?”
I lifted my brow, neither confirming nor denying. “You’re Oliver.”
“Yes.” He smiled, gesturing at the plate of shrimp skewers, grapes, and a mini grilled cheese in his hand. “I picked those. There’re some clams in shells and a weird squid pasta in a cup inside too. Charlie says they’re fabulous, but they look gross. I can get them for you if you want, though.”
“Nah, this is great. Thank you.”
Oliver pushed a lock of hair behind his ear and crossed his arms, scanning the party from my vantage. “Are you bored?”
“Uh…well, a little. Are you?”
He shrugged. “Not too bad. It’s mostly family and friends. Doesn’t seem like Dad needs a bodyguard here. Is there something serious going on?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Oliver waited a beat. “Then why does he need you?”
Good fucking question.
“I think it’s one of those preemptive measure deals. If something goes sideways, I can jump in,” I bluffed.
“Oh. So you work for Jerry.”
“Uh…”
“He’s Dad’s head of security.”
I furrowed my brow as I bit into the mini grilled cheese. “Oh, right.”
“If you don’t work for Jerry, you’re doing something for Dad or Charlie,” he surmised. “Char was surprised to see you here the first time we met you in the kitchen, so it must be Dad. But Dad wouldn’t do the hiring. Jerry would. So…maybe Charlie hired you.”
“Are you a junior detective or somethin’?”
“No, but that would be awesome,” Oliver enthused before cocking his head. “Are you Dad’s boyfriend?”