~Pearl

“Okay, okay. It’s Michael, but you can’t tell anyone,” she whispered excitedly.

It was pretty obvious the minute she said, “He's tatted.”

Michael was her bodyguard, or at least one of them. She’d mentioned him in passing before, but I didn’t know anything about him other than he was around thirty-nine and more obsessively protective than any of her other guards, which was a good thing, I guess.

“How the hell did you manage that? Doesn’t he work for your dad?” I asked, my disbelief far too apparent in my tone and I tried to pull it back.

Thankfully, she didn’t notice.

“Yes,” she sighed dreamily, and I raised...