by Lauren Rowe
Table of Contents
Mister Bodyguard Copyright © 2018 by Lauren Rowe
To Chloe.
Books by Lauren Rowe
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Epilogue
Author Biography
Music Playlist
Acknowledgments
Additional Books by Lauren Rowe
Mister Bodyguard Copyright © 2018 by Lauren Rowe
Published by SoCoRo Publishing
Layout by www.formatting4U.com
Cover model: Noah Bartholomew
Photography: Kerry Carty Photography
Cover design: Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review
To Chloe.
You are so brave.
I love you.
Books by Lauren Rowe
The Club Series (to be read in order)
The Club
The Reclamation
The Redemption
The Culmination
The Infatuation
The Revelation
The Consummation
The Morgan Brothers (a series of related standalones):
Hero
Captain
Ball Peen Hammer
Mister Bodyguard
Rock Star (coming 2019)
The Misadventures Series (a series of unrelated standalones):
Misadventures on the Night Shift
Misadventures of a College Girl
Misadventures on the Rebound
Standalone Psychological Thriller/(Very) Dark Comedy
Countdown to Killing Kurtis
Chapter 1
Zander
Have a seat, Mr. Shaw,” Reed Rivers’ brunette assistant says, indicating a black leather couch in a small reception area. “Mr. Rivers will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.” I unbutton my suit jacket, take a seat, and carefully place my résumé on the couch next to me.
“Would you like a glass of water?” the assistant asks.
“Thanks.”
I take in the small reception area. I’ve never been inside a record label before, but this is exactly how I’d pictured one. Modern, minimalistic furnishings. The LA skyline stretching beyond a nearby floor-to-ceiling window. And, of course, what record label would be complete without gold records, album covers, and framed photos of musicians lining the walls?
I scan the photos and spot the face of that white rapper, 2Real—the one who’s recently been topping the charts with his smash hit, “Crash.” My eyes drift again and stop on the unmistakable green eyes of Aloha Carmichael, the Disney star who grew up in front of the world and, when her TV show ended, reinvented herself as a pop star. My gaze drifts again and lands on the four guys of Red Card Riot. Even if Dax and his band, 22 Goats, weren’t poised to jet off to London to open for them on their world tour in a matter of days, I’d recognize that powerhouse band.
My stomach tightens, reminding me how much I want to walk out of here today as the newest member of Red Card Riot’s security team. Or, rather, as I like to think of it, 22 Goats’ security team. Getting to watch my honorary baby brother and his band open every night in jam-packed arenas across the world—seeing Dax transform into the global superstar he’s always been destined to become—would be a dream come true. Not to mention a welcome distraction from the acute ache that’s been ravaging my heart since Daphne blindsided me on Thursday night.
Daphne.
After four days of thinking about it—or, actually, obsessing about it—I’m no closer to understanding why she dumped me. I admit I’ve never particularly wanted to move to New York, but, like I told Daphne on Thursday night, I was willing to do it for her. Because I would have done anything for that beautiful girl. For fuck’s sake, when Keane—my lifelong best friend, my roommate, my Wifey, my brother from another mother—moved from Seattle to LA three months ago to pursue his Hollywood dreams and the girl of his dreams, I stayed behind for no other reason than to be with Daphne. I can’t follow my Wifey to LA when my future wife is going to art school in Seattle. That’s what I told Keane at the airport three months ago when he pestered me to join him a thousand miles down south. And I didn’t even doubt my decision to stay in Seattle with Daphne, despite how excruciating it was to say goodbye to Keane, because I knew I’d found the girl who’d taken Zander Shaw off the market for good.
Well, that and I wasn’t going to be a damn fool and give up my reasonably priced corner apartment only to have Keane come back to Seattle a couple months later asking for his old room back, either because he’d fucked things up with his new girlfriend, Maddy, or because, despite my boy’s ebullient charm, he’d found out breaking into modeling and acting in La La Land wasn’t quite as easy as he’d hoped.
As it turned out, my low-key worries about Keane Morgan making it in LA were unfounded. After only two months in Tinseltown, it was clear my boy wasn’t just killing it in LA, he was mass-murdering it. Just that fast, he’d already shot three small speaking roles and landed two national commercials plus a modeling gig for Calvin Klein underwear. And he’d moved off his little brother Dax’s couch and into his girlfriend Maddy’s place across the hall.
So, what did I do then, when I realized Keane wouldn’t be returning to Seattle? Did I ditch Daphne, my girlfriend of mere months, to join my lifelong best friend in LA? No, although that’s what I would have done if I’d known Daphne was gonna drop me like a bad habit a month later to attend art school in New York. No, back when I thought there was no “I” in “love,” when I thought Daphne was all-in the same as me, I did what any man caught between a rock and a hard place would do: I asked Daphne if she’d be willing to transfer to an art college in LA at the end of her next school term.
“I’m one step ahead of you, Z!” Daphne chirped. “I submitted an application to Cal Arts a month ago!”
Of course, I called Keane right away to tell him th
e spectacular news.
“But what if Daphne doesn’t get accepted to that art school in LA?” Keane asked.
“Then Daphne and I will move to Los Angeles after she graduates.”
“But won’t that be in, like, two years?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, baby doll,” I said to Keane. “Daphne could get into any art school in the country. She’s just that good.”
“Just promise me this,” Keane replied. “If Daphne doesn’t get into that art school in LA and you guys wind up breaking up, then you’ll get your ass down to LA the very next day after the breakup.”
“Jesus God, I don’t even know where to begin with your flagellation,” I replied. “I know you miss me, Peenie—and I miss you, too, sweet meat—but rooting for the end of Zaphne is the same thing as rooting for the non-existence of my eighteen future babies. I’ve never rooted for the end of Kaddy and the non-existence of your eighteen future babies.”
“Sweet Baby Jesus, I’m dealing with a madman,” Keane replied. “First off, like I keep telling you, Maddy and I aren’t Kaddy. We’re Meane. That’s way cooler because it’s ironic on account of Maddy being so damned nice. And, second off, don’t blame Madagascar for my relocation to the land of avocado toast. I would have moved here, regardless, simply because this is the city where a dumbshit like me can get paid to do nothing but stare into a camera lens like he’s getting a hand job under a table. And third off, I’m not actively rooting for the end of Zaphne. I’m merely lodging a request in case Zaphne happens to implode before Daphne graduates—which ain’t the craziest notion in the world, considering your track record for falling in and out of love at breakneck speed, big guy.”
“Forget all the times I said I was in love before Daphne,” I replied. “I’m telling you, Peenie. Daphne is my future.”
They were famous last words, of course. Not to mention clueless and embarrassing words, too. As it turned out, Daphne wasn’t my future. In fact, she was barely my present, as evidenced by the fact that I’m now sitting in the lobby of River Records, mere weeks later, after having been dumped.
“Here you go,” Reed’s assistant says, drawing me from my thoughts. She hands me a glass of water. “Reed says he apologizes for keeping you waiting. Apparently, he and Barry have quite a bit to talk about.”
I lean back against the leather sofa and flash her my most charming smile. “No problem. I just moved here Friday, so my dance card is wide open. Quick question, though. Is ‘Barry’ Reed’s head of security? Reed said I’d be meeting his ‘head of security’ today, but he didn’t give me a name.”
The woman nods. “Barry Atwater. He was a celebrity bodyguard for years before Reed tapped him to manage security for all his nightclubs. From there, Reed slowly expanded Barry’s duties until, a few months ago, Barry officially became head of security for everything in Reed’s world—the nightclubs, the label, and Reed’s personal life, too.”
I thank the woman for the intel and we chat for a bit longer, and when she leaves, I pull out my phone and search “Barry Atwater.” Immediately, a slew of photos pops up, all of them featuring the same large black man walking alongside a different celebrity. Damn, Gina. At six feet four and two hundred forty pounds, people often describe me as a big black man. But this Barry Atwater has me beat.
I read a snippet about Barry in an article about celebrity bodyguards and discover he’s an ex-marine who’s guarded some of the biggest names in music and entertainment. Well, shit. How quickly is this badass motherfucker gonna show me the door when he finds out I’ve got no experience whatsoever in the security industry—that I’m a personal trainer from Seattle who’s never even worked as a bouncer at a nightclub? When Reed handed me his card four months ago backstage at one of Dax’s shows and told me to text him about a job if I happened to move to LA, he made it sound like my lack of experience wouldn’t be an issue. But that was before Reed put this Barry dude in charge of security.
“Mr. Shaw?”
I look up from my phone to find Reed’s assistant staring at me.
She smiles. “Reed and Barry are ready to see you now.”
Chapter 2
Aloha
I finish singing the last note of “Pretty Girl” and, on the final, hard-hitting drumbeat, strike a choreographed pose in the middle of my backup dancers. After weeks of grueling rehearsals, we’ve finally reached the end of our last run-through before moving to our first arena of the tour for two days of dress rehearsals.
“And... lights out,” our director says, though there are no actual stage lights to dim in this expansive warehouse. “That was the best run-through yet, guys.”
With a collective whoop, my dancers and I break free from our frozen tableau and begin high-fiving and congratulating each other. As I hug one of my longtime dancers, I notice over her shoulder the most beautiful face in the world smiling at me from across the room.
“Barry!” I shriek. I disengage from my dancer and sprint gleefully toward him. “Take fifteen everyone! Big Barry’s in da houuuse!” When I reach Barry, I leap through the air and physically hurl myself into his massive arms. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I knew it.”
“Hey, honey,” Barry says in his rumbling baritone. And, just that fast, from those two words alone, I know Barry isn’t here to tell me the news I want to hear.
I disengage from Barry’s embrace, a scowl on my face, and pound a closed fist into his hard chest. “No! You have to come on this tour!”
Barry chuckles, kisses my fist, and guides it to my side. “It’s nothing personal, honey. I don’t have time to guard anyone on a tour these days, not even you.”
I adopt the most adorably persuasive expression I can muster. “But I need you. You’re my human Valium, Barry. My rock.”
I might be laying it on a tad bit thick, but it’s for good reason. Big Barry has accompanied me on every tour of my life, ever since my first at age thirteen when I traveled the world singing horrendously saccharine songs from my hit Disney show It’s Aloha! By now, ten years and seven tours later, Barry’s more than a bodyguard to me. He’s family. And that’s not a small thing for a girl whose father abandoned her at age three and whose mother has treated her more like an ATM machine than a cherished daughter.
“You don’t need me on tour, Aloha,” Barry says, patting my cheek. “You want me. There’s a big difference. Speaking of which, I’m here to tell you how I’m going to staff the security for your tour, whether you want it or not. Remember last year when I had to be in Thailand with Reed and 2Real during the Kids’ Choice Awards and I assigned—”
“The ex-Navy SEAL?”
“Yes. Brett. I’ve assigned him to—”
“You can’t assign that cyborg tight-ass to guard me for an entire tour! I’ll have a meltdown within a week and wind up canceling a month’s worth of shows.”
Barry rolls his eyes. “You’d die before canceling a single show and we both know it. You’d never let down your Aloha-nators. But it doesn’t matter because I haven’t assigned Brett to be your personal bodyguard. I’ve assigned him to be your ‘head of security’ while another guy—Zander—is your actual bodyguard.”
I look at Barry quizzically. “You’re assigning two guys to do the job you’ve always done for me?”
Barry nods. “Brett will handle the high-level security functions: interfacing with venue security and law enforcement, planning transportation and ingress-egress routes, assuming the anchor spot during your performances. And while he’s doing all that, your friendly, easygoing personal bodyguard, Zander, will shadow and escort you, the way I’ve always done, as well as acting as your human Valium and/or rock, as needed.”
I cross my arms over my chest, unmoved. I realize Barry is doing this with the best of intentions, but how could he possibly think this will work? I’ve grown up with Barry. He’s the only person in the world I completely trust. How could he think anyone—whether two guys or one—could possibly replace him?
/> Barry touches my arm. “Just give this Zander guy a chance. I’ve got a gut feeling about him. Can he fully replace me today? No. But given some time and experience, I believe he will. Experience a man can acquire. The right personality? That’s something he’s got to have naturally.”
I look at Barry sideways. “Just how inexperienced is this guy?”
“This will be his first tour.”
I scoff.
“Trust me, though, newbie or not, he’s fully capable of doing what I’ve hired him to do, especially with Brett watching over him. Just give him a chance. He’s got a soothing, calming demeanor and a great sense of humor. I’m positive he’ll be a perfect fit with you.”
“A ‘soothing, calming demeanor’?” I say, snorting. “Is this guy gonna be my bodyguard or my service doggie?”
Barry grins. “A bit of both, I’d say.”
I roll my eyes. “How old is he?”
“Twenty-four.”
My eyebrows shoot up. I assumed my service doggie would be in his mid- to late-forties, the same as Barry, not merely a year older than me. Well, well, well. I can’t say I’m upset at the idea of some young, big, muscular alpha dude with a “soothing, calming demeanor” escorting me everywhere I go.
“He’s younger than I’d have liked,” Barry admits, apparently misreading the expression on my face. “But I met him and quickly realized he’s a needle in a haystack in terms of personality.” Barry crosses his muscular arms over his broad chest and shoots me a snarky look. “So, what’s it gonna be, hula girl? You want Brett on his own or Brett with the service doggie? Those are your only options because I’m not working this tour.”
I exhale and throw up my hands. “Fine. I’ll give your dog and pony show a try. Or, rather, your service dog and cyborg show a try. But I’m warning you: Brett’s gonna get an earful from me if he so much as scowls at me. And the newbie? God help him, I’m gonna have to test his mettle a bit to make sure he’s got the right stuff.”