Lola
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to take them back. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. But as I open my mouth to do just that, all I can think about is Garrett on the phone with his PR person, ordering him to get that hideous story taken down. Ordering him to make sure it doesn’t happen again.
Ordering him to protect me.
No one’s ever protected me before. Admittedly, I’m not usually the type to need protection—I carry pepper spray for any situations my loud mouth can’t get me out of and am not afraid to use it. More to the point, I would normally kick the balls in of any guy who thought he needed to play hero to little old me. But there’s something about Garrett that makes me feel okay about letting him handle things that I can’t.
It feels more than okay, if I’m being honest. It feels right—as right as taunting him into climbing that fence did. As right as the kiss we just shared did. As right as few things in my life ever have.
Which is a thought I’m not going to touch. Not now, maybe not ever considering whatever bizarre relationship we’re starting comes time-stamped with an expiration date, even if I don’t yet know what that date is.
Whenever Gorgeous Garrett can convince the King that he’s trustworthy and deserves the throne, I guess. Which, for my own sanity, I really hope is sooner rather than later.
“You can still take it back,” he says, as if he’s reading my mind.
“I don’t want to take it back,” I answer. It’s not a lie—or at least not much of one. Then, as silence stretches between us, I demand, “What happens now?”
“Now, I call Jacob back and make him a happy, happy man. After I speak to him, I’ll hand the phone over to you, whereby he will give you an absurdly long list of dos and don’ts that you can mostly ignore.”
“Mostly?”
“I mean, no nudity in the town square is almost always a good motto when you’re a royal and eight thousand cameras are trained on you at any given moment. But, hey. If you disagree, I say have at it.”
“I’m pretty sure me parading around naked for the paps would do little to convince your father of your renewed trustworthiness.”
He grins, waggling his eyebrows a couple of times. “Yeah, but it might be worth it anyway. Besides, you totally underestimate my father’s love of beautiful women.” He pauses for a second, looking horrified. “Shit, that sounded way creepier than I intended it to.”
“Let’s not ever mention it again,” I tell him with a laugh. “And thrilling as a conversation with Jacob sounds—I do so love being mansplained to—I have to be somewhere in fifteen minutes. And since that obviously isn’t going to happen, I need to—”
“Wait. Why isn’t it going to happen?”
I look at him like he’s an idiot. “Have you seen the end of my driveway? Or do those blacked-out windows you’re always hiding behind work both ways, Marie Antoinette?”
“The woman had a point. The world would be a much better place if everyone had cake to eat.” I love that he gets my sense of humor, love even more that his head isn’t so far up his princely ass that he can’t make fun of himself—or take a joke when I do it.
“But seriously,” he continues as his smile fades. “I really am sorry about this whole mess. Where do you need to go?”
“I have a photo shoot scheduled with the clothes I bought over the last few days. It’s been arranged for two weeks, but the last thing I want is to try to break through a line of rabid paparazzi to get there.”
“Where is the photo shoot supposed to be?”
I tell him the name of the hotel I chose. I picked it because it has gorgeous grounds, its own personal lake, and a number of public rooms that are just stunning. And once they granted us access to all of it for a very reasonable price, I had to snap it up.
“We can get you there,” Garrett tells me as he reaches into his pocket for his phone.
“We?”
“My security detail. And yours.”
“My what?”
“I took the liberty of hiring a couple of guards for you, just until the shock of us dating dies down a little. They should be here in about half an hour, but I’m sure my detail can get us through this mess. I’ll have your guys meet us at the hotel.”
“You hired me bodyguards?” I ask again. I probably sound like an idiot, but I want to make sure that I’m not misunderstanding anything. “When exactly did you do that?”
“This morning, as soon as I heard what was going on and realized you were under siege.”
“But that’s before I agreed to help you out.”