Chapter 3

CLAIRE

I woke up with the nastiest headache and a sour taste in my mouth. My body ached as I sat up slowly, running my fingers through my tangled curls.

“Good morning, Princess.”

The deep voice startled me, and I jerked in shock, turning toward the doorway. Ethan Hayes.

He was leaning casually against the frame, looking far too relaxed for someone invading my personal space. His dark eyes bore into mine, calm yet intense. What was he doing in my bedroom?

I glanced down quickly and cringed. I was still in my black lingerie and high heels. My cheeks burned as I glared at him.

“What are you doing in my room? Why am I like this?”

Ethan stepped forward, holding out a glass of water. “Drink this. It’ll help with the hangover.” His tone was maddeningly neutral, and he looked annoyingly put together in a white sweater and black jeans. His damp hair suggested he’d just come from the shower.

“What are you doing in my room?” I snapped again, ignoring the glass.

He rolled his eyes and set it on the nightstand. “I assume you don’t remember much from last night. Let me fill you in: you kissed me, groped me shamelessly, and insisted I drive you home. Your father would be so proud.”

His words hit me like a slap. Fragments of the night before flickered through my mind—the bar, the drinks, the kiss. My stomach churned.

“Did you… undress me?” I asked, my voice shaky as I grabbed the robe draped over the bed.

Ethan’s expression remained unreadable, though I caught a flicker of irritation. He turned his back as I slipped into the robe.

“You insisted I help you,” he said flatly. “I didn’t have much choice.”

I groaned, mortified beyond belief. “This is a disaster.”

“You said it,” he muttered under his breath.

Wrapping the robe tightly around me, I squared my shoulders. “Ethan, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. How about we call a truce? You leave Harbor Springs, and we both go on with our lives.”

He turned, arching a brow. Up close, I noticed the faint streaks of gray in his dark hair. They didn’t age him; they added a rugged charm I wished I didn’t notice.

“Your father paid me for a job, and I don’t quit halfway through,” he said coolly.

“Listen, I can pay you off. My dad doesn’t need to know,” I offered desperately.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “You can’t buy me, Claire. And if you don’t like it, maybe you should head back to Chicago.”

“I can’t.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I quickly clamped my mouth shut.

Ethan tilted his head. “Why not? What are you hiding?”

“None of your business,” I shot back, brushing past him toward the kitchen. My stomach was growling, and I needed breakfast before dealing with him any further.

He followed me, leaning against the counter as I rummaged through the pantry.

“You don’t strike me as a small-town girl,” he said, watching me crack eggs into a pan.

“You don’t know anything about me,” I replied, refusing to meet his gaze.

“That’s true,” he said. “But I know when someone’s running from something.”

The comment made my pulse race. Was I that obvious? “Didn’t my father give you the full sob story about his runaway daughter?” I asked bitterly.

Ethan chuckled. “All he told me was you’re his world and that he wants you safe.”

I hated how his words tugged at my heart. “Tell me about yourself,” I said abruptly, changing the subject.

“Why?” His surprise was evident.

“If you’re going to babysit me, I should know more about you.”

“There’s nothing to know. I’m just a guy who earns extra bucks babysitting sassy princesses like you.”

The jab stung, but I ignored it. “Are you married?”

“None of your damn business.”

I smirked, sensing I was getting under his skin. “Then you must be divorced. Must be hard, loving a guy like you.”

In a flash, he was beside me, gripping my wrist. “My personal life is off-limits, Princess.”

I pulled away, turning my attention back to the sizzling eggs. “Maybe you should take your own advice and stay out of my business.”

“You’re not going to win this,” he said in a low, firm voice.

“Do you have kids?” I continued, ignoring him. “A little girl waiting at home for her dad?”

His eyes widened, and before I knew it, he’d backed me against the wall.

“Don’t push me, Claire,” he warned, his tone dangerously soft.

I stared up at him, my heart pounding. The air between us was thick with tension, the kind that felt both dangerous and intoxicating.

“I don’t need you here,” I said finally. “I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” he challenged.

“I was fine before you showed up, and I’ll be fine after you’re gone,” I snapped. “Just take the money and leave.”

He narrowed his eyes, studying me. “Stop talking.”

“You don’t get to boss me around—”

The rest of my words were silenced when his large hand covered my mouth.

“Shut up, Claire,” he whispered. “There’s someone at your door.”

My eyes widened in alarm. Sure enough, I heard the faint sound of someone fiddling with the knob.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

I shook my head, my fear growing.

“Stay here. Don’t make a sound.” He slid a gun from the holster under his jacket, and I gasped, stepping back.

“Why do you have a gun?”

He didn’t answer, moving stealthily toward the door. With calculated precision, he flung it open and pointed the weapon.

Betty Fisher stood frozen in the doorway, a box of chocolates in one hand and a newspaper in the other.

When she saw Ethan’s gun, she shrieked and dropped everything, fainting on the spot.

“Betty!” I cried, rushing to her side. My best friend lay crumpled on the floor, her pale face twisted in terror.

“Do you know her?” Ethan asked, lowering his gun and tucking it back into his holster.

“Yes, I know her! She’s my best friend,” I snapped, glaring at him.

He knelt beside her, checking her pulse. “She’s fine. She just fainted.”

“Because you scared her half to death with your stupid gun!”

“I was doing my job,” he shot back, standing up.

I ignored him, focusing on Betty. I fanned her face and called her name softly. After a few moments, she stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

“Claire?” she murmured.

“I’m here, Betty,” I said, helping her sit up.

She looked around, her gaze landing on Ethan. “Why does he have a gun?”

“He’s my… bodyguard,” I said reluctantly, feeling the words taste sour in my mouth.

Betty’s eyes widened. “Your bodyguard?”

“Yes,” Ethan interjected, his tone dry. “Hired by her father to keep her out of trouble.”

Betty blinked at him, then at me. “Is this a joke?”

I sighed, helping her to her feet. “No, it’s not. Come on, let’s sit down.”

An hour later, we were sitting on the floor of my living room, sorting through a box of books I was donating. Betty couldn’t stop talking about the “hot, broody bodyguard” who’d nearly given her a heart attack.

“He’s cute,” she said, tossing a book into the donation pile. “Grumpy but sexy.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t care about that. I want him gone. Look at him, sitting on my couch like he owns the place.”

I glanced at Ethan, who was sprawled across my couch, flipping through a book with an air of complete nonchalance. The sight irritated me more than it should have.

“I think you like him,” Betty said, grinning.

I scoffed. “I don’t like him. He’s old and rude.”

“He’s sexy,” she countered. “What is he, forty?”

I shrugged, reaching for a chocolate bar. “He won’t tell me anything about himself. He’s like a locked box.”

Betty leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Maybe he has a tragic backstory. Like a dead wife or something.”

“Speak of the devil,” I muttered as Ethan stood and walked toward us. His scowl was firmly in place, and he held a folded newspaper in his hand.

“This should sober you up,” he said, tossing the paper onto my lap.

I frowned and unfolded it. The moment I saw the front page, my stomach dropped.

“What’s wrong, Claire?” Betty asked, grabbing the paper from my hands. She gasped, her face turning pale.

“Oh no,” she whispered.

The headline screamed back at me in bold letters:

“CLAIRE JOHNSON: QUEEN OF HARBOR SPRINGS’ NIGHTLIFE?”

The photo beneath it showed me at the bar last night, tangled in the arms of some random guy, my face flushed and my eyes glassy.

“Oh no,” I repeated, my voice trembling.

Ethan crossed his arms, looking far too smug. “Now you see why your father wanted me here.”

“This isn’t her fault,” Betty said, shooting him a glare. “Some nosy reporter was looking for a story.”

“There wouldn’t have been a story if she hadn’t been drinking and letting strangers paw at her,” Ethan retorted.

I ignored their bickering, my mind racing. What if he saw this? What if he was already on his way here?

I felt my throat tighten, and bile rose in my mouth.

“You okay?” Betty asked, her voice soft.

I shook my head, clutching the fabric of my robe. “How could I be so stupid?”

“It’s just a silly tabloid. People will forget about it by tomorrow,” Betty assured me.

I shook my head again. “Not everyone will forget.”

Later that evening, I found Ethan in the gym downstairs. He was running on the treadmill, his shirt damp with sweat. His broad shoulders flexed with each stride, and his taut muscles glistened under the harsh lights.

I hated that I noticed.

I cleared my throat, and he slowed the machine before stepping off.

“What is it, Princess?” he asked, grabbing a towel and wiping his face.

“We need to talk,” I said, crossing my arms.

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Go on.”

I hesitated, then forced the words out. “I want you to stay. I want you to be my bodyguard.”

Surprise flashed in his eyes, followed by suspicion. “What changed your mind?”

“Just… stay,” I said. “I don’t want my face plastered on another tabloid.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Fine. But if I stay, you do exactly what I say. No arguments.”

I bristled at his commanding tone but forced myself to nod. “Fine.”

“Good.” He grabbed a bottle of water and turned away.

I hesitated, then held out my hand. “Friends?”

He glanced at it but didn’t take it. “We’ll see about that.”