Thorne Princess(11)

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a complete sentence, Miss Thorne. Think you can put me out of my misery and finish it?”

It was critical to ensure that I had the upper hand in our dynamic, albeit despite my unorthodox strategies.

She was going to give me trouble and put me through bullshit to see how far she could take it before she outlasted me. I’d seen this movie many times before. Better to establish clearly now, that my patience was not to be tested.

Or in existence, for that matter.

Anthony Thorne himself had given me the green light to use tough love and set clear boundaries to force her back on the straight and narrow when we spoke on the phone. Worked for me—I don’t do kiddie gloves.

“Look, Lockwood, I know why they call you The Robot. They said you’re pragmatic. Get the job done with minimal mistakes, never let your emotions rule you. I need her to learn to be more like you. My daughter, bless her heart, is a good kid. But she’s reckless, and I don’t want her next mistake to cost her more than just her dignity.”

Reckless Princess over here was now glaring at me, eyes red with fury, not acceptance.

“I want you to know that I used my laptop upstairs before coming down here.” Her voice quivered. “I messaged the police. They’re on their way. And my dad’s security detail—they know, too. I don’t know how you found your way in, but this is your last chance to run away and never come back.”

My phone started blowing up in my pocket, signaling that she indeed called for help. And I noticed when she came downstairs that she had a Swiss Army knife tucked into her waistband.

Then it hit me. All at once.

The one thing I hadn’t even considered.

She’d had no idea.

She had no idea.

No idea I was her new protector.

She thought I broke into her house.

President Thorne, you flaming bag of sh—

“Everyone knows. Time’s out. Just leave,” she pierced my thoughts.

He hadn’t bothered to tell her. My guess was because he was scared of her. Parenthood was a debilitating affliction. The man had led the free world for eight years, and couldn’t get his daughter to keep her tits in her tops.

Smiling cordially, I said, “I’m glad to hear that you did the smart thing.”

“Excuse me?” She tilted her head sideways.

“I’m glad you told your father’s security detail I arrived, since they were my next call. He was the one who hired me.”

Her mouth hung open. She was speechless.

Finally, she blinked. “But I…I…I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“I’m not a bodyguard.” I dumped the coffee cup into the sink, flinging her fridge open. “The term is close protection officer. Bodyguards are the brainless meatheads who carry your girlfriends’ Gucci bags for them while their photos are being taken.”

Truth was, I didn’t give one crap about my title. I simply wanted to establish I wasn’t one of the Chihuahua holding gym-rats she was used to for security. Testing my patience wasn’t going to end the same way. Then again, this debacle didn’t seem like a typical start for her either.

The fridge was stacked to the max with leafy greens, organic, gluten-free pizzas, and colorful cupcakes.

“Where’s the real food around here?” I asked.

“Define real food.” She massaged her temples, still processing.

“Something that was once alive, or a product of it. Something not made of useless carbs.”

“I’m vegetarian,” she announced.

Of course she is.

“Of course you are.”

“Meat is murder,” she said with conviction. Even though she still looked like she wanted to kill me, her shoulders slumped. She relaxed visibly, registering that, at the very least, I wasn’t there to murder her.

“It is also delicious. I’ll stock up the house tomorrow.”

I plucked a healthy grain bowl that looked suspiciously like something you’d give your pet parrot and stepped back.

She folded her arms over her chest, tilting her chin up defiantly. “You’ll stock up on nothing, which brings me back to our original conversation—I don’t need a bod…close protection whatever. Leave.”

“Tough luck Daddy thinks otherwise and he’s paying for all of this nonsense.” I kicked the fridge shut, motioning around us with a fork.

“You can’t do this.” She bared her teeth at me, ready for round two. I already knew she was ready to brawl if it came down to it.

“I can, and I am,” I said around a mouthful of a quinoa and chickpea salad.

“This is a breach of my privacy!” She slapped the granite kitchen island between us.

I shoveled more food onto the fork. “No offense, kiddo, but you couldn’t find your privacy if it were hand-delivered to you by Amazon. And for the record,” I paused to swallow my bite, “I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me to be. But your father offered me a six-month post, and I’m not going to let him down.”

“This is bullshit.” She flung her arms in the air.

“It’s what happens when you decide to show the world your tits,” I countered.

“One tit,” she corrected.

“Let’s aim for none for the next half a year. Now, deal with the consequences of your behavior and suck it up. You’ll have to change your ways, or your father is going to extend the contract and I’ll unleash my colleague Kent on you. Fair warning: if you think I’m a teddy bear, wait till you meet this grizzly.”