by Lorin Grace
“Has she received any threats?”
“Just the usual notes and black rose. Our security team intercepted about half of those. All of the roses come from the same florist. A man orders them, and then a courier or Uber driver shows up, pays in cash, and delivers the flowers. The florist has been cooperating with us, but none of the couriers has been able to give us a lead beyond a man orders them by phone. They get the cash from various sources, including an envelope taped to the underside of a table at a McDonald’s.” He kept his voice even as to not betray his frustration. Order and organization were the hallmarks of his life, a genetic gift from his British mother.
Jethro wrote on a notepad. “Does Yvette know about the threats to your former girlfriends?”
“When things got serious, I told her. She moved into the guesthouse so she could be under our security umbrella.”
“So, what do you need?”
“I need a bodyguard no one will recognize and who can blend in. I don’t want Yvette to realize she has another one. I don’t even want our team to realize Yvette has another guard. Whoever the stalker is, they have gotten onto the property again.”
“Again?”
Preston pulled a clear gallon plastic bag out of his pocket. “She found this note on her pillow this morning when she came out of the shower.”
“Who’s touched it?” Jethro reached for the bag and examined the contents.
“Only Yvette.”
“I can’t tell you the last time I read a message cut out from magazine letters.”
“Vogue. At least the V in violets is off the index page.”
Jethro raised an eyebrow.
Preston shrugged. “Publishing empire. I know my competition’s logos.”
“Not the best poetry.” Jethro read the note. ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, only the dead say ‘I do.’” He set the note to the side of his desk. “Can you get me Yvette’s fingerprints?”
“I’ll email them to you. She modeled for us before we started dating, and we took her prints as part of her security check. Yvette is a video blogger who runs a fashion blog and posts all over social media. I think if we get a bodyguard to be a special wedding photographer who follows her every move all month, she will never suspect. You don’t happen to have someone who could pass as a decent photographer, do you?”
“I have an excellent employee whose schedule for the next couple of months opened up just this morning.”
“Great. When can he start?”
“She could meet with you tomorrow.”
“She?” Of course women could be bodyguards. His mother had a female guard, but it hadn’t crossed his mind when he’d thought of the idea.
“Oh, I’m sure Abbie Hastings will be the perfect guard for you and your fiancée.”
His daughter? The necktie needed to be loosened again.
two
hoped to at least take vacation through Araceli’s wedding.” Abbie sat across from her father in his office.
“This may give you a new client. I’ve long felt you have gotten too close to Mandy Crawford to continue to be an effective bodyguard.”
It was too easy to let her guard down, especially when she was with the other women she now considered friends. “I understand what you’re saying, and I know we need to change Mandy’s protection detail, especially when she starts going out with the baby. Do you think Mr. Harmon will at least give me the weekend of the wedding off?”
Jethro chuckled. “Well, you can ask him. He should be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Does he come across as spoiled and playboy-ish as he does in the media? I mean, he does go through girlfriends faster than most men go through pizza.”
“Abbie—” Her father’s stern look reminded her of all the times she’d been in trouble with Alex as a child. “You know it’s not for us to judge our clients’ lifestyles, and if his girlfriends have been leaving because of these threats, you need to give him some leeway. After all, look at the media mess Daniel got himself into last year. Not everything is as it seems on the surface.”
“Well, when he does come, I’ll be in my office. I haven’t set foot in there for the last month and a half. I can’t wait to see what’s on my desk.”
Her father’s laughter followed her down the hall.
Someone had put fresh flowers on the side table. Abbie appreciated the little touch of femininity. Growing up the only girl and sharing hand-me-downs with Alex meant her family tended to forget she enjoyed a few frilly things now and then. One of the perks of guarding Mandy this past year was being able to wear fancy dresses and fashionable business attire to blend in as Mandy’s guard. The other perk was getting to know Candace and all the other women of the Art House. Even in her college days, with her criminology major being heavily male, the friendships she’d forged hadn’t included many women.
Her desk wasn’t piled nearly as high as she expected. Probably because the office took care of most things electronically. There were a few periodicals and catalogs, most of which she tossed in the recycle bin, but she kept the catalog with concealed-carry handbags and other accessories to look at later.
The intercom buzzed, and Marsha’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Your ten o’clock is here. Shall I send him back?”
“I’ll come get him.”
Abbie studied Mr. Harmon on the monitor for a moment before leaving her office. He looked like he had stepped off one of the covers of his family’s fashion and news magazines. She’d once thought Daniel formal, but after the past year, she knew he had a human side, too. She tried to keep an open mind as she rounded the corner to the reception desk. Mr. Harmon stood taller than she’d guessed from the media photos, maybe even a hair taller than Alex’s six foot three.
Abbie extended her hand. “Mr. Harmon, nice to meet you.”
It took him a beat too long to return the gesture. “Ms. Hastings, I assume.”
“Or you can call me Abbie. Come on back to the conference room, and we can discuss what you need.” Abbie led him through the office to a conference room with a clear glass wall facing the cubicles lining the center of the room. Most were vacant as their occupants rarely had need to step inside the office. “Would you like a water or soda?”
At the shake of his head, she closed the conference room door and indicated for him to take a seat. Of course, he took the chair at the head of the table. Abbie bit back her frustration. Her father had told her Mr. Harmon had been surprised he’d recommended a female for the job. It wasn’t the first time a client thought she would not be able to be a bodyguard due to her gender. During her three years with the Secret Service, she’d run into gender bias quite often. Abbie took a seat between the table and the window with a view of Lake Michigan, which also gave her a view of the conference room door and outer office.
“Mr. Harmon—”
“Preston, please.”
“Okay. Preston. I have been given the notes from yesterday’s meeting, the list of former girlfriends and known persons of interest you emailed my father yesterday, as well as the threatening poem Yvette received.” She continued at his slight nod. “As you predicted, the only fingerprints we could find belonged to your girlfriend. I reviewed some of her social media and video blog posts, and I agree placing me as a special wedding photographer should work well. I will also have access to Yvette in places the male bodyguard you wanted to hire could not go, such as dress fittings, bridal showers, and the hen party.”
Mr. Harmon leaned forward. “I hadn’t thought of those things yesterday when I spoke with your father. But you have a good point. You’ll pardon me for saying you are not what I expected.”
“Do I want to know what you expected?”
Preston smiled, his perfectly straight white teeth probably the result of aligners and veneers. “I’ve
seen your brothers on the job, and I expected you to be more—”
“Muscular?”
“That isn’t how I was going to term it. You look so average.”
Abbie paused a minute before answering. “My averageness is what allows me to blend in. I assure you, Mr. Harmon—”
“Preston.”
“As I was saying, you have seen me on the job on several occasions. However, I normally blend in as much as possible. I can name at least six events in the last five months where we were both in attendance.”
Preston’s brows furrowed as he studied Abbie. She tried to appear relaxed, but his intense scrutiny unnerved her. “You wore your hair down at Daniel Crawford’s New Year’s party, didn’t you? I noticed you with one of the bodyguards, but I assumed you were trying to flirt with him. Some bodyguards are too irresistible to certain types of women.”
“I’m sure my twin will love to hear that one. My goal today is to look, as you say, perfectly ‘average.’ But I am not. At the moment I am carrying more than one weapon. In hand-to-hand fighting, I have bested my brothers in sparring rounds. Last year I took down a football coach nearly three times my size in a particularly satisfying moment. She knew she sounded a bit snarky, but she didn’t appreciate his calling her average. She may not be a six-foot, size-zero model, but at five nine she wasn’t out of modeling-height range and had once passed as a model for a job.
“I think you will do quite nicely. I apologize if I offended you. Shall we discuss the details?”
She resisted the urge to toss him out of the room. Instead, she would prove herself to another male chauvinist.
Preston pulled up his calendar on his phone. “This is my Yvette calendar. I’ll share it with you. Will the email on your business card work?”
Abbie nodded and pulled out her phone. It beeped, and she opened the calendar.
“I am planning on proposing tomorrow. She is somewhat expecting me to or hinting I should. I have been debating about introducing you before the proposal, but I’d rather not have her reaction staged. If you could be there, perhaps taking a few photos from a distance, you can show her what photos you took when I introduce you as a bridal gift.”
“What about your security team? Won’t you have someone somewhere nearby? They could get suspicious if I’m taking photos.”
“Oh, you are right. I better let them know I hired a photographer. That will be tricky. Simon Dermot will insist on a background check.”
Abbie shared his scowl. “I suppose my name will raise eyebrows as well as lead to questions. So I will need to work under a pseudonym. I have a couple: Gale Henderson and Gaileen Harris. Either should pass a basic background check. How in depth do you think they will dig?”
“Considering the threats to my past girlfriends, I would expect them to do a fairly thorough search.”
Abbie bit her lip. “Sadly, we are not the FBI or CIA. I doubt my false identities can withstand heavy scrutiny. I think “Gaileen” sounds more like an up-and-coming photographer.”
“Do you know if any of Simon’s team would recognize you?” Preston twirled his pen, a nervous habit he’d acquired as a boy.
“Considering I’ve worked the same events as many of them, I’d be surprised if someone didn’t recognize me.” Abbie wrote a note on the pad in front of her. “Is there anybody you can trust on your security team?”
“I’ll have to bring Simon Dermot in on this. He’s worked for my father for thirty-five years, and I think he’s getting ulcers over the stalker. I trust him. If he signs off on your background check, no one will question it. But how are you going to prevent other people from recognizing you?”
“That is for me to worry about. If you don’t have anything else, I’ll see you tomorrow at three.” Abbie stood and extended her hand again. Preston followed her lead.
He left the office, his hand still slightly paralyzed from the firm handshake he’d received. Abbie Hastings wasn’t what he’d envisioned at all, but she might work.
Don’t miss out, look for Mending Images with the Billionaire here.
acknowledgments
For over thirty years I have been blessed to have a couple of brothers who are mine simply because they lived down the street and had no sisters. Evan and his wife Wendi have blessed my life in countless ways, not the least of which was the special trip to Haiti that inspired this book.
Tammy and Nanette are so willing to help make all my projects better and to read things so many times even in late night texts. I would never make it through a day without Sally and Cindy whose advice keeps me going. Thank you wonderful ladies. And to Araceli for letting me use her name.
Thanks also to Michele at Eschler Editing for the edits and finding oh so many little things to fix; any mistakes left in this book are not her fault. Nor are my excellent proofreaders to be blamed. Thank you ladies and gents!
My family, for sharing their home with the fictional characters who often got fed better than they did. And my husband who encourages me every crazy step of the way and puts up with all my messy spreadsheets.
And to my Father in Heaven for putting these wonderful people, and any I may have forgotten to mention, in my life. I am grateful for every experience and blessing I have been granted.
about the author
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Lorin Grace was born in Colorado and has been moving around the country ever since, living in eight states and several imaginary worlds. She graduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in Graphic Design.
Currently she lives in northern Utah with her husband, four children, and a dog who is insanely jealous of her laptop. When not writing, Lorin enjoys creating graphics, visiting historical sites, museums, and reading.
Lorin is an active member of the League of Utah Writers and was awarded Honorable Mention in their 2016 creative writing contest short romance story category. Her debut novel, Waking Lucy, was awarded a 2017 Recommend Read award in the LUW Published book contest. In 2018 the first book in this series, Mending Fences with the Billionaire, also received a Recommend Read award.
You can learn more about her, and sign up for her writers club at loringrace.com or at Facebook: LorinGraceWriter
Other Books By Lorin Grace
American Homespun Series
Waking Lucy
Remembering Anna
Reforming Elizabeth
Healing Sarah
Artists & Billionaires
Mending Christmas
Mending Walls
Mending Images
Mending Words
Mending Hearts