Her bodyguard, her lover (1)

ELOISE POV

Life had dealt me a ridiculously easy hand. One would think that being the daughter of a multimillionaire meant I had no problems, and honestly, that person would be right. I had no problems. Anything that threatened to become one could usually be taken care of by my dad.

So you can imagine my shock when Daddy called me to his office urgently on a Monday morning.

A freaking Monday morning.

I was halfway through a relaxing spa session when my phone rang. The moment I heard the urgency in his voice, I ended the session, paid for what I had already used, and drove downtown to his office.

Whatever had happened had to be serious.

Business had been going well. As far as I knew, there were no problems with the company, and I had even attended all the dates he had carefully scheduled for me lately. I had done my daughterly duties. So what exactly could have my father sounding that worried?

As I strode into the building, I barely paid attention to the employees who greeted me with polite smiles and respectful nods. I simply returned a few of them and headed straight for the elevator.

The ride to the top floor seemed longer than usual, by the time the doors opened, my curiosity had turned into genuine concern.

I walked into my father's office without knocking.

"Hey, Dad."

He looked up from his desk immediately, and the tension on his face softened.

"Lois, my darling. How are you?"

"I'm fine." I walked over to him and leaned against the edge of his desk. "But judging by that phone call, I don't think you are."

A small smile tugged at his lips.

"I'm always fine when I see my favorite girl."

I rolled my eyes. "You only have one daughter."

"Exactly. Makes my job of choosing a favorite very easy."

I laughed despite myself, for a moment, everything felt normal, then his smile disappeared.

"Sit down, Lois."

I straightened, that tone was different.

I slowly took the chair opposite his desk. "Okay. Now you're scaring me."

He stared at me for several seconds before reaching for a folder on his desk.

"I read your article."

My stomach sank.

Oh-That.

"You did?"

"Of course I did." He placed the folder between us. "You wrote about the Vikings."

I shrugged, trying to appear casual. "I wrote about what they're doing. There's a difference."

"Lois."

"Dad."

His expression softened again, but the concern in his eyes didn't disappear.

"I know how passionate you are about journalism. I know how much this career means to you, and I'm proud of you for pursuing it."

I smiled.

"But?"

His fingers tightened around the edge of the folder.

"But I wish you'd told me before publishing this one."

"Why?"

He hesitated, and that was when I knew this wasn't just about the article.

"Dad?"

He looked at me.

"I'm worried about you.”

I stared at him for a moment before letting out a small laugh.

"You called me to your office on a Monday morning because you're worried about me?"

"I'm serious."

"So am I." I leaned back in my chair. "Dad, it's an article, not a declaration of war."

"You wrote about the Vikings."

"I know what I wrote."

"Then you know exactly what I'm talking about."

His voice wasn't angry. That somehow made me take him more seriously. My father had never been the type to tell me what I could or couldn't do. He had spoiled me, yes, but he had also encouraged me to make my own decisions. When I told him I wanted to become a reporter instead of joining the family business, he had been surprised, but he hadn't stopped me, he had simply asked me to promise that I would take my career seriously, journalism was my passion so, I had.

"I did my research," I said. "Everything in that article can be backed up."

"I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is the people you're investigating."

I frowned.

"The Vikings have been operating for years," he continued. "They have connections in places you don't even know exist. You can't just expose them in a newspaper and expect them to sit quietly."

"I didn't expose them. I reported the truth."

"And sometimes the truth has consequences."

I sighed, "Dad, I appreciate that you're worried, but I can't become the kind of journalist who backs down every time someone gets angry about an article."

"I don't want you to back down."

"Then what?"

"I want you to be careful."

The softness in his voice took some of the fight out of me, I looked at him properly then. He wasn't trying to control me, he was scared.

That realization made me reach across the desk and take his hand. "I'm going to be careful."

His fingers closed around mine, "Promise?"

I smiled. "Promise."

He studied my face for another moment before sighing.

"You've always been stubborn."

"I get that from you."

"Absolutely not."

I laughed.

He finally smiled too, and for a few seconds the tension disappeared.

Then his eyes fell on the folder again.

"There is one more thing."

I groaned. "Of course there is."

"I spoke to your editor."

My smile vanished, "You did what?"

"I wanted to know how much information you have."

"Dad."

"Don't look at me like that. I wasn't trying to interfere with your work."

"You called my editor?"

"I asked a question."

"That is interference."

He chuckled.

"Fine. Maybe a little."

I shook my head, fighting a smile.

Then he became serious again. "Just promise me you'll tell me if anything strange happens."

"Like what?"

"Threats. Strange calls. Someone following you. Anything."

I raised an eyebrow.

"You're being dramatic."

"Maybe."

He squeezed my hand. "But I'm still your father."

I smiled softly. "I know."

He released my hand and leaned back in his chair. "Now, enough of this. Have you eaten?"

I stared at him.

"Seriously?"

"You skipped breakfast again, didn't you?"

"I had coffee."

"Coffee isn't breakfast."

"It has calories."

He shook his head. "Come on. I'll take you to lunch."

I stood and grabbed my purse. "Now?"

"Yes, now."

"Dad, I have work."

"You can work after lunch."

There were plenty of things my father and I disagreed about, but somehow, food was never one of them.

I groaned, but I couldn't stop myself from smiling. "Fine. Lunch."

"Good." He stood from his chair and reached for his suit jacket. "There's a restaurant downtown I've been meaning to take you to."

We had barely made it to the door when it opened from the other side.

"Mr. Hale."

My father's business partner, Lawrence, stepped into the office with a folder tucked beneath his arm.

My father glanced at him, then at me.

"Lawrence, I thought you were coming this afternoon."

"I was, but there's been a change with the contract. The other party wants everything finalized today."

My father sighed and glanced at his watch. "Of course they do."

I smiled. "I'll just wait in the car."

"Actually, go ahead to the restaurant," Dad said. "I'll meet you there."

I frowned. "You're not coming?"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Twenty at most." He turned to Lawrence. "This shouldn't take long."

Lawrence nodded.

My father looked back at me. "And take the security detail."

I groaned. "Dad."

"I'm serious."

"It's a fifteen minute drive."

"Twenty minutes."

"Whatever." I rolled my eyes. "It's still a short drive."

"Eloise" His voice carried that familiar warning.

I sighed dramatically. "Fine."

He smiled, satisfied. "Good girl."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Don't push it."

He laughed and kissed my forehead before turning back to Lawrence.

I walked out of the office and headed toward the elevator. The moment the doors closed, I pulled out my phone and checked the time. I had no intention of waiting around for a security detail. I loved my father, but sometimes he could be ridiculously paranoid. By the time I reached the parking garage, I was already in my car.

I started the engine and pulled out before anyone could catch up with me, for the first few minutes, everything was normal.

Traffic was surprisingly light, music played softly from the speakers, and I found myself thinking about the article again.

Maybe Dad was right about one thing, maybe I had pushed the investigation too far. I reached for my phone when it buzzed. It was a message from an unknown number.

I frowned. Another message appeared.

‘You were warned’

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Another buzz.

‘Stop digging into the Vikings.’

I stared at the screen for a second longer than I should have, then another message appeared.

‘This is your last warning.’

My heart began to pound as I looked up trying hard to focus on driving but my blood ran cold as a car was speeding straight toward me.

"What the hell?"

I slammed my foot onto the brake, nothing happened, I pressed it again harder, still nothing.

Chills ran down my spine.

"No, no, no..."

I pumped the brake repeatedly, but the pedal sank uselessly beneath my foot, the oncoming car was getting closer. I yanked the steering wheel, desperately trying to avoid the collision.

The tires screeched, my car swerved, then everything happened at once, metal crashed against metal, glass shattered, my head slammed against the side of the car, and the world went black.