Passenger Princess: A Grumpy Sunshine Bodyguard Pageant Queen Romance (Evergreen Park Book 1)

‘What the fuck happened yesterday?’ The voice booms through the line early the next morning. It’s seven a.m., and Ava is still asleep as I try to get out onto the balcony without her waking.

‘Greg—’ I start, sliding the door closed behind me. I’ve already worked out in an effort to quiet my mind after the chaos that was yesterday and gotten coffee, so two hours of peace without dealing with my asshole of a boss has to be a win.

‘What the fuck happened, Wilde?’ he shouts.

‘Look—’

‘This is not what we need happening right now,’ he says, continuing to steamroll over me.

‘I get that, but⁠—’

‘Where were you?’

I snap. ‘If you would let me fucking answer, I could tell you everything.’

Finally, silence rolls through the line, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before explaining.

‘Yesterday, before the meet and greet, Regina insisted I take one of the other contestants to their meet and greet because, in her opinion, there would be sufficient security at the hotel ballroom where Ava was. She insisted I was not on assignment for Ava but for the Miss Americana organization.’

A low curse comes through the line, which I take as a good sign I’m not totally screwed before I continue.

‘Ava wants to make as little waves as she can, so she asked me to go. Thankfully, the other event ended quickly, or there could have been a real issue: I’d barely just walked in before the man assaulted Ms. Bordeaux. If I hadn’t grabbed him…’ My voice trails off, thinking about the force in his arm and how he was more than willing to let that punch land. ‘I swear, I was under the impression she’d be safe. That’s how it was explained to me, and I didn’t feel I was given an option.’

‘Well, she wasn’t safe,’ he snaps.

‘Yeah, I get that, but I⁠—’

‘And then she ran her mouth to the press,’ he says, and my back goes straight.

Last night, Ava told me Regina texted her to ask her to refrain from speaking with the press off-handedly in the future to protect the image of the Miss Americana organization, not even an, are you okay? text to preface it. It made my hands ball up into fists, and that feeling is even stronger now with Greg spewing his bullshit.

‘Your job is to keep that chick in line.’

My jaw tightens.

‘My job is to keep her safe.’

‘Regina and the Miss Americana organization are tired of her bullshit. She doesn’t want to make waves? That’s all she fucking does. Keep her shit in line, Jaime.’

I take a deep breath, running a hand over my face and nodding before speaking, remembering he can’t hear me. ‘Got it.’

‘Remember what’s on the line,’ he reminds me as if I could fucking forget his not-so-subtle threats. But for the first time, I wonder if it’s worth it, if sticking this out for three more years in complete misery is worth it.

‘Yeah, Greg. I got it.’

Then the line goes dead.

Motherfucker.

I take a minute or two to control my breathing, to get my shit in check before my phone rings in my hand, a familiar name on the screen.

‘Yeah,’ I say in greeting.

‘You’re up early,’ Hank says. ‘Anything to do with what happened yesterday?’ He’s laughing out the words like this is some kind of funny joke.

‘You mean my assignment getting assaulted after the pageant runner insisted I essentially run some pointless errand with another contestant? Yeah, I’m up because of that.’

That takes the humor right out of his words.

‘What happened? Where were you?’ he asks, not with the same accusation Greg laid down, but in a confused way, like he knows it wouldn’t happen on my watch.

I fill him in, leaving out the ongoing threat of getting fired and losing my benefits. I don’t need him stressed about that. ‘I swear to God, Hank, if I had known…’ My voice trails off, my mind forever stuck on the what-ifs.

‘I trust you, kid. Just happy she didn’t get hurt.’

I sigh, rubbing my hand over my face. ‘I’m toeing the line to keep the organization happy, as well as keep her safe. And I’m failing. I don’t know how to handle this.’ I’ve never had an assignment like Ava, and I mean that in so many ways.

One who is so fucking mouthy.

One who doesn’t listen to a thing I ask of her.

One with a penchant for trouble.

One so gorgeous, it’s distracting.

One who is so goddamn tempting.

‘You did exactly what I trained you to do, son. You got her safe, but let her live her life. Not a single word that girl said that I don’t agree with. I’ve got daughters, you know that. When they were little, I’d want them looking up to a Miss Americana like Ava, not like those pageant girls who are shy and let people walk over them. That’s not what the world needs these days.’

I roll my eyes even though I agree. ‘She’s a pain in my ass.’

‘The best women always are.’ I don’t respond to that, knowing it would be gasoline to a fire I don’t want to stoke, seeing as I can hear the smile in Hank’s voice. ‘I’ve seen pictures with you and that girl, you know,’ he says and I freeze.

Pictures?

‘What?’

‘She’s got paparazzi following her like she’s a lifelong pop star rather than a first-time pageant queen. Lots of pictures.’

I relax just a bit when he doesn’t mean some kind of photo of us in a compromising position. Of course, he isn’t wrong. Every outing with the organization is absolutely flooded with reporters, more and more at each stop, all trying to get just a minute with Ava to get some headline-worthy quotes. When I took the job, I thought it was going to be simple, but sometimes it feels like she gets the same treatment as pop star Willa Stone.

‘Yeah, I’m uniquely acquainted with that fact,’ I joke, deadpan.

‘Just saying, occasionally, the two of you are in shots and you look good together.’

I groan. ‘Hank⁠—’

‘You know I met my Janine on an assignment. If you met a pretty little thing while doing the job, I’d never—’ I cut him off to nip that.

‘Half of my job is to make sure she stays within her contract.’ I say the first thing that comes to mind. ‘Part of that contract says she has to stay single until the end of her reign.’

When I read that clause in Ava’s contract, I was shocked, so I did some research. Most of the clauses under the morality section that would instantly void Ava’s win and, in turn, the prize money she doesn’t receive until the end of her three-month tour were pretty obvious and, I can almost guarantee, were added after an issue with a previous constant. No sex tapes, no cyberbullying, no in-person bullying, no speaking poorly about the organization, that kind of thing.

But not dating required me to dig a bit into the history of the pageant on a Reddit forum—always an interesting mix of truth and speculation, but this time, it made sense to me.

The current Miss Americana contestant is contracted to exemplify the basic, in my opinion, outdated ideals of the all-American woman, including her ability to be snapped up by some good ol’ boy. If Miss Americana stays single, it’s as if any man in the country still has a chance with her.

‘Yeah, but we all know that’s not enforceable,’ Hank says like it’s no big deal.

‘Hank—’

‘Tell me there’s a judge in this country who would look at that and agree it makes sense in this context, in this decade?’ I can’t, of course. ‘All I’m saying is, if something happened, I wouldn’t give you shit.’ There’s a pause, and then, with a smile in his words, he adds, ‘Fine. I wouldn’t give you as much shit, at least.’

I roll my eyes and flip him off even though he can’t see me. I decide I need to get Hank off the call before he gets into my head too much. I made up my mind yesterday that, despite my brief lapse in judgment, I need to maintain the professionalism between Ava and me. Nothing more.

‘Anyway, the reason for my call,’ he says as if he can sense I’m about to sign off.

‘So it wasn’t just to give me a hard time?’

‘I was, but also…she’s been getting notes, right?’

‘Notes?’ I shake my head. ‘No, just messages. Threatening ones on social media, creepy photos. That kind of thing.’

‘So you haven’t heard anything about any physical threats?’

I take a deep breath and try to calm my pounding panic, knowing I’m not going to like where this is headed. ‘Yes.’

‘Okay, well, I happen to know they got at least one letter.’Content rights belong to NôvelDrama.Org.

A beat passes before I speak. ‘A letter?‘

‘A letter. Yeah. A physical letter was sent to the Miss Americana offices. My name must be on a contact form somewhere because some kid from the Miss Americana Organization called me to let me know.’

‘And?’

‘And he told me he works in the mailroom; Ava got a threatening letter. His boss told him to call the security company. I told them to contact Regina and have her report it to Five Star. Not going to step into Greg’s business.’

‘What kind of letter?’

‘It could be nothing,’ he says, not answering the question.

‘What kind of letter?’ I repeat through gritted teeth, my hand tightening on the railing.

There’s a deep sigh before my mentor speaks. ‘It’s probably not anything to worry about.’

‘But?’ I ask, hearing the words he didn’t say.

‘It’s a letter telling Ava to step down or something bad will happen. It has her name on it, addressed to her, sent to the offices, but it mentions a lot of personal details. Where she’s been, where she’s worked, her friends…’ I’m silent through the line, trying to assemble pieces before he speaks again. ‘Look, Jaime, it’s probably nothing to worry about. I just wanted you to know.’

‘Nothing to worry about? She might have a much too invested fan, best-case scenario, and worst-case, a stalker. And why is no one telling me about this?’ My mind is swirling through all the options and worse-case scenarios.

‘Look, all we can do is make sure she’s safe, right? Things aren’t adding up, and we can see that, but there’s only so much we can do. You keep that girl safe; I’ll do what I can. Unfortunately, your hands are tied, son.’

‘I think she’s waking up,’ I say, hearing the bathroom click shut. ‘We gotta get on the road, so I should start packing up for the road.’

‘All right, son. You take care of that girl, yeah? I’ll see if I can dig anything up; call a few friends.‘

I sigh in relief. ‘I owe you, Hank,’ I say, relieved that I have someone on my side right now.

‘When you’re in California, bring her to me. I want to meet this beauty queen who has you so flustered.’

‘She doesn’t have me⁠—’

But then I realize the line has gone silent, Hank having hung up before I can argue.

The ass.

Walking back into the hotel suite, Ava walks out of the bathroom, her hair a mess, a crease in the side of her face, her pajamas one giant oversized men’s T-shirt that spawns some kind of jealousy I refuse to put a voice to, thinking of her getting it from some random asshole.

‘Mornin’,’ she says, squinting and staring at me. She’s like this in the morning, I’ve learned. It’s not that she’s not a morning person—not like she’s grumpy or irritated when she wakes—just that she’s not all there like part of her is still curled up in her bed.

Stop thinking about her curled in bed, I tell myself when my mind wanders to what she’d look like, blonde hair spread over a pillow, curled up on herself, that tee riding up.

‘Iced coffee’s in the fridge,’ I say, tipping my chin toward the hotel’s little kitchenette.

‘You’re a lifesaver,’ she groans, then scuffles there, pulling the cup I grabbed earlier this morning and taking a long sip before she leans back to the counter.

I watch her, my arms on my chest, before speaking. ‘Do you know self-defense?’ I ask.

‘What?’ Her voice is less scratchy as if she’s slowly coming back to the land of the living, and I fight the smile.

‘Self-defense. Do you know it?’

Her head lifts, and a small, sleepy smile curves on her lips. ‘No, why would I need to?’

‘You’re a public figure, Ava. You’re a gorgeous woman. You’re alive. You were just attacked yesterday. How many reasons do you need to want to know how to protect yourself?‘

She shrugs. ‘Don’t know. Never really thought about it. But…”

I see the flash. I know she was thinking about that man last night and how things could have gone much worse. My mind is thinking of a dozen or so other situations that could have gone bad, the letter Hank told me she’s receiving…and I come to a decision.

‘I’m gonna teach you.’

‘What?’

‘I’m going to teach you some basic moves of self-defense.’

‘You’re going to teach me?’

‘Yeah.’ At the very least, it will make me feel better, her knowing how to protect herself if the worst comes true—to know that if I’m not around, she can protect herself. ‘Yeah,’ I repeat, the idea taking form in my mind. ‘We’ll rent a space at the next stop.’ I start calculating where that would be, pulling up the calendar in my mind and taking mental notes to scout out a location.

‘We should get to Alabama by the end of the day unless we hit traffic, and we have nothing on the schedule tomorrow. I’ll find a studio and rent it out.’ I’ll use my own money if I have to.

‘All right, big guy. But know I’m not going easy on you,’ she says, her smile wide, and it’s clear she’s finally awake.

‘Yeah, yeah. Pack up and get dressed. The sooner we get on the road, the sooner we get to the next stop.’

She salutes, then turns toward her room, coffee in hand. When Peach walks over to her, rubbing on her ankles, she bends to pick her up and fuck me; the shirt rides up, revealing the lower half of her ass.

I am so fucked.