Our Bodyguard|18+

Forteen

"Should I bring something to drink?" Leslie offers out of her usual courtesy.

"No, Leslie. Thanks." I smile tightly at her, purposefully ignoring the galling stare caught at the corner of my eye.

Derek Kingston smirks.

"Okay. I'll leave you two." Leslie flounces out.

Derek clears his throat, a bit dramatically. "But I thought I could use a cup of coffee. Shame." He's striding nonchalantly toward my desk, hardly wearing any perfume to irritate my overly sensitive nostrils thanks to the HCG hormones running in my body.

I nearly smirk in response. "Not gonna happen, unless I poison it first. Trust me, the temptation is real."

"Wow." He rumbles a laugh and it's creepy coming from him, because he always wears a charming look that can shift into something dark and merciless in the blink of an eye.

I don't know him that well, but his reputation precedes him.

What the fuck is he doing here anyway? Derek Kingston and I have been a couple of very few words. I hardly recall the last conversation I had with him, because we have absolutely nothing to talk about—except the slap I gave him several years ago.

Calling me a gold digger, proposing to give me whatever his old man offers me if money is why I married his dad's for. He became my real pain in the ass since then and I can think of one thing to justify his disfavor of me. His family's fortune.

Or his mom's place that I took away by marrying Patrick?

I don't know.

He glances around my office, as if he's trying to find some faults on the elegant walls. And he stops in front of a large mosaic painting hanging near the seating area, subjects him into stillness for a few moments until he glances at me over his shoulder.

"Neil Ortega. My dad's favorite local. Was it a gift from him?" he asks, talking about the painting.

"A personal purchase," I reply crisply.

"I see." Nothing registers on his cold dusky gray eyes as he resumes his attention back to me, his gaze icicle and shrewd.

Just like his father, he has his own fancy taste in suits. He's wearing one now, full black from head to toe, accessorized by Tiffany & Co. from his leathal watch to the silver necklace. His copper hair looks shiny and glossy, parted at one side, and his face is adorned with a goatee beard.

He's good looking. Genes never lie. He's a Kingston, after all, and it runs in the family. But it doesn't change my clear distaste over his presence. Just a glance at him and anger plummets inside me at the thought of Anne's death and the unpleasantries prior.

"Mind telling me why you're here?" I disrupt my own thoughts by reclining back in my seat like the lady boss I am.

He pulls a chair and graces himself to the comfort of my furniture. "Just to see an interesting woman who's caught my uttermost attention recently," he says flatly, a bit of humor in his voice. Eyes glinting, he casually adds, "Now I think I get why the old man is insane over you. You're intriguing, Mia. And all the way I thought you're just there to warm his bed at night and . . ." His voice trails as he drops his gaze on my chest.

My breath intensifies but I hold myself together at the reminder of Raiden Junior in my womb. No stress, Mia. Be cool. I sigh.

"Why are you here, Derek? I suppose I could listen to your sweet compliments the whole afternoon but I'm a busy woman to grant you such privilege," I tell him dryly, my lunch meeting with the lawyer still on my head's alarm.