Passenger Princess: A Grumpy Sunshine Bodyguard Pageant Queen Romance (Evergreen Park Book 1)

When I wake up, my bed is empty, and my phone has more notifications than I have since it was announced that I made it into the Miss Americana pageant. That morning, I was flooded with, oh my fucking god, you crazy person!! texts and calls from people I hadn’t heard from in literal years trying to get the inside scoop.

This time, it’s from a dozen or so of the Miss Americana contestants I’ve become friendly with, a shit ton of reporters who want my commentary on…something, and at least twenty texts from both Harper and Jules, in individual texts as well as our group chat.

I open those first as I squint at the screen.

JulesNôvelDrama.Org content.

Ignore it.

Harper

Don’t. Call us right away.

Jules

Who the fuck even cares if you’re fucking your bodyguard?

Harper

Since when has being a good down-to-earth person been a bad thing?

Harper

Don’t search your name, Ava. Promise me.

Jules

Oh, stop, don’t scare the girl.

Harper

I’m just saying, some of those comments are feral. Maybe don’t read the comments.

Jules

But there are even more good ones. A lot of people agree with us.

I’m lost beyond belief and tap back to my messages, opening the ones from Cara.

Cara

Please tell me you’re actually sleeping with that hottie. I’m begging. I’m also begging for all of the details.

And another from Miss New York.

Lily

Babe, call me! I need to know what is happening! Also, good for you!

What the actual fuck is going on?

So I do what any normal person would do: I search my name. And almost instantly, a post from American Star Magazine pops up, the title as concerning as the texts make it seem.

Miss Americana Ava Bordeaux: Disgracing Her Crown and Title

Well.

That’s…something. When I scroll, there are a few pictures of me, one at the crowning ceremony, my face covered in genuine shock, but for the first time when I look at it, I see Anne, the crushed look painted on her face, and the absolute hatred in her eyes. The rest of the accompanying photos are perfectly timed shots, me with an angry face as I argue with a reporter, a shot of what looks like Jaime assaulting me at the Girl Scout self-defense tutorial, me slapping the man who smacked my ass. A shot of Jaime and me dancing at the benefit, looking much cozier than we should. A photo of Jaime and me walking Peach in the park on our first date both makes ice form in my veins and makes me wonder if this creep would be willing to send me a copy because it’s the cutest picture ever.

And finally, there’s a snapshot of Jaime leading me out of Hank’s house last night, me looking over my shoulder and laughing, Jaime looking down at me with utter adoration in his eyes, his hand on my waist pulling me close.

Each photo is chosen precisely to tell a story, and as I read the article, I realize the story is more of the same.

There’s a range of accusations within it, from my not being qualified to be Miss Americana and how the industry needs to add more qualifiers to keep out the riffraff, to my not valuing my position, to my being a bad influence for the many watching young eyes.

It’s all bullshit, really, some shitty piece to drag me through the mud, except for one part.

One paragraph that takes the breath from my lungs.

“And it also seems Miss Boudreaux is breaking her contract in more ways than just not upholding the values and tradition of the organization. American Star can officially confirm that she’s dating her bodyguard, Jaime Wilde of Five Star Security, assigned by the organization to chaperone her. Because not only does she not uphold traditional values, but she’s so self-absorbed, she believes she’s in danger visiting with the people who voted for her to win her crown.”

I don’t even let my mind touch on the fact that this article makes it seem like hiring Jaime was my idea, like I’m some diva with a self-inflated ego thinking everyone and anyone is out to get me. I don’t even care about the accusations that I’m not a good person or that I’m fake.

Whatever.

But I do care that they’ve dragged Jaime into this.

I feel sick to my stomach, and for a moment, I contemplate hiding in this bed all day.

“What’s wrong?” Jaime asks when he walks into the room we’re sharing with Peach’s food bowl.

I jump, not having heard him, lost in thought as I scroll and read the comments, ignoring all common sense that is screaming at me not to. Some were great and supportive, but as you quickly learn when you have any sort of social presence, there are more than a healthy amount that are absolutely scathing.

“Have you seen this?” I ask, pushing my hair back over my shoulder and sitting up straight from where I’ve been hunched over my phone.

“The article?” I nod. “Yeah. A pile of shit.” He tugs his shirt over his head—it seems he not only came back but also showered while I was distracted. Fuck, how long was I lost in that rabbit hole?

“A pile of shit, but it’s going viral. I have a dozen texts in my inbox right now, all asking me for details.”

“Yeah, and so is the video of us teaching the Girl Scouts.” My stomach drops to my feet, and suddenly I feel lightheaded. “And the one from teaching the women yesterday morning. Doesn’t matter,” he says, rooting through a bag for socks before sitting on the side of the bed and pulling them on. Then he stops and looks at me. “You’re not letting this get to you, are you?”

My jaw goes tight, but that seems to be enough of an answer for Jaime.

“You’re letting it get to you. Why? Are you nervous about repercussions? How it’s going to impact you?” He moves closer to me, stopping what he’s doing and sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing my hair back with the back of his hand. “Ava, we aren’t doing anything wrong. That rule is outdated, and if they really try to enforce it, it would look horrible for them. A PR nightmare. And I have Miles looking into that asshole to find anything we can to discredit him.”

I shake my head because he’s not understanding.

“I don’t care about me. I got to see the country, I got my adventure, and my friends are doing amazing. So what? I lose the crown, and Anne gets it. Who cares? She’ll always know that she didn’t win, and that’s punishment enough.”

He looks at me, eyes assessing but not understanding what he’s seeing.

“Then what is it?” he asks, his voice soft and gentle.

“They dragged you into it,” I whisper, embarrassed that my shit is impacting him this way.

“Yeah, well.” That isn’t reassuring by any stretch of the imagination.

“Are you going to get in trouble?” I ask. He shrugs like he doesn’t even care. “Jaime, this is a big deal.”

“It’s not, Ava. It’s really not. In my world, you are a big deal. Everything else is background noise. I told you when we made this official between us that I don’t care anymore. I care about you being mine. We were keeping things quiet because I didn’t want to be taken off duty as your guard, but we’ve got just a few days left. I’m not too worried about it.”

“But…your job?”

“Not that important.”

“Jaime, are you insane? You’ve only got what, three years before⁠—”

He shakes his head and cuts me off.

“I’ve got a friend who was let go from Five Star a while ago. A nerd, but a good guy. You’d like him. Turns out, when Hank sold the company, he put stipulations in place so even if we get fired or let go, they have to honor our pension. It’s in an account Hank made when we joined up, and Greg and Five Star can’t touch it. So fuck it, they fire me, I still get paid out in a few years.”

I stare at him for what feels like an eternity, my mouth open with this news.

“Well, that would have been good to know weeks ago, Jaime.”

“Why?”

“So I didn’t spend every moment panicking about what would happen to you if things got out! I’ve been worried sick there would be an article like this”—I lift my phone to indicate what I mean—“exposing us, and you’d regret even looking twice at me.” It’s a confession I don’t mean to give, but I do all the same.

“Ava, baby,” he says, coming closer to me, his face suddenly soft.

“I don’t want you to look back and think you spent your whole life working for something only to throw it away just because of me.”

He gets into the bed fully now, pulling me into his lap and brushing a hand down my back.

“That would never happen, Ava,” he says, then shifts his hand under my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Never, okay? If anything, you showed me I’ve been wasting my life away looking forward to some far-off future I wasn’t even excited about. I’ve been unhappy with Five Star for three years, and you’re right, Ava, life is too fucking short. If they let me go because of us, it’s for the best. It can give me the opportunity to try my own thing, too.”

“Try…try your own thing?”

“I’ve got good references. I don’t want to be in the field forever, but without Hank running Five Star, there’s a gap in the industry for a reliable agency. Atlas Oaks won’t stay with them if I’m not there, so they’re a good place to start. I’d volleyed with the idea a bit in my head for a while, before you were even in the picture, Ava, but Hank mentioned it to me last night, and it’s making more and more sense to me.”

I bite my lip, staring at him.

“Now, you gotta pack and make sure Peach uses the litter box. Can you do that while I call my buddy? He’s looking into things, and I haven’t heard from him since I talked to him last night.”

I nod, then shift to sit on the edge of the bed, the anxiety still taking over me, my mind spinning from all of the new revelations we’ve had in such a short amount of time.

Jaime pulls his phone from his pocket, starting to dial before he looks back at me, pauses and comes back. He moves, squatting in front of me until we’re face-to-face.

“In case I haven’t been clear, Ava. I’m wildly, obsessively, crazy in love with you. A stupid article or a job I don’t even like anymore does not change that. My job right now is to keep you safe, keep you happy, and make sure nothing touches you. You understand me?”

My mouth is open as I gape at him and the ease and casualness with which he said that.

“You love me?” I whisper.

“You’re a smart girl, Ava. You knew I was in love with you that first night.”

I smile, letting the giddy excitement of Jaime Wilde loving me crash over me. “You know I love you too, right? Maybe not from the very first night, I’m not a psycho, and you were really grumpy, but—” I start, then giggle when he tackles me to the bed hovering over me. “Okay, okay, I have loved you since the moment you told me I was a blonde with a hot body. I love when guys are kind of mean to me. Probably some deep-seated daddy issue, you kn⁠—”

He cuts me off with a deep kiss that takes the breath from my lungs and ends much, much too quickly before he stands up and puts a hand out to me. “All right, come on, Princess. We gotta get on the road.”

I grab his hand, letting him pull me up to him. “Can we get coffee on the way?” I ask with a sweet smile.

He sighs. “We’re cutting it close, Ava.”

“I’m begging you,” I say, clasping my hands together. “I would give you my firstborn child if you take me to get an iced coffee so I don’t have to sit in a room with fifty shrieking pageant queens uncaffeinated.”

The edges of his lips tug up in a small smile before he crosses his arms on his chest. “It’s already mine.”

My brows furrow before a frown follows suit in confusion. “What?”

“Your firstborn. It’s already mine, Ava, whether I get you coffee or not.” His hand moves, brushing beneath my chin and tipping it up. “And your second, if you want one of those.”

“Oh,” I whisper, my eyes wide.

“And because I do want to eventually one day get my shot to give you those kids, who will have your eyes and your hair and my immaculate sense of humor⁠—”

“Oh my god, Jaime, was that…was that a joke?” I ask with a faux-shocked face.

He smiles, but keeps talking. “Because I want to keep you happy and willing to function, if you get out the door in five minutes, I’ll make sure we have time to stop.”

“You’re the best!” I say, then run to get ready and out the door faster than I ever have before, and only half of that reason is because I’m floating on air as I do.