“Your keys and security alarm code please, miss?” he asked, hand held out
waiting.
It might have just been me, but we seemed to be standing awfully close together. It almost seemed weirdly intimate. Almost. No, my bad. Ziggy wore his usual professional façade with nary a hint of emotion on display. His gaze was shuttered, his bearing military rigid. It was definitely just me and my overactive imagination. Being vaguely attracted to your bodyguard was kind of a pain in the ass. Not that I couldn’t use the distraction right now.
Ziggy continued to stand there patiently waiting.
“Keys. Right.” I rummaged inside my Balenciaga City bag. Designer goodies were not only a weakness of mine, but a happy perk of being in the industry and achieving some small fame. “Ah, just a minute. They’re in here somewhere.”
I pushed aside my purse, a cashmere shawl, tampons, a candy bar, some loose change, my small Chanel cosmetics case, a power bank, hair ties, pepper spray, a copy of the latest Sarah MacLean book, mints, a spare charging cable for my cell phone, the cell phone itself, Chapstick, Prada sunglasses case, my grandma’s rosary, dental floss, deodorant, a couple of pens, Kleenex, ear buds, water bottle, a USB stick, reusable straw, condoms, nail file, some old receipts, a travel size umbrella, hand sanitizer, lotion, a pair of pearl earrings, tweezers, Advil, a hair band, and some bobby pins.
“Sorry about this,” I murmured. “I know I put them in here when we left.”
He said nothing. A whole lot of nothing.
“Huh.” With a great sense of victory, I held up a bottle of nail polish. “I thought I’d lost this.”
One of his dark brows crept upwards.
“I’ll have you know this color was limited edition. Little Death at Midnight by Oxley. You can’t buy it anymore.”
His lips did not move, but that damn eyebrow arched even higher as he leaned forward a little and took in the contents of my bag. I swear his eyes widened.
“Don’t you judge me. All of these things are necessary for my ongoing existence.”
“Of course they are, miss.” The man was so judging me. Bastard. “You carry a koozie around with you, I see.”
“It pays to be ready to party, Mr. Thayer.” I finally produced the keys, dangling on a Miss Piggy fob. “Here you go. Alarm code is eight five star three zero one two.”
“Yours and your mother’s birthdays?”
“How on earth do you know that?”
“We have extensive files on all our clients.”
“I haven’t been your client for that long.”
“We also do background checks for the owner of the building.” He unlocked the door and punched in the code before standing aside so I could enter. The door was then locked behind me.
“That would explain it. Still, you have a very good memory.”
“That code will need to be changed to something random,” he said. “And it might be best if I hang on to the keys next time. Should there be an incident, we don’t want anything delaying you from getting into a secure location. If you could wait here please, miss.”
He strode through my apartment, giving it a thorough, if fast, inspection. My open plan living room, kitchen, dining space, office, spare bedroom, bathroom, and…this was exactly when it occurred to me.
“Wait!” Sore calves or not, I ran. “Ziggy, stop!”
Brows drawn in tight, he stood in my bedroom. “Please wait back at the door until I’ve cleared the apartment.”
“Just give me a second.”
“Miss Cooper,” he said.
“Just give me one second.”
“I must insist.”
With one hand I scooped up the underwear, T-shirt, cardigan, jeans, and shoes I’d worn yesterday. “Normally I tidy up after myself and make my bed, I swear. This is very unusual for me.”