In Bed with the Bodyguard

by Lynne Silver

  “You can’t stay with me. My condo is in the disastrous demo stage. It’s like living in a Third World country.” Her mother released a dramatic sigh.

  Ari leaned back against the beige plaster dressing room wall. Her mother had reaped the benefits of a second divorce with no prenup. She had no emotional, legal, or financial ties to Stanley Rose, her first husband, anymore. She kept busy by serving on the boards of charitable balls and redecorating her condo every few years, and didn’t have much sympathy for the real trials of a struggling business owner. “Mother, I honestly don’t care about your decorator, and I’m not asking to move in with you. For the last time, I’m asking for you to sign a simple paper releasing some of my trust fund a bit early.”

  When her mother barely spared her a glance, Ari dropped the pile of maybe-jeans she’d been holding down onto the floor. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll figure this out on my own. Feel free to ignore my gallery invitation. I wouldn’t want to offend your sensibilities by forcing modern art on you.” She stomped out of the dressing room and headed toward the escalator.

  It was two o’clock. Maybe Lance would already be outside with the car, although he’d indicated two thirty was more likely.

  “Arianna, wait.” Her mother’s voice trailed behind her, but she’d been in between jean changes and would have to find her own clothes in the large pile before giving chase.

  She ignored her mother’s pursuing call and brushed past racks of designer clothes toward escape. One flight up through the heavy perfume of the makeup section, and she burst through the glass doors out into the drizzly spring day. No Mini Cooper and no Lance. Damn it. She shuffled through her purse for her cell phone and pulled it out to call Lance.

  It barely rang before Lance picked up. “Pulling into the parking lot,” he said.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  His laugh came through the speaker. “So this is a rescue call. Darn. I thought you missed me and were calling to hear my voice.”

  She smiled. It was good to hear his voice, not that she would let him know how much. “Get over yourself, Brown, and get your butt here. I’m at the southern entrance.”

  “See you in a second.”

  “Arianna Rose.” Her mother’s voice was a harpy shriek behind her. Ari made a slow show of putting her cell phone back into her purse and turned to confront her mother, who had somehow managed to dress and purchase several pairs of jeans in the two minutes since she’d left the dressing room, from the look of the bulging shopping bag.

  “Mom.”

  The two women faced off in silence, each unwilling to make the first move or say something that would truly sever their tempestuous relationship.

  Ari felt, rather than saw, her Mini Cooper slide up next to the sidewalk. A slam of the door told her Lance had exited and was walking toward her. Before she could greet Lance, her mother thrust her shopping bag and car keys into Lance’s grasp. “Please put the bags in my car when you go fetch it.”

  “Mom, he’s not the valet,” Ari protested, but Lance grinned and winked at her as he accepted the heavy silver key ring.

  “Which car, ma’am?” Then he turned and trotted off into the lot toward her mother’s gleaming Mercedes.

  She turned, openmouthed, at her clueless parent. “Mom, I said he’s not a valet. That’s my b…friend. Lance. He’s a Secret Service agent.” She had no idea why she threw in that last bit of detail; it wasn’t like that career path even registered on her mother’s list of acceptable jobs.

  Stella shrugged and sniffed her narrow sculpted nose. “First the FBI is following you. Now the Secret Service. Honestly, Arianna, what next? The CIA?”

  Ari ignored her mother’s dig. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me? Did you change your mind about the money?”

  Her mother faced her and took a breath. “I didn’t want to tell you in Saks, you never know who’s in the next dressing room. I…” Stella paused and looked more vulnerable than Ari had ever seen her post-Botox. “Your trust fund is mostly gone.”

  “What?” She must’ve heard her mother wrong. It’d sounded like she’d said her trust fund was gone. But that couldn’t be possible. Could it?

  “I kept the fund with your father’s investment firm. He may have been a terrible husband, but he was excellent at making money.”

  “But…but…” Ari wanted to throw up.

  “I didn’t know. No one did.” Stella patted her arm. “I’m sorry, Arianna. You still have some bonds and real estate, but anything more liquid is gone.”

  Ari stumbled over to the concrete bench, not even feeling the hot sun burning on her bottom as she collapsed onto it. “I can’t believe it. I’m a victim, too.” Hysterical laughter bubbled up, mixing with the threat of sobs. What was she going to do? “How have you been paying my monthly stipend if the money’s gone?”

  Her mother sat next to her. “I wrote you checks out of my own money. I didn’t want to tell you, but I’m not going to be able to continue. This renovation is costing more than anticipated. I can give you a little to pay for movers.”

  She sighed at her mother’s version of parental protection. In this instance it had hurt far more than helped. “What am I going to do?” Her head sank into the comforting cradle of her hands and she closed her eyes. At that moment, Lance drove up in the Mercedes. “Mom, do me a favor, will you? Don’t try to protect me with ignorance. I would’ve made different choices if I had known about my trust fund.” She honestly tried to keep the censure out of her voice, but some crept through.

  “I did what I thought best, Arianna.” Her face suddenly brightened. “I know. Why don’t you attend the Literacy Gala tonight in my place?”

  “A party, Mom? How will that help?”

  “Plenty of wealth will be in that room tonight. People you know. Perhaps you could ask someone for a loan.” She leaned over to kiss Ari’s cheek, then headed for her car.

  Ari pondered this idea while her mother opted for her usual dramatic exit, entering her car with a slammed door, gunning the engine, hopping a curb, and narrowly missing another parked car on her way to the lot exit.

  Ari and Lance stood on the sidewalk staring after the departed Mercedes for long minutes. Finally she turned to him. “Did she at least tip you?”

  He laughed. “Nope. The rich ones always stiff you. They don’t understand how tips supplement the lousy hourly rate.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, she doesn’t know diddly about that. Also, I told her you were a friend, not the valet. I guess she figured she didn’t need to tip.” She smiled a watery smile at him.

  “What did she say? I’m going to guess from the look on your face that it didn’t go well.”

  “You could say that. Do I look like I spent a week in Kabul with no body armor? ’Cause that’s how I feel.” She numbly slid in to the passenger seat of the car and leaned back into the headrest with her eyes shut tight.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse. Well, maybe not worse. I am alive, with only emotional scars.”

  “I figured. You didn’t even make a peep that I got in the driver’s seat.”

  She smiled a tiny bit and shrugged. “I’m getting used to it, and though I’d never go on record with this, maybe, just maybe, you’re a slightly better driver.” She raised her hand in the air to cut off any boasts he was about to make. “Shut it. Don’t fish for compliments or rub my nose in it.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lance said dryly and started up the engine. “What did your mother say? Will she release the funds?”

  Ari opened her eyes to stare out the window at the passing shops on Wisconsin Avenue. “My mom will not release my trust fund, because there’s nothing left to release.”

  “What?” Lance turned to face her, managing to keep steady in his lane of traffic. “What happened to the money? Did your mother spend it? I didn’t think that was allowed.”

  Ari fiddled with the window, lowering and raising it repeatedly, watching dust motes flit through
the crack into the car. “She didn’t spend it, but she had it invested with my dad’s company.”

  “Shit.”

  “You said it.” She went back to playing with the window. “What am I going to do? That money was my safety net. Now I have no money and soon no place to live.”

  Lance slowed, then stopped at a red light. His hand covered her knee. “What about the art gallery? Is it financially sound?”

  “It varies by month. Most months I was able to sell enough art to write a check to my dad to cover the mortgage, but my living expenses were covered by the trust fund.”

  “I’m sorry, Ari. I am.”

  She nodded. “That’s why this show is important to me. If I sell enough to become a major player in the art scene, it will help the gallery go into the black.”

  Lance took a breath and stayed focused on her, even though the light had turned and cars behind them honked. “You’re not ready to hear this yet, but I’ll say it anyway. Having fallback money was nice, but you’re better off without it. Now you can be on your own, counting on yourself without anyone looking over your shoulder or questioning your decisions.”

  She leaned over to touch the steering wheel and pointed at the green light. Lance may have meant well, but he was right, she wasn’t ready to hear it now. “You’re only saying that because the money came from my father.”

  He frowned and started to drive. “That’s not why I said it, but yeah, living on stolen money is not a good thing.”

  “Pull over.” Without looking to the next lane, she tugged on the steering wheel to move the car to the curb.

  Lance yanked in the opposite direction, saving them from sideswiping a minivan. “Don’t overreact, Ari.”

  “Don’t be such a government suit, Lance.” She turned her back to him best as she could in her tiny car. What had possessed her to buy such a tiny thing? With a bigger car she could’ve climbed into the backseat even in moving traffic to avoid Lance’s commentary. She knew she was behaving badly, but was it wrong to want silence or a simple listening ear?

  “Stop taking your frustration with your mother out on me. You’re acting like a spoiled child.” He calmly continued driving.

  She turned back to him in a fury and let her angry words flow, ignoring the warning bell in her brain that told her Lance was dead-on accurate. “So now the truth comes out.”

  “What truth?”

  “You think I’m a spoiled brat, no better than my thieving, conniving father.” Her voice was so shrill and harsh, she half expected the front windshield to shatter from the sound. “Why did you even sleep with me? Did the government put you up to it? Are they hoping I get chatty during pillow talk and spill my father’s whereabouts?”

  At last her angry words cracked Lance’s calm façade. He jerked the steering wheel over to the right, cutting off a car, and stopped with a heart-pounding lurch at the curb. She braced herself for the tongue lashing she was sure Lance would deliver, but he sat silently holding the steering wheel and staring straight ahead out the glass. He managed to hold on to his temper when she would’ve snapped. Had, in fact, snapped.

  A swirling mix of emotion filled her: annoyance and frustration at her mother, fury at her father, and concern for Lance. She sat in silence waiting for Lance to yell, to speak, to do anything other than stare out the window and hold the steering wheel so tightly, she feared it would break. Finally, he turned to face her.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Ari. Do I hate that your trust fund came from your father’s crimes? Hell, yes, but that’s not why I think you’re better off without it.” He paused as though having an internal struggle over what to say next. “I was trying to tell you that if you go for it on your own, make your own money, then you have only yourself to answer to. It’s a great feeling.”

  Ari studied him curiously. She guessed the blanks in his explanation were closely tied to his own experience of shedding his parents’ money and expectations and forging his own path in the Secret Service, but since he’d never admitted to being from a wealthy family, she couldn’t admit she knew.

  “Maybe,” she said, shrugging. She wasn’t ready to apologize yet, but he’d given her something to mull over. Perhaps her mother’s idea wasn’t such a bad one. She could make a lot of useful contacts at the charity benefit tonight. All she needed was a dress and a date. “You can drive again. I promise I’ll stop ranting.”

  He didn’t restart the car, but instead sat stiffly in the driver’s seat staring out the windshield. “Lance? You okay?” she asked.

  It took another minute before he spoke. “Ari, there’s something I haven’t told you.”

  “What’s that?” There was one big thing he hadn’t told her yet, and it was all about his wealthy family. She assumed that was what he was about to say, but she held her tongue, letting him guide the big reveal.

  Lance swiveled in the driver’s seat, and her stomach did a happy flip-flop as she was struck again by his handsome face. He didn’t have a Hollywood prettiness. He was all male and compelling. “Ari, when I said you’ll be happier when you make your own money, I wasn’t hypothesizing. I was speaking from experience.”

  “Oh?” Burgeoning excitement built in her. This was it. His big confession. He looked so agonized, she needed to comfort him, and stroked a palm down his right arm.

  “My family has money,” he blurted. “A lot.”

  She kept silent, waiting for him to share more. And really, what was there to say to his statement? His familial wealth really didn’t matter to her all that much. It was simply one more facet to Lance.

  “I didn’t tell you before because people change when they know who my family is. They treat me differently.”

  “I know what that’s like,” Ari muttered.

  He smiled faintly. “I bet you do.”

  “It’s been eye-opening,” she said, “interacting with people who fawned over me when I was wealthy investment guru Stanley Rose’s daughter. And when the shit hit the fan, I learned who my true friends are.”

  He nodded. “That’s why I tend to wait before telling people. But I also have two strikes against me. If the wealthy thing doesn’t affect people’s opinion, the Secret Service thing makes an impression. It’s like I’m the head narc.”

  “Is that why you broke off your engagement?” she asked.

  “No. I wasn’t an agent at the time.”

  “No, I meant because of your wealth.”

  “Yeah. I overheard her talking to a friend about landing the richest guy in school. Like she’d gone fishing and caught the big one.” He made a wry face. “Irony is, she probably would’ve dumped me after I refused to go into the family business and applied to be an agent. It wouldn’t have fit her dream life.”

  “Well, then, I have a confession.”

  He raised a questioning brow at her. “I’m almost scared to find out.”

  She laughed, surprised she was able to find humor at all this afternoon. One would’ve thought her mother had bled anything funny out of her. “I knew,” she said simply.

  “Knew what?”

  “I already knew that your family owns MarketFresh. You probably have more money than my father stole.”

  “When did you find out?” He suddenly looked guarded, and it wasn’t a look she liked on him. She hadn’t seen it since the night they’d met.

  “I wheedled it out of Valerie the other day.” She saw him doing the mental calculations and adding up the fact they’d already slept together before she knew he had money. He visibly relaxed. “Who started the business? Your father?” she asked, curious about his family history.

  “No. It was my grandfather who turned a local neighborhood market into a regional grocery chain, my father took it to the entire nation, and my sister took it even bigger.”

  He met Arianna’s questioning gaze fearlessly.

  “Where do you fit in that picture?” she asked.

  “My father groomed me to take over the company, but I fought him every step of th
e way.”

  “You wanted to be a Secret Service agent.”

  He nodded. “I spent a few weeks with Nana in eighth grade, visited the White House, found my calling, and never looked back.” He gave her a wry look. “I can’t believe you knew about my family already. Why didn’t you say something?”

  She shrugged. “There was nothing to say. Your family’s wealth doesn’t affect my feelings for you.”

  He didn’t say anything, but she could tell she’d have to prove her claim. He’d been burned one too many times. Boy, they were a pair. He thought most women were after his family’s money and she didn’t know if she could ever fully trust a man after the number her father did on her psyche. If her own father could steal her money and throw her to the wolves of the media, it meant any man could do the same. They sat in silence, because words weren’t enough to build trust. It took time. It took action.

  Speaking of action…

  She turned to Lance again. “Do you have a tuxedo?”

  “What?” A tuxedo? Why was she asking that? He was still reeling from the fact that Ari had known about his family and said nothing. Now she wanted to know if he owned a tuxedo. He did, in fact, have a custom Armani tuxedo. It was practically a required uniform for the son of the MarketFresh Browns.

  He pulled back into traffic and concentrated on weaving his way around a stopped delivery van that was blocking a lane.

  Ari’s comments had rattled him badly. Might she be one of the few women in the world who didn’t give a shit about his family’s wealth? He’d spilled the secret, fully expecting the result would be a request for money. He’d both dreaded and wished for it, because the minute Ari asked to borrow money, he’d assuage the guilt he felt over spying on her for the feds. Yep, call him king of the self-defeating behaviors. He knew it, but hadn’t figured out a way to change. Old habits die hard.

  “Do you have a tuxedo?” Ari repeated, gazing at him curiously from the passenger seat.