Diva (Ironclad Bodyguards Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

that contract it probably said they reserved the right to hire asshole bodyguards to interfere in her life.
    She went into the bathroom and slammed the door, then leaned on the sink, taking deep breaths. She felt like she might vomit again, but there was nothing to bring up but a bunch of shitty electrolyte water. Fuck this shit, fuck him and his judgey frowns, and his illegal searches and confiscations. He wanted her to stop partying and going to nightclubs? Fat fucking chance. She was Lady Paradise and she had an image to uphold.
    MadDance, Inc.? Fuck em. At the end of the day, they needed to dance to her tune, because this tour was nothing without her.
    *
    Ransom sighed and sat by the window to wait for the food to arrive. Fuck. That hadn’t gone well.
    Not that he’d expected it to. He’d assumed he’d get some blowback for ousting her assistant/drug mule, and informing her he was going to be living inside her ass for the rest of the tour. Rich, successful artist types rarely enjoyed hearing news like that.
    But everything would be okay. From what he could see, his client wasn’t a hardened junkie, just a dumb kid who wanted to party. He didn’t know what was worse, that she’d asked him if they’d slept together, or that she actually believed he would have slept with her while she was blacked out. Had that happened to her in the past?
    Dumbass kid. She didn’t have the body weight for the chemicals she was ingesting. Last night, when he’d picked her up and carried her off the bus, she’d felt so light she might fly away.
    If she was a true junkie, she would have flipped out to find her small stash gone. He’d thrown away ecstasy and pot, amateur shit, although she’d been wired on something harder last night. He wasn’t sure what she’d taken, only knew he’d arrived here just in time.
    Fucking Marty. He could tell in the course of one conversation with her “assistant” that he was a horrible influence, a hanger-on taking advantage of a rich, gullible young woman. Money led to drugs, drugs led to partying, partying led to questions like Did we fuck? It led to exploiters and users, and danger.
    But Ransom was here to keep the danger away. The hard partying was over, at least for the rest of the tour, and if she had a problem with that, she could try to fight him. He was pretty sure he’d win.
    Room service arrived just as she turned off the shower. By the time she opened the door, he’d set out the German idea of late breakfast: bread and cheese, fruit, yogurt, and miniature glazed doughnuts sprinkled with cinnamon. He wanted to stuff about twelve of them in his mouth. Wrangling hungover, immature brats made him hungry.
    She came out of the bathroom with a thump of her luggage and a muffled curse. He looked up and paused mid-doughnut.
    Lola Mae.
    Those were the first two words that came to his mind, because he wasn’t looking at Lady Paradise the mega-millionaire DJ anymore. Without the slut makeup, without the riotous braids, without the bikini and booty shorts she looked…
    She looked like a lost, befuddled kid named Lola Mae.
    He felt a puzzling rush of attraction, a reaction to her rumpled, vulnerable freshness, and quickly turned away. It wasn’t his business to find his clients beautiful or attractive, especially when they were half his age. He hadn’t fallen for a client once in his career, and he wasn’t going to start now, not with this one. Her hair was pink, for fuck’s sake. It was darker pink now that it was wet. She wore a pale gray tee that made her blue eyes pop, and some worn jeans that fit obscenely well.
    Okay. So she was sexy. She was fucking beautiful. Maybe he should have fucked her last night, if he could have pried off her skintight shorts. She wouldn’t have remembered it today.
    He mentally shook himself and shoved the rest of the doughnut in his mouth. These inappropriate feelings wouldn’t last. He wasn’t the type of guy who panted over dwarf-sized, pink-haired