Chapter 141 Unexpected Protection
Charlotte: POV
I said goodbye to Olivia outside the security firm, a knot in my stomach. The man who would now be my personal bodyguard stood awkwardly beside me, his expression unreadable.
Michael Sullivan was tall—at least six-foot-two—with broad shoulders and a military-style haircut. The kind of man who looked like he could snap someone's neck without breaking a sweat.
"So," I said as we walked toward my car, "the agency says you have an impressive background. Two tours in Afghanistan , then private security?"
"That's correct," he replied with a curt nod.
I studied him as he opened the car door for me. There was something oddly familiar about his face, though I couldn't place it. Maybe it was just that "all-American" look—strong jaw, piercing eyes, the kind of features you'd see on a recruitment poster.
"Let's get one thing straight," I said as we settled into the car. "I'm not looking for a bodyguard with benefits. This is strictly professional."
Michael's face flushed crimson. "Ma'am, I would never—that's completely inappropriate. I'm here to ensure your safety, nothing more."
I couldn't help but laugh at his mortified expression. "Relax, I'm just making sure we understand each other. And please, stop calling me 'ma'am.' It makes me feel like I'm fifty. Charlotte is fine."
"Yes, ma'—Charlotte."
The drive to my apartment was silent. I caught him scanning the streets, checking mirrors, his eyes constantly moving. It was both reassuring and unnerving to be with someone so hyperaware of potential threats.
When we arrived at my building, I gave him a quick tour. "Kitchen, living room, guest bathroom," I said, pointing to each area. "Your room is down the hall on the right. Mine's at the end. I expect you to knock before entering any room I'm in."
"Of course," he replied stiffly.
"I usually have breakfast at seven, work from home until nine, then head to the office. I'm back by six most days unless there's an event. Weekends are unpredictable."
He nodded, taking mental notes. "I'll adjust my schedule accordingly."
"One more thing," I added, turning to face him directly. "I value my privacy. Just because you're here to protect me doesn't mean you get access to every aspect of my life. Clear?"
"Crystal clear." His expression remained professional, but I caught a flicker of something—amusement, maybe?—in his eyes.
I showed him to the guest room, which was sparsely furnished with a queen bed, dresser, and nightstand. "Bathroom's connected. Towels are in the closet."
"This will be more than adequate. Thank you."
His formal tone was starting to grate on my nerves. "Do you always talk like you're reporting to a superior officer?"
For the first time, I saw a hint of a smile. "Force of habit. I'll try to... loosen up."
"Good. Because living with a robot would be exhausting." I turned to leave but caught my heel on the carpet. I stumbled forward, bracing for impact with the floor.
It never came. Instead, I felt strong arms catch me, steadying me with surprising gentleness. I found myself pressed against Michael's chest, his hands firm on my waist. The scent of sandalwood and something distinctly masculine filled my senses.
I looked up at his face, and that nagging feeling of familiarity hit me again. Something about his eyes—deep brown with flecks of amber—triggered a memory I couldn't quite grasp.
Instead of pulling away immediately, I found myself instinctively wrapping my arms around his waist, studying his features more closely. "Have we met before? I swear you look familiar."
His body tensed, and he abruptly released me, stepping back so quickly I nearly lost my balance again. His face had turned an impressive shade of red.
"No," he said firmly, looking anywhere but at me. "Please... maintain appropriate boundaries."
I couldn't help but laugh at his discomfort. "Relax, I was just asking a question. You're the one who caught me, remember?"
"It's my job to ensure your safety." His voice was tight, professional once more.
"Well, thank you for preventing me from face-planting," I said with a smirk. "Though I'm curious why my question made you blush like a schoolboy."
"I didn't—" He stopped, taking a deep breath. "I should check the perimeter of the apartment. Excuse me."
He strode past me and out of the room, closing the door with enough force that it rattled the frame.
"Well, that was dramatic," I muttered to myself. "Who exactly is the employer here?"
I spent the next hour working on my laptop, trying to focus on emails instead of the strange man now living in my apartment.
Something about him bothered me—not in a threatening way, but like an itch I couldn't scratch. I was certain we'd met somewhere before.
Around eight, my stomach growled. I headed to the kitchen to make some pasta, wondering if I should offer some to Mr. Personality down the hall.
Sighing, I knocked on his door. When there was no response, I knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
"Michael?" I called out. "Dinner's almost ready if you're hungry."
Silence.
Annoyed, I tried the handle. The door wasn't locked. A flicker of worry crossed my mind. What if something had happened? I pushed it open...
The words died in my throat.
Michael had just stepped out of the bathroom, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. Water droplets clung to his chest, highlighting defined muscles and a few scattered scars. His hair was wet, slicked back from his face, making his features even more striking.
I stood frozen, my eyes traveling from his broad shoulders down to his impressive six-pack abs, then lower to where the towel hung precariously low on his hips.
"I—um—dinner," I stammered, suddenly feeling like a teenager caught peeking at the boys' locker room. "You have a nice body—I mean, if you're hungry."
His ears turned bright red, spreading to his neck and cheeks. "Don't you knock before entering rooms?" he asked, his voice a mix of embarrassment and irritation.