We won’t be, not for a long time. I’m not a scientist but if I were smarter, and if I’d had different opportunities in life, I might have trained to be a doctor. Or, maybe a nurse. I like helping people. But I’m not smart. Only strong.
That is the service I sell. My body. My life to protect yours.
I can’t pound a particle into non-existence. But I can try to deny it a path to reproduce. I’ll take every precaution to keep from infecting her, or anyone else, for that matter.
And I can damn well kill Ms. Ramirez’s ex-husband with my bare hands if he dares to show his face in this beautiful home.
“I’ll let you settle in,” says Ms. Ramirez. “I need to get back.”
She pads away down the hallway to a double door, opens them, and closes both doors behind her.
As I say, there are worse places to ride out a pandemic than in the mansion of a gorgeous CEO. But there might be easier locations to keep my sanity in check.
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Excerpt - CONFINED WITH THE CEO & THE BODYGUARD: KELSEY
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Chapter One : Kelsey
The email came through late on Thursday afternoon. Starting Monday, Harden Real Estate’s offices were closed indefinitely due to a virus that was rampaging through Manhattan. It had started elsewhere in the world and spread, unnoticed, for months. Hospitals were on the verge of being overrun with sick patients.
When there’s a military ship moored in the harbor, it’s hard to deny that your country feels like it’s two heartbeats away from a George Romano movie.
My in-person audition for a lead role in an upcoming film is probably canceled, but until I have formal notice, do you think I’m giving up on my dream?
No way in hell.
Top secret, the production assistant had insisted. I can’t send you a digital copy. This is a confidential project. I’d rolled my eyes, then rolled over, because this could finally be my breakthrough role. Even if I have to audition by video conference, I want it bad.
I’ll make it in showbiz no matter what. There’s nothing I love more than sinking into a character and making an audience feel. Tears. Anger. Hatred.
Yet I’m always being cast as the “Trophy Wife” or “Sister.”
This script is different. I had tingles when my agent described it to me. It could be my big break—the result of years of scrimping, saving, and working my way up the agent and acting ladder.
First, there had been small roles in minor theater productions. Then, I landed a couple of commercials. When those were dropped from circulation I lost the residual earnings I had relied on to pay rent.
I came so close to giving up once. I won’t do it again.
Since waiting tables isn’t really my speed—I don’t do perky and social—I got licensed as a real estate agent. My revenue is feast-or-famine, but my schedule is my own. Leasing overpriced Manhattan shoeboxes to recent transplants is my specialty. I work mostly weekends and on commission—or did, until the virus took out my income overnight.
If I have to quarantine on a movie set for weeks to land this part, so be it. But first, I have to show the director and producer that I can play it better than anyone.
That’s why I’m here, batting my eyelashes at the security guard. A beard pokes out from beneath a makeshift mask. I peer at his name badge and say, “Phil, it’ll take five minutes. I print the documents I need and I come straight back down. Promise.”
He scowls. His eyes dart to the discreet display of cleavage visible between the plackets of my cream silk blouse. I had rushed over from a showing. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a balcony and a doorman for the bargain price of just five thousand dollars a month. They took it on the spot, fearing to risk seeing any other apartments. I have a check in my pocket which, after handing over my split to Harden, will cover my bills long enough to rehearse during lockdown. It was worth the effort of jamming my feet into the heels which are killing my arches and zipping up the pencil skirt that hugs my ass and shortens my stride.
“Technically the building isn’t closed until Monday,” I point out.
Phil stares me down. I briefly contemplate offering to suck his dick, but I am not sunk that low—yet. Besides, the idea doesn’t appeal. I like giving head, just not to random men.
I really do need that script though.
“Five minutes, Ms. James,” Phil huffs, but he scans his pass card to let me through the gate. All employee IDs have been disabled in an attempt to control the number of people coming in and out of the building.
“Thanks, Phil. I owe you.” I hustle through and blow him a kiss, forgetting about my own mask until I touch it. Not being stupid, I hit the up arrow with my elbow. My heavy purse falls down my shoulder. I hike it up with a grunt.
The elevator deposits me on the third floor. It’s where the executives are housed, including the CEO, Sam Harden. My desk is near his secretary’s. According to her, the only thing bigger than his cock is the size of his ego. I guess he’s earned it though, because Harden Real Estate has seen exponential growth over the past several years. She has no discretion at all, so I hear more than I should.
Like how he prefers young women. According to Brenda he’s a predator, but then, as far as I can tell, she thinks any attractive man is a threat. The one time I saw Sam he was on his way out of the building. Broad shoulders. Dark hair curling over the collar of his jacket. Bodyguard four inches behind him, max.
The bodyguard is the one who captivated me. I think about him from time to time—not innocently.
But men are not my primary
