Free Necessary Risk (Bodyguard) by Tara Wyatt Page B

conducting business over twenty-five-dollar salads that wouldn’t have satisfied a rabbit. As she approached the table, a waiter appeared and pulled her chair out for her. She smiled politely and took a seat, watching as Sean settled himself a couple of tables away. Close enough to protect her, but far enough away to give her some privacy. The low buzz of conversation, clinking glasses, and scraping chairs hummed through the restaurant, shrouding them in a hush of sound.
    Linda tucked a smooth strand of ice-blond hair behind one ear before taking a tiny sip of her water. “Sierra, sweetheart, how are you?” Her well-preserved face barely moved as she spoke. Her head swiveled around, taking in Sean a few tables behind her. One slender eyebrow arched inquisitively. “You weren’t kidding about the security.”
    “I’m fine, Linda. And no. I wasn’t kidding. After what happened the other day, I’d be stupid not to have security.”
    Linda flipped open her menu, her thin lips pursed. “Hmm. Well. You could just, you know. Quit. Then you’d be out of danger, right?”
    Sierra bit back the scoff rising up in her throat. “If I quit, they win. And Choices loses. I refuse to let some whack-jobs have that kind of power.”
    “I just don’t understand why you’d put yourself at risk for them.”
    “Because I understand the importance of what they do, Linda. And I’m not going to let these bullies scare me.”
    “But you already are scared, darling. I can see it. You’re pale. You look tired. You keep looking at your bodyguard as if you’re terrified he’s going to leave.”
    As Linda spoke, Sierra realized that her eyes had, in fact, drifted back to Sean. Almost guiltily she pulled them away, not sure what to do with the realization that she needed Sean around to feel OK. That she’d attached herself to the safe harbor he provided like a barnacle to a ship. Eventually, mercifully, this would be behind her, and then he’d move on to another job.
    Oh. The thought hurt like pressing on a bruise, tender and sore, purple and black around the edges.
    Oh.
    Pushing the thought away, she flipped open her menu, which was divided not by type of cuisine but by type of diet. Raw, vegan, gluten-free. Only in LA was this completely normal.
    “I can get you work. Real work,” continued Linda as she pulled a script out of the briefcase tucked against her chair.
    “My work at Choices is real work.”
    “It puts you in danger, and makes you almost no money.”
    “I’m not hurting for money, Linda. You see my residuals. I’m doing just fine.” She certainly wasn’t rich—especially by Hollywood standards—but the residual payments from both Family Tree and Sunset Cove brought in a few hundred thousand dollars a year, which was plenty. In fact, those residuals were pretty much the only reason she even still had an agent. She’d bought her house outright, and didn’t have any extravagant expenses.
    Well, aside from what was likely to be a whopper of a bill from Virtus. She’d done a little Googling, and figured her weekly tab would be somewhere around ten thousand dollars.
    So far it had been worth every penny.
    “Why do fine when you can do great? Take a look at this,” Linda said, sliding the script across the table to Sierra. “This is right up your alley.”
    Before she could reach for the stack of pages, the waiter approached to take their orders. Linda ordered the “farm lettuce special,” which was basically a head of lettuce with salad dressing. Salad dressing on the side, of course.
    “And for you?” The waiter turned to Sierra, pen poised over his notepad.
    “I will have the portobello mushroom chicken, and a glass of sparkling water. Thanks.” She snapped her menu shut and eyed the script in front of her warily.
    “It’s not going to bite you. Just look at it.”
    She hesitated, running her thumb over the chunky edge of the script, flipping the corners up with a soft burr of sound. “Linda, I