Falling For My Grumpy Bodyguard

Arielle I wasn't the type to eavesdrop on people's conversation. Honestly, I wouldn't have paid any attention to whatever nonsense floated around at these socialite events. If it didn’t involve me, my shoes, or my glass of champagne, I didn’t care. But you know that instant, sharp prickle you get at the back of your neck when you know people are talking about you? Yeah, that was how it felt like when these whispers started. “Poor girl, she doesn't even have a clue.” “She’s playing cool like nothing happened.” I was mid-bite into one of these fruit cakes that tasted too bland to be expensive, pretending to enjoy someone’s exaggerated story about her “accidental” vacation in Santorini, when my ears locked on to the two women behind me. “I still can't believe it was with Charlotte. Aren't they like rivals, or something?” “I'm not surprised though. Logan has gotten in between the legs of almost half of us in this room. Charlotte couldn't be an exception.” They were talking about Logan. My Logan. The same Logan who sent me good morning texts with heart emojis and claimed I was different from other girls. The same Logan who took me to expensive dinners and called me his one and only under those romantic lights. Did they just claim my boyfriend cheated on me? It couldn't be. We both hated Charlotte. We both hated her perfect blonde and flashy dressing sense. Logan would never do that to me. “My gosh, Arielle!” Esmeralda, one of those I considered friends, yelled. “What is it? What's going on?” I panicked. Something about the way her eyes widened while she stared at her phone told me it was nothing good. “There's a video going viral, check your phone!” I did as she said, and there it was. A shaky, dimly lit video, filmed from the kind of angle that screamed secretive. The caption burned into my eyes before I could even press play: ‘Logan Pierce and Charlotte Vaughn caught getting cozy at The Glasshouse Rooftop.’ My thumb hesitated. I didn’t want to watch it, but my brain was already doing that masochistic thing where it needed to know. So I tapped the video. The first few seconds were just music and chatter, but then the camera steadied, and there they were, Logan and Charlotte, standing way too close. His hand rested on her lower back like it belonged there. She tilted her head up, smiling in that smug, slow way she does when she thinks she’s won something. And then, as if the humiliation of being seen together was not enough, he leaned down and kissed her. From what I saw, this wasn't a “mistake” kiss. This wasn’t the kind of awkward brush of lips you can lie about later. This was deliberate, the type of kiss where time slows down and people start cheering like it’s some grand romantic gesture. Except this wasn’t romantic. This was a public execution of my dignity. My stomach twisted, even my ears rang. I wanted to close the app, to smash my phone, to rewind my entire life and erase the day I ever met him. But the worst part? People around me were already whispering, not even trying to hide it now. “I feel a little bad for her, she never hid how much she loved Logan.” “Hush, stop talking, we don't want to be on her bad side.” “What? I can speak if I want. Besides, we all know there's no faithful men out there anymore.” Esmeralda’s eyes darted from me to her phone like she was waiting for me to either cry or explode. But I did neither. I straightened my shoulders, swallowed the lump in my throat, and forced a tiny, bored-looking smile like I couldn’t care less. “Old news,” I lied, my voice so steady it almost fooled me. “You all are slow.” Her mouth dropped open. “Wait… you knew?” I shrugged. “Of course. I dumped him weeks ago.” Lie number two. Because the truth was, two nights ago, I had invited Logan to my bedroom. We both ate pasta in sweatpants, I even asked if I wanted to go skiing next month. He had kissed me goodnight before leaving like a man who wasn’t planning to make out with someone else forty-eight hours later. Especially not Charlotte. I scanned the room only to find all eyes fixed in my direction. They were all probably waiting for me to display some madness. I told myself I’d do all the crying I wanted when I got home. Because if there’s one thing my father taught me, it’s that you don’t let people see you bleed. You keep your chin up, your eyes sharp, and you walk out like you own the place, even if your heart’s busy collapsing in your chest. So that’s what I did. I smiled at people I didn’t like, nodded at conversations I wasn’t listening to, and pretended my legs weren’t shaking under my designer heels. Inside, I was replaying every single time Logan had sworn Charlotte wasn’t his type. My phone started buzzing again, and an unknown number displayed on the screen. I assumed it was probably one of those fake friends who suddenly wanted to check in so they could feel important. I almost ignored it, but something in my gut made me swipe to answer. “Miss Beaumont?” A calm voice came from the other end of the line. “Yes?” “This is St. Mercy’s Hospital, and I'm calling to let you know that your father has been admitted…” Everything around me faded away instantly. The gossip, the music, the glasses clinking… they all faded into the realization that Daddy’s in the hospital. “Is he okay?” My voice cracked despite my best effort. “He’s stable for now, but time is critical. We can’t move forward without your signature.” “I’m coming.” I didn’t say goodbye. I just pushed through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares and half-smiles of people who definitely thought I was running away because of Logan. There were two identical black sedans parked outside. Same make, same color, same tinted windows as the car that brought me here earlier. My thoughts were too fussy to think of checking the license plate or driver’s face. I just slipped into the back seat, still clutching my phone to my ear. My mind was too full of hospital corridors and worst-case scenarios to care. The driver was mid-conversation on his phone, his voice deep in a way that felt illegal. “St. Mercy's Hospital,” I barked. He stiffened, his gray eyes flicking to me in the rearview mirror. “Uh, I think you're in—” The nurse’s voice came through my phone again, sharper this time. “Miss Beaumont, please hurry. We cannot perform the procedure without your signature.” “I said I’m coming!” I snapped, cutting the call before she could say more. Then I turned on the driver. “Why are we still parked here?” His brows pulled together like he was about to say something, but I didn’t let him. “Are you deaf? Or dumb? Or both? You have ten minutes to get me to St. Mercy’s or I swear—” Something in his expression changed like he was debating whether I was insane or just rude. Then he shook his head, shifted gears and pulled into the road. Smart move on his part, because talking wasn't on my list. Speed was, and so was getting my dad out of that hospital alive. But damn… who let drivers start looking this handsome?