Gabe

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Babysitting a spoiled celebrity is proving harder than I'd anticipated. 

I down my second shot of whiskey, scanning the bar while trying to forget how defeated she'd looked when I left her this morning. Media-trained and a pro at maintaining composure, she'd aced every interview this week and somehow redirected every question about her father to something more frivolous. But clearly, that level of talent comes at a price. By the time she'd wrapped up this morning, that fiery side I'd seen of her was nowhere to be seen. 

I remind myself it's a good thing. I don't need more incidents like the one in her dressing room. I don't need to think about her lips or imagine what else they'd be good for besides giving me a hard time. I don't need to be thinking about her, period.

Staring at the empty glass, I release a slow breath. It's hard to believe that just this morning, I was walking around fancy shoots and sitting in rooms with silk sofas and champagne. Now, it's back to dark, dingy bars and cheap whiskey.

Where I belong.

Another image of her crosses my mind. This time, she's in the dress I saw in the picture in her hallway. Her lips are red and parted, her eyes looking up at me, bright and seductive and— Fuck.

I'm glad when the door swings open and Denaro strides in. At thirty, he's four years older than me, but you wouldn't guess it from his baby face and bright blue eyes. Despite that innocent appearance, the guy is a total sociopath.

I can't figure out why. His parents are nice enough, if a bit obnoxious, and his brother and sister are hard workers. Given my background, you'd think Denaro would be the more well-adjusted one between the two of us.

Unlike Denaro, who grew up broke but surrounded by a loving family, I just grew up broke. My parents—an Italian mother and an American father—divorced when I was young, and my mother took me back to Italy to live with my grandmother before abandoning me as well.

When my grandmother died, I was forced to move back to the States at fourteen to live with my abusive, deadbeat father—a bitter man who preferred the bottle over his kids. Needless to say, I don't have many happy family memories. The only good that came from all of it is my half-brother, Mack—I love that kid to death.

"Loretto," Denaro says and sits on the seat next to me, grabbing the beer I ordered him. Half-turning, he pins those unnervingly blue eyes on me and grins. "The man himself. Got an update for me?"

I keep my eyes locked on the row of whiskey bottles lining the wall, tightening my grip around my shot glass. "I haven't had the chance to explore the house thoroughly yet, but there's a locked room upstairs with a keypad. I think there's a safe inside."

"What kind?"

"I don't know," I reply, attempting to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "That's not the kind of question I can ask at this stage without raising red flags." He's pissing me off, but I can't put my finger on why. It's not like he's more irritating than usual, but something about this conversation makes me uneasy.

Denaro shrugs and sips his beer. "Well, we can assume whatever kind she has will take a while to break into, which means we'll only have one opportunity. We need to pick a night when she's away for the whole evening. What do you know about her schedule?"

"She has a few interviews, photoshoots, and some club appearances, but nothing lasting more than a few hours. There's a gala in a few months, but—"

"The First Choice gala?"

"That's the one." I saw enough of the agenda when I asked Evangeline if she was okay the other day to know that part of their PR plan involves pap shots, the gala, and some fancy date with some rich sucker who has no idea he's being used. Seeing it laid out like that, knowing it's how people like them operate, was somehow surprising and not surprising at all.

Denaro lifts his lips, flashing his pearly veneers. It's his way of disarming me the same way he disarms the women he scams. "Perfect. She'll be getting ready all day and then out all night."

I set down my shot glass and slowly face him. "The gala is three months away. I'll be long gone by then."

He smiles wider. "Come on, brother. Anything you grab now is just a fraction of what's inside that safe, and you know it. Plus, it gives us enough time to figure out the code for the safe."

We're not like brothers. Not even close. He was the kid on the block that everyone liked to torment, and even back then, I felt a compulsion to protect people, so I looked out for him when I could. That was the extent of our relationship until he showed up one day wanting to repay the favor. The rest is history.

"Forget it," I say, pulling out my phone. I swipe away the message from Mack asking if I'm alive and tuck the phone back in my pocket.

My profession is my life. The kind where I have to work long, unsociable hours and keep my whereabouts a secret to ensure my clients' safety. I can be called away at all hours and might be gone for days or weeks at a time. Add to that I'm indebted to Denaro, and it's obvious why I'm keeping my distance. "You said it was an in-and-out job, and then I was done."

A trace of annoyance marks his easy expression. "And you will be as soon as we get what we want from her."

I stare at the old scars on my knuckles, wishing I could deal with him the way I usually deal with people who piss me off, but I wouldn't just be messing with Denaro; I'd be messing with the entire ring.

"Look at this," Denaro says, pulling out his phone. He brings up Evangeline's socials and scrolls through images of her posing for the camera, covered in designer shit. Zooming in on a particular photo, he points to a pendant around her neck. "Do you realize how much this necklace alone is worth? One million dollars."

I should be focusing on the necklace, but I'm drawn to her smiling face. It's the same smile I've seen all week, usually flashed at staff or strangers, because despite the fact she's cold with me, she's sweet as pie to everyone else.

"Look," Denaro says in that easy voice, "there's enough money in that safe to clear the last of your debts, pay me back, and give your brother the kind of life you never had. Isn't that what you want?"

The debts he's talking about aren't really mine; they're my father's—a burden I've carried since I was sixteen when he decided to take out loans under his kids' names, wrecking our futures before they'd even begun.

But that wasn't even the worst part. The real blow came when the loan sharks showed up, looking for my father but finding a then fifteen-year-old Mack instead. The doctors said it was a miracle he survived—collapsed lung, crushed windpipe, and a broken leg. Between the mounting medical bills and the physiotherapy he still needs to this day, we've been struggling ever since. That's why I took Denaro up on his offer. Now, what I owe the government feels like pocket change compared to what I owe him.

"She won't even notice it's missing," Denaro's still saying like a fucking devil on my shoulder. "Look at her. The way she shows off her things to people who can barely afford to put food on the table. Since she wants to throw money away, we'll be there to collect it."

He's right.

"I'll wait until the gala," I warn, "and that's it. I'm done."

"Atta boy." Denaro's slap on my back ignites a flicker of irritation in my jaw. I turn away from him, about to order another whiskey, if only to drown out the urge to beat the shit out of him, when my phone vibrates. I reach for it, anticipating another message from Mack, but it's Stu. "Fuck. It's her bodyguard calling me."

Unease rises within me as I consider whether to answer. Stu has made it clear all week that he doesn't trust me. As a private contractor working directly for Mrs. Ryder, he's clearly territorial over a client he sees more as family, meaning I need to tread carefully.

"Jesus, just answer it," Denaro says, reaching over to accept the call.

I shoot him a cold stare before lifting the phone to my ear. "Stu, what's up?"

There's some shuffling as he struggles to hold the phone before I hear his gruff, raspy voice on the other end. "Gabriel? Listen, my daughter is having her baby right now, and she'd really like my wife and I at the hospital. I'm sorry to ask this on your night off, but could you take over my shift? It should be an easy night—Eva will have Kat over, but staying in. If not, I can—"

"I'll do it," I say, looking at a grinning Denaro. Not only does a shift tonight earn points with Stu, but it gets me the fuck away from here.

Hanging up, I get to my feet without glancing at Denaro. "I have to work; I'll update you when I can," I say and walk out.

***

It takes me almost thirty minutes to beat LA traffic. Stu is already waiting at the door to greet me, appearing slightly disheveled compared to his usual presentable self. His cheeks are flushed, and his top button pops open as he nervously waves me over.

"Thanks for stepping in," he says. "I'd have waited until the end of my shift, but Eva insisted I need to leave now if I want to make it on time."

"No problem. Go and be with your daughter."

The distrust in his eyes eases slightly as he nods. I feel a twinge of guilt as I watch him walk to his car, waiting until he's driven away before I close the door. With a deep breath, I check the kitchen before moving to the patio doors to watch Evangeline swim laps in the infinity pool.

For a moment, all I can see are flashes of her lithe, bronzed body as she glides through the water, looking like a goddamn mermaid with her black hair streaming behind her. I step closer, convincing myself it's part of my job to check on her. Every move she makes, every breath, is my business. She reaches the end of the pool, flips herself around, and powers back down the other side with the kind of unrestrained fire she usually tries to hide.

I can't take my eyes off her as she swims up to the edge of the pool, leaning on it while drying her hand with a nearby towel before reaching for her phone. The screen lights up, casting a glow over half of her face in the dark. I expect her to snap a selfie like she's been doing all week, but instead, she calls Kat.

"Have you already left?" she asks as I move closer to the open patio doors. "Stu's daughter just went into labor. Do you think you can arrange for balloons and a gift basket to be delivered to her house? I want them to be there when she gets home. Also, champagne and chocolates to Stu and Angela's place to celebrate them becoming first-time grandparents."

Kat says something, and I catch a glimpse of Evangeline smiling. "Yes, you're the best PA ever. And yes, you can pick the movie. Just hurry up and get here—I'm lonely." She hangs up, sets her phone back on the towel, and resumes swimming, this time faster, her tanned limbs slicing through the water with precision.

Her heavy gasps do something strange to me. They're the same breaths I pair with hot nights and hotel rooms, the kind she'd let out through parted red lips as I touched her. The type I shouldn't be thinking about.

I take a second to clear my mind before heading upstairs. It's the part of the house I haven't had access to until now, and I'm curious about the room with the key pad. I approach the door, happy to see the pad requires a code rather than biometric identification, something that can easily be obtained, but that's not to say the safe inside will be the same. Stepping toward it, I punch in her birthday, but the pad double-beeps. Wrong. I try her mother's birthday.

Fuck.

Knowing there's no way I'm getting in tonight, I slip into her main bedroom, partly to see what else I can find and partly out of morbid curiosity.

I pause in the doorframe, surprised to find it's not the same pristine, show-house state as the rest of the house, but a chaotic, uncharacteristic mess: sunset orange walls, dark wood floors, and a four-poster bed in the middle with sheets covered in palm trees.

My eyes are drawn to the old Hollywood movie posters lining the feature wall—Casablanca, Psycho, Sunset Boulevard—all the classics. I'll admit, she has good taste. Then I notice the rest of the mess: clothes strewn all over the floor, half-eaten sandwiches on the bedside table, and a half-finished glass of milk growing mold on a nearby cabinet. I'm damn near speechless. Evangeline Ryder is not the untouchable, perfect influencer she pretends to be, after all.

About to head out, I spot the half-open walk-in closet to the left, unlocked. Inside are shelves filled with clothes and a few cases of jewelry. While not as extravagant as the pieces she wore in her posts, they're probably worth thousands each. I doubt she'd even notice they were missing if I could replace them with cheap knockoff versions.

I pull out my phone and take pictures of everything, careful not to touch anything. Then I send them to Denaro and continue opening and closing the other drawers, staying vigilant. I half-expect her to come up behind me and start questioning me. Any misstep could cost me my job, my reputation, or worse, land me in prison.

I'm not taking any chances.

Closing the drawer, I let out a ragged breath and head across the landing. I stop before the floor-to-ceiling windows and glance out at the pool to check on Evangeline.

She's gone.

"What are you doing?"

The back of my neck prickles as I slowly turn around. She stands there in just her bikini, soaked to the bone. Her long, dark hair clings to her back in waves. Her face is devoid of makeup but still strikingly beautiful, and her green eyes shimmer with water. My heart pounds, not just because I've been caught creeping around but because she's fucking beautiful. "Checking the perimeters."

"Right," she says, tilting her head, "I think I'm going to have to get you a bell."

I cock an eyebrow, considering how I'd punish her for that if I weren't trying to stick to protocol. Instead, I aim for professional and say, "Stu says you're staying in tonight."

"Stu would be correct," she says, untangling the ends of her hair. "Kat and I are staying in to watch old movies before things pick up again next week. As of Monday, I'll be plastered all over the LA scene to compensate for my father's bad publicity."

I lean against the wall, surprised by the hint of disdain in her voice. "I would have thought you'd enjoy the attention." I don't intend it as an insult, but judging by her narrowed eyes, she's taken it that way.

"Then you thought wrong," she says coolly. "Let's get one thing straight, Mr. Loretto. Just because my mother insists on your presence doesn't mean I've forgotten how much I dislike you. In fact, you better believe I'm going to do everything in my power to make you quit."

"I look forward to it," I say, smirking slightly. The intensity in her eyes stirs something within me, and for a fleeting moment, it hits me that maybe Stu won't be the one to sabotage me after all.

She will.