The bodyguard contract, p.1
The Bodyguard Contract, page 1
THE BODYGUARD CONTRACT
UNSTOPPABLE CURVES
EMILY BRIGHT
Copyright © 2024 by Emily Bright
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced without the author’s written permission, except for in reviews.
Note
Although many of them were inspired by real people in the author’s life, all characters in the following text are purely fictional.
Contents
Chapter 1: Harper’s World
Chapter 2: Enter Damien
Chapter 3: The Initial Threat
Chapter 4: Emotional Barriers
Chapter 5: Attraction Ignites
Chapter 6: Emotional Fallout
Chapter 7: The Growing Danger
Chapter 8: Breaking Point
Chapter 9: The Tipping Point
Chapter 10: The Attack
Chapter 11: Unraveling
Chapter 12: The Chase Begins
Chapter 13: Fractured Trust
Chapter 14: Aftermath and Answers
Chapter 15: Unmasking the Threat
Chapter 16: The Truth in the Shadows
Chapter 17: Closing In
Chapter 18: The End of the Storm
Epilogue: One Year Later
Conclusion
Author’s Note
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About the Author
Chapter 1: Harper’s World
Harper Lawson stood in front of her ring light, adjusting the angle until it bathed her in the warm glow she preferred. Behind her, the carefully curated background reflected her personality—bold, unapologetic, and vibrant. Shelves stacked with books on body positivity, fashion, and self-empowerment, mixed with splashes of color from eclectic artwork and scattered plants. Everything in her space was intentional, just like her message.
She glanced at her phone, checking the video she had just posted. Her heart raced a little as she skimmed the comments pouring in—most of them positive, encouraging, just as she expected from her loyal followers. But then there were the others. The cruel ones. They always slithered in, didn’t they?
“Chubby and delusional. No one cares about your opinion.”
“You should focus on losing weight instead of pretending to be a model.”
Harper swallowed hard, her smile slipping for just a second. She had grown accustomed to the trolls, but some days, their words still stung. It wasn’t that she believed them—she didn’t. But it was tiring. Fighting every day just to be seen, to be accepted in a world that constantly tried to shrink her. The online hate came with the territory. Usually, she could shake it off, but today’s video had felt personal.
She clicked away from the toxic comments and looked back at the one that had started it all. The video she had posted just this morning was a direct call-out to Calista Fashion, a brand that had recently launched a so-called inclusive line but still hadn’t expanded its sizes beyond a 16. Harper had posted her thoughts on the hypocrisy of it all. She spoke for millions of women who were tired of being ignored, dismissed, and treated as though they didn’t deserve to look and feel good in their own skin.
And now, the backlash was rolling in.
“Whatever,” she muttered to herself. “This isn’t new.”
She straightened her shoulders, flicked her curly hair back, and hit the record button on her camera.
“Hey, loves! Harper here. Thank you so much for the support on today’s video. I know it’s a sensitive topic, but we can’t let these brands get away with pretending to care about size inclusivity when their actions show otherwise. As always, I appreciate your comments—good and bad. Let’s keep the conversation going. Don’t forget, your worth is never defined by a clothing label. I love you all. Talk soon!”
She stopped recording and sighed. That should do it for today. Harper leaned back in her chair, glancing at her inbox where her manager, Maya, had already forwarded some interview requests. The media loved a good controversy, and Harper had no problem giving them her honest opinion. She smiled, imagining the response her interview would stir up. It wasn’t just about clothes for her—it was about changing a culture.
Her phone buzzed on the desk. A notification from Instagram. She picked it up, expecting more of the usual trolling. But the message wasn’t from a random account.
It was from someone she didn’t recognize—@TruthHurts01.
“You shouldn’t have done that. Watch your back, fat bitch.”
Her breath hitched. The cruelty of the comment wasn’t unusual, but something about the directness felt... different. More sinister. Harper’s stomach twisted. She put the phone down, trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling in her chest. It was just another troll. They loved hiding behind anonymity to spew hate.
But then it came again. Another notification.
“You won’t be so brave when we find you.”
Harper stared at the screen, her heart now thumping in her ears. This wasn’t the usual level of hate. This was personal. Targeted.
She swallowed hard and locked her phone, pushing it aside as though distance could dull the sharp edge of fear that had just pierced through her. She tried to laugh it off. She had gotten nasty messages before, so what was different now?
“Harper, stop freaking out,” she told herself aloud, getting up from her desk and pacing the room. “This is nothing.”
Still, her hands shook as she reached for her water bottle. She forced herself to drink, to breathe. When her phone buzzed again, she flinched but refused to check it.
A knock on the door broke her out of the spiral.
“Come in!” she called, her voice shakier than she intended.
Liz, her best friend and assistant, poked her head in, her bright red hair a stark contrast to the soft pastels of the room. “Hey, just checking in. You okay?”
Harper hesitated. Should she tell Liz about the messages? She hated being a burden. Liz already had enough on her plate, managing Harper’s day-to-day and her life outside of the influencer world. And besides, what was Liz supposed to do about it? This was just part of the job. The ugly side.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just... internet trolls being trolls,” Harper said with a weak smile, waving it off.
Liz wasn’t buying it. “Uh-huh. That’s your ‘I’m pretending it’s fine but it’s really not’ face. Spill.”
Harper sighed, knowing Liz wouldn’t let it go. “It’s just... I’ve been getting some weird messages. A little more threatening than usual.”
Liz’s expression shifted immediately from curiosity to concern. “Like how threatening?”
“I don’t know. Probably nothing. Just the usual ‘watch your back, I know where you live’ stuff. But it’s weird, right?”
Liz’s eyes widened, her voice sharp. “Harper, that’s not just weird. That’s serious. Have you told anyone?”
“Who would I tell? It’s not like I can call the cops over a few nasty DMs.”
“No, but you can get some actual protection. This is crossing a line.”
Harper rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. I don’t need a bodyguard or anything. It’s just internet trolls being dramatic.”
“Harper,” Liz said firmly, “you’re not invincible. These aren’t just random insults. If someone’s threatening you personally, you need to take it seriously.”
Harper looked at Liz’s worried face and sighed again. Maybe she had been brushing this off too quickly. She had a lot of followers, and there was no telling who was on the other end of those messages. What if it wasn’t just a troll? The thought chilled her.
“I don’t know, Liz. I don’t want to seem like I’m overreacting.”
“You’re not overreacting,” Liz insisted. “You’re protecting yourself. Let me make a call. I know someone who works for a security firm. Let’s at least get some advice.”
Harper hesitated but eventually nodded. “Okay. But just advice, alright? I’m not hiring some burly dude to follow me around all day.”
Liz smirked. “We’ll see.”
As Liz left the room to make the call, Harper sat back down, her eyes drifting to her phone again. She unlocked it, her pulse quickening as she saw another notification from the same account.
“We’re watching you.”
Her hand trembled as she put the phone down again, harder this time, and stared at it. Suddenly, the idea of a bodyguard didn’t seem so ridiculous after all.
Chapter 2: Enter Damien
The rhythmic thud of fists hitting the heavy bag was the only sound in the otherwise silent gym. Each punch landed with surgical precision, the steady beat echoing through the air. Damien Hale’s bare chest glistened with sweat, his muscles rippling as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his focus unwavering. Every strike was deliberate, controlled, and exact. It was a dance he had perfected over years of training, a way to silence the noise that constantly hummed in the back of his mind.
With one last, brutal uppercut, he let the bag swing, his breath coming in controlled bursts. Damien wiped his brow with the back of his hand, feeling the familiar burn in his muscles. But the physical exhaustion was never enough to quiet the restlessness inside him. The workouts kept him sharp, gave him something to focus on—something other than the memories that still haunted him.
He pulled off his gloves and grabbed a towel, draping it around his neck as he headed toward the weight rack. As he reached for a dumbbell, the sound of approaching footsteps made him pause. Damien did
“Still trying to beat the bag into submission, huh?” Simon Grant’s voice was casual, but there was a knowing edge to it.
Damien glanced over at his boss, who stood at the edge of the gym, arms crossed over his chest. Simon had been Damien’s superior for years, first in the military and now at the private security firm they both worked for. He was one of the few people Damien respected—someone who understood the burden of leadership and the weight of responsibility.
“Just keeping sharp,” Damien replied, setting the dumbbell back on the rack. “What’s up?”
Simon stepped closer, his expression shifting from casual to serious. “Got something new for you. High-profile client. Bit of a unique situation.”
Damien raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. Most of his assignments were high-profile, but Simon’s tone suggested this one was different. “Who’s the client?”
Simon handed him a thin manila folder, and Damien flipped it open. The name on the top of the file was unfamiliar—Harper Lawson. As he skimmed through the pages, his eyes narrowed slightly. She wasn’t a politician or a CEO, like many of his previous clients. She was an influencer, someone who had built a massive online following through social media. According to the file, Harper was a body positivity advocate, known for calling out brands and promoting self-love.
Damien scanned the rest of the information, noting the growing list of threats Harper had received. It wasn’t uncommon for public figures to attract attention, both good and bad, but the nature of these threats had escalated quickly. They weren’t just online insults anymore. They were targeted, specific, and violent.
“She’s been making waves recently,” Simon said, leaning against the wall. “Called out a big fashion brand for their lack of size inclusivity. Ever since, she’s been getting some nasty threats. Most of it is the usual online garbage, but her team thinks it’s starting to cross a line. They’re worried.”
Damien flipped through the additional details: screenshots of the threatening messages, social media posts filled with vitriol, and even a few photos that had been taken outside Harper’s home. That last part made him pause.
“They know where she lives,” Damien said flatly.
Simon nodded, his expression grim. “Yeah. That’s why her assistant called us. She didn’t want to go to the police yet—wants to keep things quiet, probably to avoid a media frenzy. But these threats... they’re not just noise anymore.”
Damien closed the folder, his mind already shifting into mission mode. Protecting public figures was nothing new for him, but this situation had its own complications. Influencers lived their lives online, constantly in the public eye. That meant there would be no hiding Harper away, no easy solution. She would need round-the-clock protection, and from the notes in the file, it seemed like she wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea.
“What’s the plan?” Damien asked, his voice steady.
“You’ll be her personal bodyguard,” Simon said. “Full-time, 24/7 coverage. You’ll stay close, handle security for any events she attends, and make sure she’s safe in her home. The usual protocols apply, but there’s one catch—Harper isn’t exactly on board with the idea of having someone around.”
Damien smirked slightly. “I’ll win her over.”
Simon gave a short laugh. “Yeah, we’ll see. She’s used to being in control, and she’s not keen on giving that up. You’ll need to be firm but flexible. Her image is important to her, so you’ll have to find a balance between protecting her and giving her enough space to do her thing.”
Damien nodded, already processing the information. He was used to dealing with difficult clients—people who didn’t understand the severity of the threats they faced until it was too late. But no matter how tough Harper thought she was, it was clear she was in danger. He’d seen enough cases like this to know when a threat had crossed the line from online harassment to something more sinister.
“When do I start?” Damien asked, his voice calm but with a sharpness that suggested he was ready to move.
“Now,” Simon said, handing him a set of keys. “Her assistant, Liz, is expecting you. Harper’s not, but I’ll leave it to you to break the news.”
Damien slipped the keys into his pocket and grabbed his jacket, his mind already focused on the task ahead. Simon watched him for a moment, his expression unreadable.
“And Damien,” Simon added, his tone softer now, “I know you like to keep things professional, but be careful with this one. She’s not just another client. She’s... different.”
Damien gave a single nod, his face betraying nothing. “Understood.”
Simon watched as Damien headed toward the door, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes. He knew Damien’s past, the emotional walls he had built to keep himself from getting too close to anyone. This assignment, though—there was something about Harper Lawson that felt different. And Simon wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
* * *
The drive to Harper’s house was quick, but Damien used the time to review her file again. Her life was so different from his, yet the threats she faced were all too familiar. Fame had its price, and Harper was paying for it. The deeper he delved into the details, the more serious the situation seemed. The photos taken outside her home were the biggest red flag. Whoever was behind this was escalating—and fast.
When he arrived at Harper’s neighborhood, he took a moment to assess the surroundings. It was a quiet, upscale area—exactly the kind of place someone like her would live. The house itself was modern, with clean lines and large windows, but the tall fence surrounding the property was the only sign that security had been a consideration. Not enough, Damien thought.
He pulled up to the curb, taking note of the other houses nearby, the flow of traffic, and potential blind spots. It was second nature to him—scanning for threats, analyzing escape routes. As he got out of his black SUV, his senses were already on high alert.
Damien walked up the front steps and rang the doorbell. It was a moment before the door opened, revealing a woman with bright red hair and an energetic smile. Liz, Harper’s assistant, didn’t bother to hide her once-over of Damien’s appearance.
“Well, they weren’t kidding about sending the best,” she said, her eyes wide with what appeared to be approval. “You must be Damien.”
“Damien Hale,” he said, extending his hand.
Liz shook it and gestured for him to come inside. “I’m Liz, Harper’s right-hand woman. You’ll mostly be dealing with me, but... good luck with Harper. She’s not exactly thrilled about this whole ‘bodyguard’ thing.”
Damien followed Liz into the house, immediately taking in his surroundings. The space was light and airy, with pops of color from bold artwork on the walls and stylish furniture that looked more for aesthetic than comfort. It was exactly what he expected from someone in the public eye. Every detail was designed to make a statement.
“She’s in the living room,” Liz said, pointing toward the open space at the back of the house. “I’ll let you introduce yourself. Just... be prepared. She’s a bit stubborn.”
Damien didn’t respond, but he braced himself for the confrontation. He’d dealt with difficult clients before, but he had a feeling Harper would be more than just difficult.
He walked into the living room, and there she was. Harper Lawson, standing by the large floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the backyard. The woman from the photos didn’t do justice to the presence she commanded in real life. She was tall, with an athletic build that was balanced by her curves, and her hair cascaded in dark, glossy curls down her back. She wore a fitted dress that showcased her body, bold and unapologetic, as if daring anyone to criticize her for it.
When she turned to face him, their eyes met, and for a brief moment, Damien was caught off guard. Harper was nothing like the pampered, overly confident influencers he had expected. Her eyes held both warmth and defiance, and beneath the surface, he sensed something deeper—an intensity that made him realize this wouldn’t be an easy assignment.
“So,” Harper said, crossing her arms over her chest, “you’re the guy they sent to babysit me?”
