It was Sunday, the day after I arrived. I went down the stairs and shrugged on my leather jacket. I saw Dianna eating chips and watching reruns of Gossip Girl. She looked up and saw me. “Oh hi there, Rebecca. What are you up to?” she asked.
“I’m just going for a walk,” I replied smoothly. “Make a little exploration, you know?”
“Let me go with you!” she offered and made a move to stand up.
“No, no!” I assured her, my voice a bit sharp. “I can do this by myself.”
Dianna frowned at the tone of my voice and there was no mistaking the hurt in her eyes. Surreptitiously, I bit my lip. Damn it. It’s not like I have any choice. I was not supposed to tell her where I was going. In truth though, I’m going to visit Oliver Hoffman’s apartment. I need to get to know him before school tomorrow. After all, I was guarding him. And if I just show up tomorrow and introduce myself as his bodyguard at school, that would be a shock to him.
“Okay,” Dianna replied slowly. “I’ll see you later?”
“Sure. Later!”
I stepped out of the house and took a deep breath. As I started walking, I remembered stuff that Michael said about Oliver. He said he met him a few times. He also said the guy was a bastard and he was such a snob. It was really obvious that he was a playboy and a rebel. But really, I wasn’t afraid of him. Guys like him had goddamn large egos that sometimes you need to inflate so you could tame them.
I began to look for a large apartment, with a number ‘57’ on the door. I squinted on a house with a number ‘56’ on it. Then I turned my head and saw a grand-looking apartment with a ‘57’ on the door. Well then, that must be it.
I walked over to it and entered the front porch. I raised my hand and knocked on the door. Two seconds passed and no one opened the door for me. Grumbling to myself, I raised my hand again and knocked – this time, much louder.
The door finally opened and I came face-to-face with a sleepy-looking blonde guy about my age. He does not look like the guy I saw at the picture back in Mr. Hoffman’s office, so that means he’s not Oliver. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Who are you?”
“Is this where Oliver Hoffman lives?” I asked, ignoring his question.
“…Yes.”
“May I see him?”
“Oh God, did he knock you up?”
I blinked at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”
The blonde sighed and looked down at me. “Did he knock you up? It’s obvious you’re one of the girls he had slept with at the past. You must be pregnant. I mean, why else would you look for him?”
I glared at him. “Will you step aside? And for your information, I am not pregnant. I have never met Oliver Hoffman before.”
He grinned. “Well, that’s perfect, then. I can have you for myself,” he drawled. “I’m Luke Chambers, by the way.”
“Rebecca Georges,” I replied.
"No, doesn't ring a bell."
I grinned at him and dropped the bomb. "I'm Oliver's new bodyguard. Nice to meet you."
“Wait a minute,” he said and frowned at me. “Did you just say 'bodyguard'? But that couldn't be. I mean, you’re younger than us!”
I pursed my lips at him. “I’m not! I’m seventeen. And you look like seventeen too.”
“Aw, is it really obvious? Damn, I can't buy a beer without noticing I look seventeen," he said, his expression deeply troubled.
“Will you just let me in?” I sighed, exasperated. “I have to talk to Oliver!”
YOU ARE READING
Where He Stands
RomanceWho says only guys could protect girls? Rebecca Georges is one example. When Harold Hoffman, owner and founder of Hoffman Incorporated, appointed her as the personal bodyguard for his son, she is far from thrilled. But what could she do? Thirty-thou...
