In Love with My Defiant Bodyguard

Stacy Thompson had always gotten her way.

At twenty-four, she'd mastered the art of wrapping people around her finger-a smile here, a well-timed tantrum there, and even the most stubborn person would bend. Her father's employees? They jumped at her every whim. She had no friends and became so cold after her mom died. Even her father, the powerful David Thompson, owner of Thompson Industries and one of the wealthiest men in America, usually gave in sometimes....

Until today.

"Absolutely not," Stacy said, crossing her arms as she stood in her father's study in their mansion. "I'm not having some stranger following me around, i'm 24 dad!"

David Thompson didn't look up from the documents he was signing. His jaw was set in that familiar stubborn line that Stacy had inherited from him. "It's not up for discussion, Stacy."

"Everything is up for discussion dad!"

"Not this." Her father finally met her eyes, and Stacy saw something there she hadn't seen in the six months since her mother's death-fear. Real, bone-deep fear. "The threats are credible. After what happened to your mother, I'm not taking any chances."

The mention of her mother made Stacy's chest tighten, but she pushed the pain down like she always did. "Mom died in a car accident."Stacy says

"That's what the police report says."David replied

Stacy froze. "What does that mean?"

Her father's expression closed off. "It means you're getting a bodyguard, and that's final."

"I don't need protection. I need answers!" Stacy's voice rose. "You won't talk about what happened, you won't let me look into it, you just want to lock me away like some princess in a tower!"

"I want to keep you alive." David stood, his imposing six-foot-three frame towering over her. "And you will cooperate with your new bodyguard, or I will cut off your credit cards, your trust fund access, and every other privilege you take for granted. Do I make myself clear?"

Stacy stared at her father in shock. He'd never spoken to her like this before. Never been this harsh, this unbending.

"Crystal," she said coldly.

"Good. He'll be here in ten minutes."

"He?" Stacy raised an eyebrow. "You hired a male bodyguard to follow your daughter around?"

"I hired the best. Gender is irrelevant."

Before Stacy could respond, there was a knock on the study door. Marcus, their head of security, stepped inside. "Mr. Thompson, Isaiah Wright is here."

"Send him in."

Stacy turned toward the door, preparing her best dismissive expression. She'd have this bodyguard quit within a week. She'd done it before with personal assistants, and drivers. This would be no different.

Then Isaiah Wright walked through the door, and every thought in Stacy's head evaporated.

He was tall-at least six-two-with broad shoulders that filled out his black tactical jacket perfectly. His dark hair was cut short, military-style, and his jawline could cut glass. But it was his eyes that caught her attention. Bright blue, sharp, and utterly unimpressed as they swept over her once before focusing on her father.

"Mr. Thompson," Isaiah said, his voice deep and professional. He didn't even glance at Stacy again.

"Mr. Wright. Thank you for coming on such short notice." Her father shook Isaiah's hand. "This is my daughter, Stacy."

Isaiah's blue eyes finally landed on her again, and Stacy felt a strange flutter in her stomach. He gave her a single nod. "Ma'am."

Ma'am? Stacy bristled. She was twenty-four, not some middle-aged woman.

"I've briefed Mr. Wright on the situation," her father continued. "He'll be with you at all times. He has full authority to override your plans if he deems them unsafe."

"Excuse me?" Stacy whipped her head toward her father. "Full authority?"

"That's correct," Isaiah said, speaking directly to her for the first time. His expression remained neutral, professional. "I understand this is an adjustment, but your safety is non-negotiable."

"I didn't ask you," Stacy snapped.

Something flickered in Isaiah's eyes-amusement, maybe?-but his face remained impassive. "Noted."

"Stacy," her father warned.

She ignored him, stepping closer to Isaiah. Up close, she could see he was even more attractive than she'd first thought, with a small scar cutting through his left eyebrow. He smelled really nice and clean, like fresh laundry. "Let me make something very clear, Mr. Wright. I don't need a bodyguard. I don't want a bodyguard. And I certainly don't need some military reject telling me what to do."

Isaiah's expression didn't change. "Are you finished?"

Stacy blinked. "What?"

"Are you finished with your tantrum?" Isaiah's voice remained calm, almost bored. "Because I have a job to do, and your feelings about it are irrelevant."

No one talked to her like that. No one.

"How dare you-"

"Stacy, enough." Her father's voice cracked like a whip. "Isaiah, her schedule is on the tablet Marcus will provide. She has a charity luncheon tomorrow at noon, shopping scheduled for the afternoon, and dinner with friends at eight."

"I'll review the locations and make adjustments as needed," Isaiah said.

"You will not make adjustments to my plans!" Stacy practically shouted.

Isaiah finally looked at her fully, and his blue eyes were cold as ice. "Ms. Thompson, let me be very clear. I don't care if you like me. I don't care if you're happy. I was hired to keep you alive, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. Whether you cooperate or not is up to you, but either way, I'm not going anywhere."

Stacy felt her face flush with anger. "We'll see about that."

"Yes," Isaiah said quietly. "We will."

Her father cleared his throat. "Isaiah, there's a room prepared for you in the east wing. Marcus will show you. You start tomorrow at seven."

"Six," Isaiah corrected, still looking at Stacy. "I need to assess Ms. Thompson's morning routine."

"I don't have a morning routine," Stacy said through gritted teeth.

"You do now." Isaiah turned back to her father. "Thank you, Mr. Thompson. I won't let you down."

After Isaiah left with Marcus, Stacy rounded on her father. "Are you serious right now? That man is insufferable!"

"That man is a former Navy SEAL with twelve years of protection experience," her father said calmly, returning to his desk. "He's guarded diplomats, CEOs, and foreign dignitaries. He's exactly what you need."

"What I need is for you to tell me the truth about Mom!"

Her father's expression hardened. "Your mother is dead. Nothing will change that."

"But if someone killed her-"

"Stacy, please." Her father suddenly looked exhausted, older than his fifty-two years. "I can't lose you too. Just... let Isaiah do his job. Please."

The raw pain in her father's voice made Stacy's anger deflate slightly. She knew he was grieving, that they both were. But where her father found comfort in protection and control, Stacy needed answers.

"Fine," she said quietly. "But I'm not making it easy for him."

Her father's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

#LATER THAT NIGHT

Stacy lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. The house felt too quiet without her mother's laughter, without the sound of her parents talking late into the night in the study below her room.

Her mother, Catherine Thompson, had been the glue that held their family together. She'd been warm where David was cold, gentle where he was harsh, understanding where he was rigid. And six months ago, her car had gone off a bridge during a storm.

The police said it was an accident. Wet roads, poor visibility, a tragic mistake.

But Stacy had seen the way her father's security had tripled overnight. The way he'd stopped sleeping, stopped eating. The way he looked over his shoulder constantly, as if expecting an attack.

He knew something. Something he wasn't telling her.

And now he'd hired Isaiah Wright-a man who looked at her like she was a mission objective rather than a person-to keep her contained.

Well, Stacy thought, if Isaiah wanted to follow her around, he was going to learn just how difficult she could be.

But as she closed her eyes, she couldn't shake the memory of those cold blue eyes, or the way her pulse had quickened when he'd stepped into her personal space without flinching.

This was going to be complicated.