1.3 Vivienne

The barista, a freckle-faced teenager with curly brown hair and olive skin, fumbled to raise his head from the mobile badly hidden behind the register when Vivienne made it to the front. Painting on a patented magazine smile, she greeted him politely, “Hi, could I get a black coffee for here? Medium, please.”

“Um…” Dark blue eyes went wide behind the round frames of his glasses. The phone slipped out of his hands and clattered very loudly on the ground.

Experience allowed her to maintain her grace, though his behaviour confused her. It would be easy to call him starstruck, but Vivienne wasn’t a star. Depeche Mode had been the highest point of her career in terms of attention, but it had been a relatively small role in mid-tier N*****x series. No one stopped her in the street to ask for autographs, and baristas definitely didn’t get tongue-tied in front of her. This kid had definitely recognized her, but probably not for the reason other people normally would.

Just as she was about to clear her throat and ask again, the boy’s spine snapped straight and he nodded quickly. “I am so sorry! That was so unprofessional of me,” he quickly grabbed one of the medium mugs. “I’ll get your order done right away.”

“No worries. Thank you,” Vivienne let her smile shrink to something more genuine and began rooting through her purse for her wallet. She always kept some paper bills tucked away for emergencies. “How much do I owe you?”

The teenager shook his head frantically, palms raised to ward her off. “Nothing!” He yelped. “Absolutely nothing. All your drinks are on the house here.”

Vivienne chuckled, mood lifting at such a small yet perplexing act of kindness. “Interesting business strategy you’ve got here,” she joked as she watched the barista handle the percolator. While his back was turned, she quickly tucked the money into the sticker-covered tip jar labelled Julian. “Do you regularly offer free cups of coffee to everyone who walks in here?”

Julian barked out a laugh, the sound muffled by the low buzz of the coffee grinder “No, but the owner of the place is a big fan of you,” he revealed. “When he hired me, he said that, if you ever walked in here, you got whatever you wanted free of charge. Even if you wanted to rip the paintings off the walls and walk out with them.”

Vivienne smothered a laugh into her fist and shot a glance at the framed art on the wall. They were pretty, all bright colours that gave off the nostalgic aura of warm summers spent on an island coast. Liam would absolutely hate them. “Your boss must be a funny guy,” she noted.

“Oh, he isn’t,” Julian refuted immediately, so fast that Vivienne couldn’t hide her mirth. The teenager turned around and pushed the steaming mug towards her with a conspiratorial smirk. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him crack a smile, aside from when a new horror flick drops. When Broken Skies was streaming, he wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks. I think he just has a massive crush on you.”

One of the other inhabitants – a lithe lady with thick braids and skin a few shades darker than Vivienne’s – raised her head to shoot the barista a grin. The café was small, but neither of them had been raising their voices, yet she had still managed to hear what they were saying. “Hush up Julian! You are going to get fired for spilling your boss’s secrets all over the place,” she warned.

Ah. Vivienne’s shoulders stiffened, and she quickly accepted the coffee. “Well, be sure to thank him for me, alright? And thank you for the drink.”

With that, she quickly hurried over to one of the smaller tables on the far side of the café, far away from Julian and the two others. She didn’t want to deal with anyone’s feelings. Not when she couldn’t even deal with her own. At least the coffee was delicious. Vivienne had expected to be hit by the taste of bitter tar and nothing else, but instead there were notes of dark chocolate, cinnamon, and hazelnuts. Next time she had to ask what kind of coffee beans Julian had used.

It was a nice treat, Vivienne decided. Even if she returned home and Liam beat her black and blue, at least this had been nice. Closing her eyes, she took another sip to savour it. Distantly she heard the gentle chime of the front door, something she would have ignored if not for the sound of someone settling into the chair across from her. The café had been quiet already, but now it was completely silent, save for the pleasant ambient music pouring from the speakers and soft whir of machinery.

Not wanting to be bothered, Vivienne suppressed a grimace and opened her eyes to see who it was, and nearly choked on her drink.

The man seated across from her was handsome. Stupidly so. The kind of handsome that turned heads, and made people crash into traffic lights in cartoons. In addition to that, he was big. The layers of the jacket that he wore did nothing to hide the burly physique straining underneath the material. Vivienne had met plenty of muscular men in her life, and none had made her breath catch the way this man did. There was something about him, an aura of confident maturity that Vivienne couldn’t help but find oddly familiar and be drawn to.

Perhaps it had to do with his age. How old was he? Vivienne had only just celebrated her 21^st birthday that year, and this man had to be at least ten years older than she was, maybe more. Cropped brown hair drew attention to stunning hazel green eyes tinted with hues of gold, and the sharpness of his jaw was accentuated by the neatly trimmed beard dotted with specks of grey. The look that he levelled at her from across the table was similarly sharp, and intensely fixated on her in a way that sent frissons of heat sparking over her skin. Vivienne found herself gripping her mug tighter, wondering if she could use it as a weapon. The contents had cooled to a comfortably drinkable temperature, but a face-full of ceramic and a quarter cup of black coffee probably wouldn’t feel good.

She waited for him to say something, and then kept waiting for several more seconds when nothing was forthcoming. Finally, Vivienne narrowed her eyes into an equally piercing glare and spoke up. “Can I help you?”

A brow tilted questioningly, and finally he spoke. “Vivienne Payne?” The man rumbled.

“Speaking,” she replied instinctively, and then winced. It had been a while since anyone had used her maiden name.

“Mr. Hardison hired me as your personal bodyguard for the foreseeable future,” he informed her in a matter-of-fact tone. “Starting today, I’ll be protecting you.”

“Excuse me?!” Vivienne was in danger of crushing the ceramic mug between her palms and had to put her hands flat on the table lest she send shards flying into both of their faces. There it was again, that trademark Liam Hardison Efficiency. It had barely been an hour! “A personal bodyguard? What the hell do I need that for? Did something happen?” Then she recalled Liam’s strange behaviour in the office, and her heart leapt to her throat. Had something happened to Liam?

Did she care?

The man’s lips twisted slightly. “Your…husband would be better able to explain everything to you, but we shouldn’t be out in the open. I was informed that you would be home. Would you like me to take you there?”

His voice was rough, gravely, and low. Vivienne had never gotten the appeal of ASMR, finding the roleplay uncomfortable and the mouth sounds off-putting, but his voice gave her pause. Every gruff word settled at the back of her neck, like fingers gently dragging their way up the nerves running beneath her skin.

There was a chance that he could be lying, and this was all an elaborate setup by some bored paparazzi who needed to fill a camera reel, but the man didn’t look like one of those vultures. His eyes were clear and honest, and Vivienne wanted to believe him in spite of her reservations. However, “I don’t even know your name.”

He blinked, caught on the backfoot, and then nodded curtly. “My apologies. My name is Marcus Riviera,” he introduced himself, even pulling out a driver’s ID from his wallet as proof. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Well, at least he isn’t lying about his identity, Vivienne hummed to herself. This could still all be a trap, but there was also the possibility that he was telling the truth. In which case, “fine. It’s still raining out there, and I could do with a lift home.”

Marcus Riviera stood up, and Vivienne followed suit. Chugging the last of her drink, she trailed the man out the door. The rainfall showed no sign of abating anytime soon, and she was surprised when Marcus stopped her under the awning shelter.

“One moment please,” he said, and rushed over to a sleek but nondescript black car parked nearby, uncaring of the raindrops that hit him. There was the familiar beep of the doors being unlocked, and then he returned with a sturdy grey umbrella which he held over her head to protect her from the weather. “Mind your step, please.”

“I know how to walk,” Vivienne muttered, cheeks flushing at their sudden proximity. He was so close that she could feel the heat pouring off his body and smell the subtle, masculine scent of his cologne. Ostensibly the nearness was so that they could share the umbrella, but at this point Vivienne was half tempted to brave the torrent than risk embarrassing herself like this. For goodness’ sake, the heels she was wearing were almost four-inches tall, and yet he managed to dwarf her completely. The top of her head just barely eked over his broad shoulders, and when she peeked at him from the corner of her eyes the actress caught her new so-called bodyguard staring at her just as blatantly as before.

She put a few inches between their arms, only for a gloved hand to curve around her waist and yank her right back against his side.

“Hey!”

“Careful,” Marcus murmured, just as a car came careening down the slippery asphalt and sending a wave of muddy water splattering the ground where Vivienne had just been standing.

Too close! Vivienne inhaled deeply to catch her breath, and immediately regretted it. Marcus’s arm dropped from her waist, returning to a more professionally polite position at his side, and Vivienne tried not to feel disappointed by that.

“Thank you,” she replied quietly, and received nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement.

Everything was worse inside the car. If standing next to Marcus had been difficult, being inside of his car was even more complicated. A thick bicep swung over the headrest of Vivienne’s seat, stretching the leather jacket tight over his torso. The rainfall had soaked through the shirt underneath, causing the fabric to stick to Marcus’s chest, outlining the deep grooves carved into his abdomen. Vivienne pressed her thighs together and tried to distract herself with the dreary view outside the window.

Get it together! She visualized an extra hand with which to slap herself with. You are married! You cannot go lusting over other men, no matter how attractive they are!

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Marcus’s low voice cut through the awkward silence. “How long have you and Mr. Hardison been married?”

“Just over three years,” Vivienne replied curtly. That wasn’t exactly classified information, though the circumstances surrounding it were a source of shame for her now. Marcus muttered something harshly under his breath, and Vivienne focused back on the reason for all of this. “Is Liam in danger?”

“Your husband is not my concern,” Marcus replied bluntly. “My job is to care for you, and nothing more.”

“That tells me nothing,” Vivienne scowled, cheeks flushing red. She shook her head to dispel the colour. “Were we threatened? Liam received a letter earlier and he started acting strangely. Do you know what happened?”

Marcus pressed his unfairly full lips together, unwilling to talk more. Then he softened and answered, “I do not know the specifics, but from what I was told it seems your husband was sent a letter pertaining to your safety. I’m sorry, that’s all I know at the moment. I’m sure we will receive more information once we meet up with him.”

It was equal parts comforting and worrying, and Vivienne spent the rest of the drive oscillating between the two until finally Marcus’s car pulled in front of a large mansion. Liam’s car was already parked in the garage, and Vivienne’s throat closed in fear. He was home already. He was home and she wasn’t. How could she have been so stupid? Liam was going to be so angry! He was going to destroy her, and her family, all these years of suffering would be for nothing and, and, and–!

Rough hands landed on top of her own, enfolding her fingers so utterly and warming her up from that single point of contact. Marcus squeezed gently. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

You’re employed by the very man I’m terrified of! Vivienne wanted to cry, but though that knowledge existed, the stress slowly began to seep out of her body. She nodded shakily, and let Marcus open the door and lead her up to the front door.