POV Noelle
Three weeks. Three goddamn weeks of Owen Tate existing in my peripheral vision like some kind of ridiculously attractive surveillance drone.
I can't breathe without him analyzing my lung capacity. Can't order coffee without him scanning the barista for potential threats.
Can't even take a piss without him positioning himself strategically outside the bathroom door like some kind of urinary security detail.
It's psychological warfare disguised as protection, and I'm losing my fucking mind.
"You look like you're about to commit homicide," Jamie observes, stirring his oat milk latte with the precision of a chemist. "And not the fun, crime-of-passion kind. The slow, methodical, body-in-the-freezer kind."
We're at Grind Coffee, our usual Saturday spot, and Owen is stationed at a corner table with perfect sightlines to our booth.
He's pretending to read some military thriller, but I can feel his attention like a physical weight.
"I'm seriously considering it," I mutter, stabbing my blueberry muffin with unnecessary violence.
I’m really pissed off.
"Do you know what he did yesterday? He followed me to my women's studies class. Stood outside the door for the entire two hours. Professor Sanders thought I was being stalked by an ex-boyfriend."
"Technically, you are being stalked."
"By my father's friend. Which is somehow worse."
Jamie's eyes dart to Owen's table, and I watch his pupils dilate slightly. "Christ, Noelle. Have you actually looked at that man? Like, really looked?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Every fucking day."
"Those shoulders could probably bench press a small car. And his hands..." Jamie fans himself dramatically. "Those are hands that know things. Dirty things. Things that would make you forget your own name."
Heat creeps up my neck. "Jamie."
"What? I'm just saying, if I had to be under constant surveillance, I'd want it to be by someone who looks like he stepped out of a very specific type of pornographic fantasy."
"He's not a fantasy. He's a nightmare with good bone structure."
"Bullshit." Jamie leans forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're telling me you haven't thought about it? Haven't wondered what it would be like to…"
"To what?"
"To fuck him."
The word hits me like a physical blow. Heat floods my cheeks, and I'm pretty sure my heart just attempted to escape via my throat.
"I haven't— That's not— He's my father's friend!"
"So?"
"So it's inappropriate."
"Inappropriate is my middle name, babe. Well, technically it's Sebastian, but you get the idea."
I glance toward Owen's table. He's still pretending to read, but there's something about the set of his shoulders that suggests he's hyper-aware of our conversation.
Can he hear us? Does he know we're talking about him?
"Besides," Jamie continues, "you're twenty-two. He's what, thirty-five? Forty? That's not actually illegal, it's just hot."
"It's complicated."
"The best sex always is." Jamie's grin is absolutely wicked. "And speaking of sex, when was the last time you got properly laid? And don't say Warren, because we both know that disaster doesn't count."
My face burns. "That's not relevant."
"Oh, honey. It's completely relevant. You're walking around with all this pent-up sexual tension, and you've got a walking sex god following you everywhere. It's like cosmic irony."
"I'm not sexually frustrated."
"You're a twenty-two-year-old virgin who's been living like a nun for three weeks. If you're not sexually frustrated, you're clinically dead."
The virgin thing hits like a slap. Jamie's the only person who knows, and he wields the information like a weapon when he thinks I'm being stupid.
"You know what your problem is?" he says, leaning back in his chair. "You're thinking about this all wrong."
"How am I thinking about it?"
"Like a victim. Like you're powerless." His eyes gleam with mischief. "But you're not. You're Noelle fucking Morris. You're smart, you're gorgeous, and you've got daddy issues that could power a small city. Use it."
"Use what?"
"Your power, idiot. Seduce him."
I choke on my coffee. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You heard me. Seduce Owen Tate. Sleep with him. Rock his world so hard he forgets his own name."
"That's insane."
"Is it? Think about it logically. You want him gone, right? Well, what's the fastest way to get daddy dearest to fire a bodyguard?"
The pieces click into place with terrifying clarity. "Inappropriate conduct."
"Exactly. The minute Michael Morris finds out his precious daughter fucked his old friend, Owen's out on his ass faster than you can say 'sexual harassment lawsuit.'"
"Jamie, that's—"
"Brilliant? I know." He's practically vibrating with excitement. "Plus, you get to lose your virginity to someone who actually knows what he's doing. Win-win."
My mind races through the possibilities. Owen, professional mask finally cracking. Owen, looking at me like I'm not just a job. Owen, touching me without the pretense of checking for injuries.
"I can't just seduce him. He's too controlled, too professional."
"Honey, have you seen the way he looks at you? Like he's trying to memorize every detail while simultaneously fighting the urge to throw you over his shoulder and carry you off to his cave."
"He does not look at me like that."
"He absolutely does. Especially when you're not paying attention. It's like watching a man slowly lose his mind."
I steal another glance at Owen. He's turned a page, but his jaw is tight, and there's something about his posture that suggests internal conflict.
"Even if that's true," I say, "he'd never cross that line. He's too old for that shit."
"Everyone has a breaking point, Noelle. Even Mr. Perfect over there." Jamie's smile is pure evil. "You just need to find his."
"And how exactly do I do that?"
"By being yourself. But more. More gorgeous, more tempting, more impossible to resist."
He pauses then for more dramatic effect, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Think about it. You've been dying to lose your virginity to someone who won't fumble around like a teenager. Owen looks like he could show you things that would make you forget your own name."
Heat pools low in my belly at the thought.
Owen's hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, those careful, controlled movements becoming something desperate and wild.
"This is crazy," I whisper.
"The best plans always are."
"What if it doesn't work? What if he's not interested?"
"Then you'll have tried. And you'll still be stuck with him, but at least you'll know." Jamie reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "But trust me, babe. He's interested. He's just fighting it."
I look at Owen again, and this time, he's looking back. Our eyes meet across the coffee shop, and for a moment, the air crackles with possibility. Then he looks away, jaw clenched, and turns another page of his book.
"You're right," I say finally. "This is insane. Completely, totally insane."
"But you're going to do it anyway."
It's not a question. Jamie knows me too well.
"I'm going to do it anyway."
"Good girl." His grin could power Las Vegas. "Now, let's talk strategy. Because if you're going to seduce Owen Tate, you're going to do it right."
My heart pounds as the reality of what I'm planning settles in.
I'm going to seduce my bodyguard. I'm going to lose my virginity to my father's friend. I'm going to enjoy every single second of it.
Game on, Owen Tate. Game fucking on.