The Best Next Thing ((Un)Professionally Yours 1)
“A little…but mostly I want you to call off your goon. He’s driving me insane.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“This musclebound oaf”—Miles heard an offended masculine “Hey, now!” in the background and his grin widened—“you hired to follow me around. I swear to God, he barely lets me go to the bathroom alone.”
“Then he’s doing his job.”
Vicki was a florist, specializing in cutesy, kitschy, animal arrangements, and her shop had been robbed just before Miles had been hospitalized. Ill, and barely thinking straight, he had asked his security team to assign someone to watch his little sister. His mother and brother both had low key security details. But he wanted someone massive and intimidating to be Vicki’s shadow at all times. His sister was sweet and fragile and a little naïve, and he had blamed himself for not following his gut and pushing the security issue harder with her before the incident. She had flashed him her gentle smile and told him she didn’t feel comfortable with people following her around, and he had melted like butter and been more relaxed with her security. And then some bastard with a gun had roughed her up, vandalized her store, and robbed her.
Miles wasn’t allowing that to happen ever again.
“Miles, he went into the ladies’ room at Harrods to check if it was empty before allowing me to go to the loo.”
“Was it empty?”
“No. He then demanded the women there leave.” Miles heard the male voice say something in the background, and Vicki blasted an impatient breath directly into the phone. Her next words were evidently aimed at her bodyguard. “I don’t care how polite you think you were, Tyler! It was still rude.”
“Vicki, let me talk to him.”
“Tell him he was way out of bounds, Miles,” Vicki said, her vo
ice edged with frustration. There were muffled noises as she handed the phone over.
“Sir?” The deep voice on the other end had a Texan twang to it.
“It’s Chambers, right?” Miles asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing. I want her safe.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Good man. Now let me speak with her again.”
“Did you tell him, Miles?” Vicki asked.
“I told him to keep up the good work.”
“Miles, come on, this is ridiculous. The store was robbed. It happens. If you want to help, stick this guy on shop security or something. I’m just a regular woman. I can’t have this…this person following me around like I’m some pop star or…or heiress or something.”
“You are an heiress,” Miles corrected her, striving for patience while he took a sip from his coffee. “You’re my heiress.”
“Ugh! That’s just… it’s just…”
“Vic, just bear with me, okay? When I’m feeling better, I’ll ask the security company to be less obvious with your detail. But while I’m here and not able to keep an eye on things myself, it would really ease my mind, and probably aid in my recovery, if you’d humor me for now.”
Pulling the sick card was a low blow, but he knew she would feel obliged to acquiesce to his request. Especially when he never usually asked her for anything.
“Okay,” she muttered begrudgingly. “But I’m not happy about it.”
“Noted.”
“So how are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Miles.” The impatience in her voice told him she was probably rolling her eyes as well.