Chapter 4: Not in My Contract

I followed Adrian into his bedroom because he had my bag, not because his invitation had done anything to my pulse.

That was the explanation I settled on.

He put the bag beside a chair and opened a drawer in the dresser.

“You can use this one.”

“For two nights?”

“You brought a bag. I assumed you’d want somewhere to unpack.”

I left it zipped. There was something unsettling about how easily he made room for me.

The bed was enormous. Four people could have slept in it without touching, provided three of them had better judgment than I did. I pointed to the side nearest the door.

“That’s mine.”

Adrian glanced at the mattress. “All right.”

“And no grabbing me in your sleep. I might react before I’m awake.”

“What kind of reaction?”

“The kind your publicist won’t enjoy explaining.”

He smiled, but he nodded.

I went to shower before he could find something else to say.

The bathroom had two sinks, towels thick enough to count as bedding, and several bottles whose labels required more patience than I possessed. I used the body wash he’d left on the counter. It smelled clean, faintly woody, and considerably more expensive than mine.

When I returned, Adrian was sitting against the headboard in a loose black T-shirt, reading his script. His hair was damp. A pair of glasses rested low on his nose.

I stopped beside the bed.

He looked up. “Did you need something?”

“No.”

The glasses were unexpected. They made him look less like the face on a billboard and more like someone I might find awake in my kitchen.

That was apparently all it took to unsettle me now.

I placed my phone on the bedside table, tested the lamp, and climbed beneath the covers.

Adrian lowered his script.

“Are you checking the bed for structural weaknesses?”

“Habit.”

“Do you think someone will attack us through the mattress?”

“I’m beginning to understand why your previous security teams quit.”

He laughed softly and returned to reading.

For a few minutes, we stayed on our respective sides. I reviewed the apartment access settings on my phone while he marked his pages. It should have felt ordinary.

Instead, I kept noticing him.

The way he pushed his glasses up. The quiet rustle of paper. His bare forearm resting on the blanket.

At one point he reached for his water, and the movement pulled his shirt across his shoulders. There was nothing fragile about the muscle underneath.

He must have trained hard.

I respected that.

I respected it long enough to forget what I’d been reading.

“Cole?”

I looked up too quickly.

“Your phone’s dimmed.”

“I was thinking.”

“About the security system?”

“About why you haven’t bought the cat.”

His mouth curved.

“I’m still considering my options.”

“Get one that doesn’t need a private suite.”

He set the script aside, removed his glasses, and switched off his lamp.

I did the same.

The room settled into darkness, broken by a pale strip of city light at the curtains. I lay on my back, hands folded over my stomach, feeling absurdly formal.

The mattress shifted.

Then shifted again.

I turned my head. Adrian’s pillow had moved closer.

“You lost something?”

“No.”

“Then why are you over here?”

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

“You could ask it from your own county.”

His laugh warmed the space between us.

“Were you always going to become a bodyguard?”

I hadn’t expected that.

“No. I thought I’d teach at a gym.”

“What changed?”

“Lucy needed me. Fighting paid better than teaching beginners not to lock their knees.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Did you like it?”

“Some of it.”

“Which part?”

“Winning.”

“That sounds like you.”

I turned onto my side to face him. In the dim light, I could make out the shape of his smile.

“I liked getting good at something,” I admitted. “And I liked knowing I could do something if trouble showed up.”

“What about when there wasn’t trouble?”

I shrugged against the pillow.

“There was usually laundry.”

He didn’t laugh that time.

I wished he had. Serious attention was harder to deal with than teasing.

“Your mother worries about you,” he said.

“She worries about everybody. It’s her main hobby.”

“She might be right about one thing.”

I waited.

“You should have someone who looks after you, too.”

The room seemed to become quieter.

I rolled onto my back.

“I look after myself.”

“I’ve noticed.”

His voice was close now. I felt the mattress dip before his hand touched my sleeve.

“Would this bother you?”

I glanced down. His fingers rested against my upper arm.

He was asking.

That should have made the answer simple.

Instead, I thought of the airport video, his face brightening outside the dressing room, and the drawer he’d emptied without hesitation.

“Depends what this is.”

“Me being close to you.”

“You’re my employer.”

“I’m aware.”

“My contract doesn’t include bedtime services.”

His hand withdrew immediately.

“I wasn’t asking for a service.”

The slight change in his voice made me turn back.

He was watching me without the smile.

I could have ended the conversation there. I could have moved my pillow away and gone to sleep.

Instead, I heard myself say, “You can stay where you are. Just don’t get clever.”

Relief softened his face.

“I’ll do my best.”

“That sounded suspiciously noncommittal.”

He lay beside me, close enough that our sleeves brushed. After a while, his hand settled lightly at my side, above the blanket.

I looked at it.

He started to move away.

“It’s fine,” I said, before I’d decided whether it was.

He left his arm there, loose enough that I could shift whenever I wanted. I did shift once, experimentally.

He didn’t tighten his hold.

That helped.

So did the warmth.

I was tired. The bed was comfortable. Nobody needed anything from me for the next few hours.

Those were practical reasons to relax.

I used every one of them.

“You smell good,” Adrian murmured.

“It’s your body wash.”

“I know.”

“You’d better not deduct it from my pay.”

His laugh stirred against my shoulder.

Then, gradually, his breathing slowed.

I stayed awake a little longer, looking toward the door, with his hand resting beside my ribs.

It occurred to me that I hadn’t checked my phone in almost an hour.

In the morning, he was back on his side of the bed.

I woke before him and went to inspect the entry logs. Several deliveries had arrived that week, but all had been collected downstairs. The doorbell footage showed cleaners, Ben, and Adrian returning alone.

Nothing obvious.

Adrian appeared while I was checking the balcony latch, carrying two mugs.

He handed me coffee.

“How did you sleep?”

“Your pillows are ridiculous.”

“Comfortably, then.”

I accepted the mug rather than answer.

He stood beside me in sweatpants, looking out over the city. His hair was untidy. Without makeup or a careful outfit, he looked younger and easier to approach.

I wasn’t sure which version was more dangerous to my concentration.

“Management needs to show me the garage footage,” I said.

“I’ll arrange it.”

“And tell me exactly where you noticed someone following you.”

“The elevator lobby. Once near the garage entrance.”

“Time?”

He gave me approximate dates, and I noted them.

There was still no reason to assume the apartment itself had been compromised. I told him that.

His shoulders eased.

“Good.”

“Don’t decide that means you can wander around alone.”

“I was hoping you’d come out with me.”

“Where?”

“The dry cleaner.”

An hour later, I understood why.

The woman behind the counter brought out a long, overstuffed body pillow in a protective bag.

Adrian accepted it without embarrassment.

I stared.

“That’s yours?”

“Yes. It needed cleaning.”

We carried it outside. He tucked it under one arm like an oversized loaf of bread.

“You said you had trouble sleeping alone.”

“I sometimes do.”

I looked at the pillow again.

“So this was an option last night.”

Adrian’s gaze met mine over the top of it.

“You were much better company.”

I took the bag from him before he could see my expression.

Apparently I had spent the night competing with a pillow.

Worse, I was pleased that I’d won.