The Bodyguard's Promise. Carla Cassidy
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will wonder who you are and why you’re hanging around us.”
Clay remained silent, wondering what she was going to come up with to explain his presence. He’d obviously entered a place of illusion, where nothing was as it seemed and appearances were everything.
Her gorgeous blue eyes focused on him once again. “I suppose if anyone asks, we can say you’re my boyfriend.” Her expression held a touch of distaste, as if she found the very idea rather appalling.
He wasn’t too thrilled with the idea, either. She sure as hell wasn’t his type of woman. He didn’t go for the ice princess types. “You’re the boss,” he replied.
“We’ll tell people we met several months ago at a charity function and have been secretly dating ever since.” Her gaze flickered down the length of him. “You’re a wealthy retired rancher, and that’s all anyone needs to know.”
“Won’t your friends wonder why you haven’t mentioned me before to them?”
“This is Hollywood. I don’t have close friends,” she replied.
He had a feeling that the fact that she didn’t have close friends was less about Hollywood and more about the woman herself. She didn’t seem like the type who would give much of herself to anyone. Of course, it was too early for him to form any definite opinions about her.
Her gaze flickered over him once again. “We have a lot going on over the next couple of weeks, events that will require formal dress. I don’t suppose you have a tuxedo in that little suitcase of yours.” There was a tone in her voice that indicated she doubted he’d ever worn a tux, let alone owned one.
“Unfortunately, when I packed my bags my tux was at the cleaner’s,” he said dryly.
“I’ll have Enrique bring some things over for you from his shop. If you’re going to attend the various events with Gracie and me, you need to be dressed appropriately. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the cost.”
The irritation Clay had been fighting since the moment he’d arrived rose up. “That’s not necessary. I can afford to buy my own clothes, even in Hollywood.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest, but must have seen something on his face that made her think twice. “Suit yourself,” she said. “I’ll make the arrangements for sometime tomorrow afternoon with Enrique.”
“Where is Gracie now?” he asked.
“Up on the third floor with her voice teacher. There are several rooms up there, including a place where Gracie has her various lessons and works out with her physical trainer.”
A physical trainer for an eight-year-old? Once again he realized he was in a world unfamiliar to everything he knew.
“If we’re finished here, then I’d like to go up to the third floor and take a look around.”
“All right, and I’ll see to it that you have a schedule of her daily activities and that list of people by the end of the evening.”
She stood, looking as if she’d like nothing better than to escape his presence. “Dinner is served at seven in the dining room. If you need anything else, I’ll be in my office getting together those things for you.”
Clay stood as she left the sunroom, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. He’d hoped that when he read the letters he’d be able to tell her there was nothing to worry about and he’d be able to leave la-la land and head back home to Cotter Creek.
But the letters had disturbed him. It was possible they were nothing more than the work of a harmless fanatic, but he wasn’t willing to take that chance. He might gamble on other things, but not on a little girl’s life.
He left the sunroom and headed for the stairs to the third floor. He’d thought his gig in Las Vegas had been torturous, but he had a feeling that was nothing compared to playing bodyguard to an eight-year-old and pretend boyfriend to a woman he didn’t even like very much.
It was almost seven when Libby left her bedroom for dinner. She’d spent the past hour getting the things together for Clay and trying not to let thoughts of the man distract her from the job.
Something about him put her on edge as nobody had in a very long time. She’d called Charlie, Gracie’s agent, to find out more about Clay West. What he’d told her had surprised her.
Wild West Protective Services, the family business Clay worked for, was a million-dollar industry owned by Red West, Clay’s father. When Clay had said he could afford to pay for his own clothing, according to Charlie, he wasn’t lying.
Not that she cared about how much money he might have in his bank account. She just wanted him to handle the issue of Gracie’s safety. That’s all she wanted from the tall, handsome cowboy.
She frowned as she thought about having to pretend that he was her current love interest. It certainly wasn’t her ideal scenario, but it would have to do. If anyone knew about the threat against Gracie, it could screw up the negotiations for her next film, among other things.
In this case, any publicity wasn’t better than bad publicity. Any director would say that children were difficult enough to work with without extenuating circumstances.
Gracie met her in the hallway, a bright smile decorating her pretty little face. While Libby had worked in her office, Gracie had been busy, as well. She’d not only had her voice lesson, but that had been followed by a half hour of schoolwork with her tutor.
“I’m starving,” Gracie proclaimed. Clay appeared just behind her. “And Mr. Clay is starving, too.”
“Then I guess we’d better get downstairs and see what’s for dinner,” Libby said. As she walked with Gracie down the stairs, she was acutely conscious of Clay just behind them.
“Mr. Clay said he hoped we weren’t vegetarians,” Gracie continued. “I didn’t know what that meant and he explained it to me. I told him you make me eat vegetables, but we have meat, too.”
They left the stairs and walked into the large dining room where three places were set at one end of the long table. Libby sat where she always did, at the head of the table. Gracie sat on her left and she motioned Clay into the chair at her right.
They had just seated themselves when the cook, Helen Richmond, served the first course. A bowl of soup.
“Helen, this is Clay West. He’s going to be my guest for a while,” Libby said.
Clay nodded at the plump, white-haired woman. “Nice to meet you, Helen.”
She gave him a curt nod, then disappeared into the kitchen. Helen was an ill-tempered beast most of the time, but she had a reputation as one of the best cooks in Hollywood. It had been a real coup when Libby had managed to hire her.
“Mr. Clay has a cook. His name is Smokey,” Gracie said as they began to eat. “Mr. Clay says he’s grouchy.” She smiled at Libby. “Kind of like Ms. Helen, right, Mom?”
“That’s not nice, Gracie,” Libby chided.
Gracie shrugged. “But it’s true.”
Libby couldn’t help biting back a smile. If there was one thing she’d learned about her daughter, it was that Gracie was surprisingly opinionated for her age.
“You have any brothers or sisters, Clay?” she asked. She’d prefer meaningless small talk to silence.
“Four brothers, one sister.”
“I wish I had a sister or a brother,” Gracie said. “Definitely a sister, I’d have to think about a brother. Jennifer’s little brother is a big pain.” She looked at Clay. “Are your brothers big pains?”
He looked at Gracie and a smile curved his lips, the first smile Libby had seen on his face. The attractiveness of it hit her in the pit of the stomach like a small kick.
“Brothers can definitely