Infuriated

“Hello?”

“Yes!” I blinked, focusing on his face. “He told me about you.” I folded my arms instead of accepting his hand. “I don't need a babysitter,” I said to him, letting my displeasure show on my face. 

“I'm a bodyguard,” he corrected, annoyed I was calling him a babysitter. 

“Isn't it all the same?” I leaned back on my door. “Return to my father and tell him I don't need a damned security guard or whatever the hell you call yourself.”

I stepped into the apartment and slammed the door shut on his face. The earlier he knew I didn't want him, the better it would be for everyone.

I expected him to knock on my door, to beg me to let him do his work, else his children — if he had any — would starve, but he didn't. 

Good riddance. 

It was easy to get rid of him. I was just about to give out a celebratory dance over it when my phone started ringing. I had to leave the door to go check on it. I strode over to my room and snatched it from my bed, my frown deepening when I saw it was my father. I should have known.

“Hello?”

“Why did you send him out?!” my father's voice thundered. 

Wincing, I removed the phone from my ear and glared at him. “I don't need a babysitter,” I said, acting just as stubborn as he was. “You don't have to waste your money on me, Father. I can —” 

“He's at your door, Logan. Let him in. I don't want to hear any more complaints from him.” He disconnected, just like he did the first time. 

“I hate you!” 

I yelled into the phone, throwing it back on the bed. Grumbling, I strode over to my door and ripped it open. Standing on the other end was the same gorgeous man, with a frown on his face. 

“Mr Thompson, I —”

“Call me Logan. Mr Thompson is my father.” I left the door open and walked back to my sitting room. I heard the door close behind me and the lock click in place before he joined me. 

He sat on the sofa opposite the love seat I was reclining on. In my personal space, he looked so out of place, like a father playing dress up in his daughter's playhouse. 

Okay, scratch that description. 

“I will keep this short, Mr Jules. I don't need a babysitter and will appreciate it if you maintain your distance from me, especially when we are out.”

He nodded. 

“I have my personal life. You can't follow me everywhere and, most importantly, you won't stay in this apartment with me.”

He nodded again….

“You aren't allowed to follow me to class. You just stay out of my lane.”

He nodded… Again. 

Now, this was getting to me. Huffing out an exasperated breath, I wiped invincible sweat off my brow and glared. 

“What the fucking hell is wrong with you?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Huh?”

“Use your damned words.” I placed my right palm on my forehead, taking a deep breath. 

“If that's all, I will be on my way, Mr Thompson. I moved into the flat next to yours. If you need anything, let me know.” He got up from the couch and turned to leave. 

“Wait, that's all?”

My words stopped him. He turned, lifting a brow. “What else do you want? You don't need a babysitter, do you?”

“You —” My face coloured, blazing hot as I wagged my index finger at him. 

“See you later, Piccolo Diavolo.”

“What the hell did you call me?!” I screamed at him, but he didn't turn. He just let himself out of my room and closed the door behind him, leaving me to fume at his brazen action. 

Fuck him!

….

Jules did as I asked. He never approached me whenever we went outside. He always followed some paces behind, watching me. Though I hardly saw him most times, it was an unnerving feeling to have his gaze on me especially whenever he wanted to piss me off.

I couldn't even go to the restroom in peace without him following suit, standing by the door until I had finished my business. 

On the 4th day, I was ready to lose my mind. I didn't like being followed, watched by a man whom I didn't know from Adam, and forced to pretend he wasn't there. 

“Geez, Jules. You have been acting so out of it since you returned from the summer holiday. Are you alright?” Queenie asked, with a frown, her brown eyes awash with worry as she reached out to touch me. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I forced a smile, nodding. “Never been better.”

Similar to the friends I made in high school, I had kept my family a secret from her. To Queenie, my father was just a businessman who rarely spent time at home. I didn't think it was necessary to tell her about him, and now? I still don't think I had to. 

She tucked her beautiful strawberry-blonde curls behind her right ear, glaring. “Don't give me that bullshit, Jules. We have been friends since our first year. I might not know much about you, but I can read your mood.”

Fuck..

I should have known Queenie wouldn't drop the matter until I had given something. Rubbing my palm on the back of my neck, I tried to think of an excuse, one that would get her off my neck. 

I looked around, my eyes locking with those of Jules, who was leaning on his car, acting like he was posing for a photoshoot. 

Tsk. 

What a bastard. 

Tearing my gaze away from him when I started feeling a warmth on my cheeks, I leaned close to Queenie. “I… I think I have a crush on someone.”

“What?!”

Her scream earned us glares from the students sitting on the grass, reading.

“Keep your voice down!” I whisper-yelled, narrowing my eyes at her. 

“Oh, come on, darling. You didn't expect me to keep my voice down when you just threw that bombshell at me. Now, tell me, who is the lucky man that got enough charm to pull a Playboy?"