Saving Bliss

by Rachael Brownell

  Bliss

  Holy Shit!

  He's naked. Not shirtless like I was hoping when I heard the shower running, but completely naked. I do the best I can to not look, but my curiosity is just too strong. I sneak a glance and quickly look away. I look up, but I can't look him in the eyes, so I stare at the wall directly behind his head. It's the same trick I use when I lie to my mother. It looks like I'm looking at her, but I'm really not.

  Heat is rising in my cheeks. My heartbeat increases, and my breathing is becoming ragged. I need to get out of here. Why did I even come down here again? The screaming. That's it. I heard him screaming, and I wanted to make sure that he was okay. I should have left it alone. I should have minded my own business.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a tattoo on his upper arm. I want to check it out, but I keep my focus on the wall behind his head as I stutter out an excuse as to why I was beating on his door before rushing back to my room, locking myself inside. I should have told him he was screaming, but I'm sure he already knows. I can't let on to the fact that I care.

  I was a bitch to him at the airport on purpose. It's the only way to save myself from liking this guy. He seems nice, and he's attractive, but allowing myself to like him will only complicate my already complicated life. I'm dealing with enough right now, fighting with my father. I don't want or need any more complications in my life.

  But damn! Those tight abs and muscular arms might change my mind. Not to mention the goods. How I would love to see more of his goods. It looked to be just about the perfect size if there is such a thing. Not too thin, not too small.

  No, no, no!

  I pick up my phone and text Avery. I need to see her. I need to get out of this house and have a little girl time, clear my head of all things Owen Hudson. My phone tings a few minutes later. She can't meet me tonight, but she agrees to meet me before our first class tomorrow morning. Damn!

  Peeking out into the hall to make sure the coast is clear, I find it empty. I head back for my last bag, the heaviest of them all. The only one without wheels. Why did I pack so much shit in the only bag without wheels?

  I get it almost all the way to my room and inside when I hear Owen's door open. I freeze instantly. I don't really know what to do. Do I continue to struggle with this damn bag and pretend that I don't notice him? Technically, I already asked him for help, but it was only because I was struggling to say something. If he wasn't here, I would get this damn bag in my room eventually. It might not be anytime today, but eventually.

  The most amazing smell assaults my senses. Realizing he's behind me, heat creeps back into my cheeks, remembering what I saw only a few minutes earlier. My bodyguard has big muscles everywhere. The thought causes my cheeks to heat up even more, and then the rest of my senses go on high alert when I hear his voice. Is there anything about this man that isn't sexy as hell?

  He asks me if I want help, and I do, but I don't want to admit it. At least, not to him. I think, at this point, I would rather struggle with the bag than ask him for help because asking him means I would have to be nice to him. If I'm nice to him, then I'm not in bitch-mode, and that means my defenses are down. Lord only knows what kind of stupid shit I might say if I let my defenses down, even for a second. The way he smells, especially this close to me, already has them weakening.

  Owen's hand brushes mine as he grabs my bag, easily lifting it off the floor. My hand starts to tingle as do other parts of my body that need to not tingle right now. I need to get my shit together and put my bitch face back on. Before he turns around, I make sure my bitch face is turned up a notch, but I still can't bring myself to look at him. I might actually break if I make eye contact with him.

  Think of something witty to say, Bliss. You can do this. You've talked to hot guys a million times before. Owen's no different. Except for the fact that you've seen all that he has to offer and you'd like to see it all again.

  "What if I'd said no?" Not exactly what I was going for, but it was the best I could come up with. At least I sounded like a grade-A bitch when I said it. I've been imitating my mother for years, and it sounds like I’ve finally perfected it.

  "I would have helped anyway. I'm a gentleman. It wouldn't be right to stand back and watch you struggle."

  His tone is menacing. He's trying to get to me, and it's working, at least a little. I don't even think he realizes how sexy his voice is.

  "Sure you are. Do all gentlemen answer their doors naked or are you one of a kind?"

  There's the wittiness I was looking for. The only problem is when I make eye contact with him, I'm almost positive he sees the real me. He can tell I'm hiding from him.

  When he gives me that sly grin of his, I realize he might just be flirting with me, and it takes all my restraint not to let my jaw hit the floor. He's actually flirting with me, and I'm speechless. I have no idea how to handle him now. It was one thing for me to have a little crush on him, but knowing that he might feel the same scares the shit out of me.

  I do the only thing that I can think to do. I grab my purse off my nightstand and make a B-line for the front door without looking back. I push the button to call the elevator, but it's taking too long. I know I only have a few more seconds before Owen comes out that door and follows me wherever I go. It's his job after all. My father would have his ass if he didn't.

  I hit the button twice more before I finally give in and head down the hall to descend the seven flights of stairs. None of this would be happening if my father would just stay the hell out of my life. I don't need a bodyguard. I don't need a live-in babysitter. I don't need someone following me around all the damn time, watching my every move.

  Just because my father wants me to be just like him and follow in his footsteps, doesn't mean I want that for my life. I tried to tell him that. I tried to tell him again this morning before I left. He wasn’t listening. Actually, I'm pretty sure he heard most of what I was saying, but he just doesn't care. His plans for my life are more important to him that my happiness.

  "Happiness is what you make of it, Bliss.”

  That's what he said. What he meant was more along the lines of "suck it up." I was born to take this job, to be his predecessor. Sometimes, I think that might have been the only reason he even decided to have a child—so he would have someone to take his place once he was either forced to give it up or wanted to retire. It's a family tradition, passed on from generation to generation. If I don't do as my father wants me to, I would break a tradition that has lasted over seventy years, beginning with my great grandfather.

  All men before me.

  All powerful.

  All assholes from what I've encountered.

  I don't want to be like them. I don't want to be mayor. I don't want to be in the spotlight so that everyone can criticize my every move, my every decision, whether it be personal or professional. I want my own life, not my father's.

  I understand that I'm a legacy and that becoming the next mayor is expected of me. I think even the town expects it. My father says the reason I have a bodyguard is to protect me from the public, but I think he has ulterior motives. No one up here knows who I am or even cares. I could be the president's daughter and they wouldn't care.

  As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I pause a minute to catch my breath. I'm in shape, or at least I thought I was before I started my descent. I'm trying to remember the last time I went to the gym. The fact I have to think about it tells me that it's been too long.

  Sitting down on the last step to take a break, I pull out my phone. I know that Avery is busy, but I text her anyway. I need to vent, and even if she doesn't text me back until later tonight, I will feel better if I get some of this shit off my chest.

  I can't help but wonder if my dad is up to something. This Owen thing has me questioning everything that happened over the summer, especially what happened with Hunter. I just left the apartment for a walk. Call me if you have time.

  Immediately, I dial my father's office. It's
late, after seven already, but I know he's probably still there. I don't think there's ever been a day since he took office that he's come home before eight o'clock. I get his voicemail and leave him a message to call me tomorrow between my morning and afternoon classes. I emphasize that it's important, but I don't know if it will matter. He's only going to call me if he wants to.

  Brushing the dust off the seat of my jeans as I stand, I open the door to exit the stairwell. I'm met with an irritated Owen leaning against the wall of the lobby. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his eyes are burning holes in mine. Apparently, leaving without him is a trigger for him. I haven't seen this side of him yet. I've pissed him off, and it looks good on him. So much for escaping his presence to clear my head.

  "Would you like to join me for dinner?" I smile at him sweetly, trying to act innocent, and turn on the southern charm. As long as I remind myself that I'm just playing a game with him, I should be able to keep myself from mucking everything up and falling for him.

  Hopefully.

  Maybe.

  The smile on his face, that sexy grin, tells me that, no matter what game I try and play, I'm royally screwed.

  3

  Owen

  She's so hot and cold with me I can't decide if she hates me or just the idea of me. As soon as that thought crosses my mind, she invites me to dinner and I want nothing more than to have her for dessert later. That southern accent, the innocent yet devious smile, and the sweet, sexiness dripping from every word. All she did was ask me to dinner. I would hate to see how I react if she asked for more than that.

  Sometimes, I wonder if it's all a game to her. Being a bitch me to at the airport. Showing up at my bedroom door and being nice. Acting like she doesn't want my help when she obviously needed it. Running out of the apartment without me. Disappearing into the stairwell. Asking me to dinner.

  Well, Miss Bliss, two can play that game. I can be hot and cold, too. I can make you believe one thing, then rip the rug out from under your feet seconds later so you're just as confused as I am.

  Game on!

  The walk to dinner is quiet. Almost as quiet as our ride home from the airport. You can tell she wants to say something. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her open and shut her mouth as least three times on our way to the restaurant. Not to mention the heavy sighs that follow each attempt to speak. She's a walking statistic for nervous girls everywhere. You would think we were on a first date. In a way, I guess we are. We don't know each other, and we don't know what to expect from each other or from our situation.

  It's time to get that conversation out of the way, I think. Maybe she can shed some light on her situation for me. Her father was extremely vague about why I was hired. He claimed he wants someone to watch out for her, to protect her from herself, but I have a feeling that there is more to that story that he's telling me. She has a good head on her shoulders. She even seems like she could take care of herself just fine without my help, without anyone's help.

  As the hostess shows us to our table, I scan the room as nonchalantly as possible. No one appears to be looking in our direction or has even noticed us enter the restaurant. I'm not surprised. The only reason I even scanned the room is because Mr. Cooper asked me to any time we went out in public.

  "I want you to scan every room and remember faces. If you see the same faces on more than two occasions, I want you to leave wherever you are immediately," he demanded.

  "Can I ask why, sir?"

  "If I wanted you to have that information, then I would have already told you."

  "Am I looking for anyone in particular?"

  He stared at me as if I was stupid for a few seconds before continuing down a list of things he wanted me to make sure I understood. After he offered me the position, he handed me a list of things Bliss was not allowed to do and sent on my way home to pack.

  "Owen!" Bliss whisper yells to me.

  I shake away the conversation with her father and attempt to concentrate on what's happening here and now. "What?"

  "I've been talking to you, and you haven't heard a word I said." That southern accent of hers is so sexy I'm not sure how I blocked her out. "I asked you what you wanted to eat."

  Looking down at my menu, I pick the first thing that sounds good. We sit in silence until the waitress returns to take our order. After she leaves, the silence continues until I finally can't stand it any longer. I have questions, and I think she might hold the answers.

  "So do you have any idea why your father hired me?" I blurt out before reaching for my water, drinking most of the glass down in just a few swallows.

  My question seems to catch her off guard. She thinks about it for a few minutes before shaking her head. I was sure she would have some idea. She must have done something to warrant him wanting a watchful eye on her all the time.

  "I can't seem to wrap my head around it. He hires me to watch over you, to live with you, to protect you, but as far as I can tell, you don't need to be protected from anything or anyone." Except maybe me, but I don't share that thought with her.

  "I was surprised that he hired you, even more so when he told me you would be living with me, but at the same time, nothing he does surprises me anymore. The last few years, his decisions have been just that. His. No matter who the decisions involve, he makes the decision he feels is best for that person. Me, my mom, the city. He's on a power trip." I can hear the disgust and irritation in her voice. It's the first time since this afternoon she's sounded real, like she wasn't trying to pretend to be someone else.

  I don't reply, mostly because I'm just not sure what to say. Her relationship with her father is obviously strained. It makes me realize that we may have more in common than I thought we would. My father and I never had a great relationship, if you could call what we did have a relationship at all.

  "Do you think there's something more as to why I'm here?" The words spill from my mouth before I realize I'm thinking aloud. I shouldn't have asked her that. I shouldn't be giving her a reason to doubt her father or my presence. I shouldn't be giving her a reason to worry.

  "Probably, but he'll never tell me. Or you, for that matter. He'll keep us both in the dark about whatever is really going on until he's forced to do otherwise. It's the way he operates." She pauses as the waitress delivers our food and refills our drinks. I stare down at my burger, but my appetite is gone. "If I thought that my mother might know his real reason for hiring you, I would ask her, but I'm sure she doesn't. He doesn't share anything with her except a bedroom."

  "I take it your parents aren’t the happy couple they portrayed when I was there for my interview?"

  "Hardly. My mother takes care of the house, cooks and cleans, and plays the doting wife in public. You'll never see her unhappy, but I can't imagine that she loves her life that much. It's the same shit every day. All work, no play, and boring as hell. That's why I wasn't there when you were. I had to get away from them. I was about to go crazy in that house, watching my dad demean my mom and my mom take it like it’s okay." She sounds sad. I'm not sure if it's for her mom or her mom's situation. Either way, her parent's relationship, their marriage arrangement, bothers her. I hope she realizes that what she sees is far from the norm.

  We eat in silence before heading back to the apartment to turn in for the night. I can't help but think about the show her parents put on for me when I was there. They seemed happy and in love with each other. They seemed like they were the perfect family. I guess behind every beautiful picture are the secrets that keep a family together. Sometimes, those secrets are dark and powerful. Other times, they’re bright and happy. We all have secrets we hide. I'm no exception.

  "Run Chelsea!"

  "I'm not leaving without you." I can see the fear in her eyes and I can't do anything to calm them. She needs to get away from here, from him.

  "I'll be right behind you," I say as assuringly as I can.

  She nods, hugs me tight, and then takes off out the back door. I'm the only on
e who will know where to find her. We've been talking about this for weeks, just in case it was necessary to get her away from here. I knew that it would be at some point, but I never imagined it would be this soon. I was hoping I would have a little bit more time to prepare.

  I hear the door of his truck creak as he opens it and then the bang as he slams it closed. Nope, no more time. He's home, and this is going to happen right now. I hear the back door open, hitting the wall with a thud.

  "Where are you, you little bitch?" he screams.

  His words are slurred. He's been drinking, which is going to make this fight ten times harder. He thinks he's untouchable when he's drunk, and that fuels his rage. He stumbles around the corner, and the moment his eyes catch mine, I see the rage intensify.

  "Where is she?"

  "She's not here. If you want to beat on someone tonight, it's going to have to be me."

  I learned at an early age that if you challenged him, you needed to be prepared to suffer the consequences. I'm not a child anymore, however. I'm grown. I'm stronger than him now. I'm taller than him now. Most importantly, I'm sober, and my rage is justified.

  When Chelsea called me earlier tonight and told me what had happened, my rage went into overdrive. I drove the thirty minutes to the house, and I've been waiting for him to come back since then. I passed the bar on my way, confirming my suspicions he was there. It didn't take him long to get lit and come back.

  "Where the hell is she, you little bastard?" The anger in his voice has grown stronger. The fact that I'm standing up to him, that I'm keeping her from him, is only going to enrage him more. It's not the first time I've stood up to him, and it won't be the last. I'm done with this shit. He may be angry, but I'm angrier.

  "Not here, and that's all that matters," I say as I look him directly in the eyes, challenging him to make the first move. Then, he does, and I'm prepared. I step to my left; the right hook he was trying to connect with my face misses. Losing his balance, he stumbles forward, falling to his knees.