1: In Which She Discovers That Size Matters

1: In Which She Discovers That Size Matters

*********************************

I had just snapped my bra on when Reed Lancaster barged into my room unannounced. I was pretty sure there was a rule against a client seeing their bodyguard in a bra and thong, yet he just stood there, jade-green eyes lasciviously raking my body.

I felt violated.

“Mr. Lancaster!” I growled, quickly reaching for my old nightgown and pulling it on. “Is everything OK?”

My gun was right beneath my pillow and I dived for it, already on red alert. He had never stepped into my room before so this had to be an emergency. I mentally told myself not to look too gleeful about a potential security breach. Reed let out a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine,” he let me know. “I just need you to get me a box of Trojans. Magnum. I ran out.”

I stifled the curse words that threatened to stream out my mouth and get me fired. Week two with this guy and I shouldn’t have been surprised. He fúcked like a stallion and not a single serious thing left his mouth.

“Mr. Lancaster,” I slowly began, “I’m supposed to be around you at all times. I can’t go out on a condom run.”

He rolled his eyes at me. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Personal safety and all that shít.” He heaved out a sigh. “But I have a girl coming in after breakfast – my masseuse, so don’t worry, no threat there. It would be awesome if you’d do me this solid, Lena.”

This was a guy whose IQ was supposed to be higher than his dick’s. I was done ignoring my suspicions.

“Can I ask you a question first?” I asked, careful to keep my gun behind my back so as not to scare him off.

“What?” His eyes were darkening as I approached him.

I thought about a simple test. Baby-simple. Embryo-simple. “What was Picasso’s first name?”

Reed’s eyes widened momentarily. “Excuse me?”

“Picasso. What was his first name?”

His beautiful face scrunched up. “Isn’t it Picasso? One word, like Bono or Cher?” He gave me a weak laugh. “Need help with your homework or something?”

“You’re not Reed Lancaster, are you?” I surmised, and the way his face heated up gave me a definite answer. “Even I know who Pablo Picasso is and I’m not an aficionado.”

Before he could run, I was upon him, holding my gun to his chest. Reed – no, whoever the hell he was – made a squawk of surprise, wisely remaining rooted to the spot.

“Who the hell are you?” I snarled at him, pushing the gun further into his chest.

He groaned and instantly began to spill his guts. “Cameron Ellis. Please, I’m just the delivery guy. This wasn’t my idea, I swear.”

He had Nathan’s eyes, even his wavy blonde hair. They could have been brothers. Except now that I really looked at him, Cameron was missing the spark in his eyes that said he had something between his ears.

“Where’s the real Reed? What did you do to him?”

Panic was beginning to seep into my voice. God, if this really wasn’t Reed, what had happened to the real one? And how the hell was I going to tell my father and brothers that I’d been the personal bodyguard of some random shít called Cameron Ellis for two weeks? That I’d lost Reed Lancaster, lost him like a careless child?

You are so screwed, Len.

“I…I don’t know!” Cameron cried, pulling me from my frantic thoughts. “Some guy offered me a shitload of money to come here and pretend to be Reed Lancaster. He said it was temporary. That I wouldn’t have to do anything but be myself.”

I huffed out a breath, my mind whirring. Kidnapped. Reed Lancaster had been kidnapped and the guys who’d done it had sent a decoy to fool me. It had to have been a no-brainer for them. I’d never seen the guy, didn’t really know him from Adam. A fortnight had passed. Who knew what had happened to Reed all that time?

Yet… His housekeeping staff – who only consisted of an elderly cook, a young maid and an actual butler I mentally referred to as Alfred – hadn’t said anything. You would think they’d know what the guy who paid their salaries looked like.

Damn it to hell, I thought, my mind whirring with all the possibilities of what had befallen Reed.

A fortnight of torture… A fortnight of sexual abuse… A fortnight of…

Or he could just be lying in a ditch somewhere.

Cameron gently eased the point of my gun away from his chest. “Lena, I swear, all I wanted was the money. I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?”

“Impersonating someone? That’s a felony,” I answered monotonously, my arm limply falling to my side. I had to let Jake and Shepherd know that we all had to start looking for new jobs. Or possibly start digging three graves. “Cameron, who exactly hired you?”

“Reed Lancaster,” he intoned, hanging his blonde head. “He said his name was Reed.”

***

Brenda, the cook, sat with Margo, the young housekeeper, on one side and Alfred on the other. The parlour had been sunlit and way too bright and cheery for an interrogation, so I’d drawn the curtains.

“So we’ve established that this man” – I pointed at Cameron, who was hunched over in one corner feeling sorry for himself – “is not your boss. For the past two weeks, you three have said nothing while my team and I have looked like idiots. Where is Reed?”

Brenda smirked at me. I had been taught to respect my elders but the fact that she found this funny was wearing on my last nerve. Alfred was characteristically stone-faced, sitting ramrod straight in his chair, and Margo fidgeted nervously, playing with the folds of her white apron, a diamond ring sparkling on her wedding finger.

She was the weak link.

“Fine. Don’t talk to me, then,” I snapped. “You can go back to whatever you were doing.”

They all rose, Alfred striding out first with Brenda close behind.

“Say hello to Nathaniel for me,” she muttered, her voice filled with obvious dislike of her boss’s older brother. Interesting.

Margo was at the door when I stopped her. “Not you, hon. We’re gonna have a little chat.”

“Me?” she squeaked. Her eyes travelled to my holstered gun. “I...I don’t know anything.”

She was much smaller than me, a mouse. She wore her copper hair in a tight bun that pulled her skin taut, making her look younger than what she probably was. Reaching over her head, I pushed the door closed, stopping her in her tracks.

Scared brown eyes met mine. “I have work to do, Miss Anosova,” Margo whispered, picking at her apron again.

“If I call the police” – something I sure as hell wasn’t going to do...yet – “you could go to prison for obstruction of justice.”

She swallowed. “B-but I didn’t d-do anything.”

“You know something. Brenda and Alfred won’t have to know you told me.”

Margo’s eyes slid over to Cameron behind me. “Who’s Alfred? D-do you mean S-Samuel?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sam. Whatever.” I gave her a shrug. “So are you going to tell me, or will I have to bring Jake and Shepherd inside to interrogate an uncooperative witness?”

I was totally bullshitting her but Margo’s eyes widened at the idea of being thrust upon two big guys she’d barely said two words to since they’d moved onto the property.

“The b-basement,” she said breathlessly. “Mr. Lancaster likes to paint down there. He can disappear for days but Brenda says we shouldn’t d-disturb him.”

A headache was beginning to pound away behind my eyes but my relief diminished the pain. “He’s been underground this whole time?” If my father and brothers caught wind of this… “Why’d he hire this schmuck to take his place?” I gestured at Cameron over my shoulder.

“He doesn’t like new people,” she said slowly, as if I were stupid. “Please don’t tell Brenda I told you.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “Sure. But first you gotta show me the basement.” I glanced over my shoulder. “And you had better be gone by the time I get back up, Mr. Ellis, or so help me, you’ll never have any use for a condom for the rest of your life.”

*

The “basement” ended up being a network of dungeons I could easily see myself getting lost in. After radioing in to Jake to let him know what the situation was, I allowed Margo to dash back upstairs, begging me not to let her boss know she’d led me to him.

Reed had claimed one area as his studio and easel after easel stood sentry at the entrance to his makeshift studio. Light spilled overhead from a lone light bulb, detailing the dismal scene before me. The room was dank and the smell of paint was nauseating. Movement behind one easel caught my attention and I stilled, trying to hold my breath and failing dismally.

“I told you not to disturb me, Margo,” a sharp voice said, and Reed himself walked around his paintings, rolling his shoulders. “What do you want?”

I was a second away from correcting him when he froze abruptly, hands fisted at his sides. “No. Not Margo,” he mumbled.

Reed Lancaster and Cameron Ellis could have passed for body doubles, all right. They were both tall with shoulder-length dirt-blonde hair that badly needed combing. They weren’t all that muscular; lean, if anything, except it was hard to tell when Reed wore a paint-spattered flannel shirt and baggy sweats. Both men had a presence that was hard to pinpoint. It was easy to see why Reed had picked Cameron to masquerade as him.

But the line of a deep scar that ran down Reed’s cheek set him apart from the other man. That, and the fact that he was currently blindfolded yet obviously furious.

“Mr. Lancaster –”

“Go away.” He turned from me, effortlessly picking his way back through the obstacle course of easel paintings.

“I’m sorry to say that I can’t.” I made myself approach him, despite the fact that I knew my father would not approve of this attack-dog method with a client. “Hiring a guy to pose as you? Seriously? Not only did you make a fool of my team and me, you almost…”

I trailed off when he stumbled slightly, knocking an obviously wet painting of its perch and cursing loudly when it fell to the concrete floor with a splat. Instinct kicked in and, without being asked, I went over to him, bracing myself for more antagonism. For whatever reason – probably just my very presence – Reed Lancaster did not like me.

“Are you okay?” I asked, coming up behind him.

“I said, get the fukk away from me!” he snarled, creeping away and putting a safe distance between us. He furiously hauled the fallen painting up and set it back, the ease of his motions surprising considering the fact that he couldn’t see just then.

My father’s words rang in my head. Oh, Reed was more than difficult. Instead of dealing with imminent danger, I was forced to deal with a petulant kid who played switcheroo games á la The Parent Trap. Dad and Ivan had known this, had planned it this way. Would they ever take me seriously?

“Maybe if you removed the blindfold, you wouldn’t be tripping over things,” I forced through clenched teeth.

Reed stilled, his hands at his side. With his back to me, I could only imagine the rage on his face. But when he spoke, his voice was eerily calm. “Lena, right?”

“Yes,” I replied quietly, tapping my foot impatiently.

“A female bodyguard?”

“Yes.” This time, my voice was defensive. “It isn’t unheard of. If you think I’m incapable of kicking ass, you should know I do a damn good job of it.” He didn’t need to know that he was my first job.

“Did you find Cameron pretty?”

“I…what?”

Reed was rolling his shoulders again, as if psyching himself up for a fight. “Cameron would never have ratted me out and neither would my staff,” he said. “My big brother thinks I need protection from myself.” He snorted. “I suppose Cameron’s pretty face distracted the protection for two weeks.”

I felt my face heat up – in anger. “Is this a joke to you?” I spat out. Be unobtrusive… Yeah, well, screw that. “This is my job.” Before I could stop myself, I forged my way toward him, intent on being spoken to like I wasn’t part of the furniture.

Reed must have sensed me coming because he whipped around, backing away.

“Take it off,” I demanded, then paused. I sounded like a horny frat boy begging a sorority girl to remove her top. “The blindfold,” I added. “It’s unsettling.”

His top lip curled, bringing attention to the lone scar lining his cheek. I momentarily wondered what happened, wondered if it was a reminder of his childhood accident.

Reed held his hands out, the universal sign of back away. “Don’t come any closer.”

I was a complete and total bitch because in that moment, I knew exactly what he was feeling: Fear. The fact that I had made him afraid sank in and I felt like the worst person on earth because despite our height and status difference, I was the bully in this situation.

“I’m sorry,” I offered sincerely. “I was out of line and I apologise. I’ll leave you to your painting.”

His hands dropped and he exhaled loudly, the sound of his breathing echoing in the sudden silence of the large basement. Then, slowly, he undid the strip of cloth across his eyes and I couldn’t walk away. Released from their binding, blonde locks of hair instantly fell across his forehead. He shook them to one side, the scarred side. Steely green eyes locked with mine, briefly widening before returning to their flinty state and I narrowed mine back at him.

“What?” I demanded, folding my arms across my chest. From this point on, I couldn’t have cared less about the fact that I was probably going to have to return to my father with my tail tucked between my legs. None of his men had ever been fired before and insolence was a sure-fire way to get there but Lancaster was wearing on my last nerve.

“You’re so…so short and…you should g-get” – he took a deep breath, shaking his head – “get out.”

“Short?” I barked in disbelief, flushing beet red. “I’ll have you know that dynamite comes in small packages and in case you didn’t know, you’re freakishly tall. If you’re going to fire me because I’m vertically challenged, you should know that that’s considered discrimination and I can take you to court.”

“I…” Reed seemed at loss for words but he was backing away again, his face probably redder than mine. “You need…to go.”

I raised my hands in defeat. “Fine. But I’ll need to know your whereabouts at all times and that means I’ll have to be around you. I apologise if my lack of height disgusts you.”

His gaze settled somewhere above my head. “I have a showing on Saturday at a gallery in Santa Rosa. I don’t want you around me.”

“I’ll be in the background,” I said through clenched teeth, deciding not to add the “you sexist pig” that was dying to come out. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

He shook his head and even more hair fell into his face. “No, I will.” He secured his blindfold once more and turned away from me, easily picking up a paintbrush and palette from a nearby table and returning to his painting.

For a long, stunned moment, I simply watched his arm work, his brush dance with confidence against the canvas. It was the single strangest thing I’d ever witnessed and yet…one of the most beautiful.

“Why are you still here, Lena?”

Reed’s impatient voice jerked me from my trance and, without saying anything, I turned to leave.