Booty Call (Forbidden Bodyguards Book 2)

By: Ainsley Booth

part one





Happy birthday to me.

I’m supposed to be having an epic shop-a-thon with my sister in SoHo, but now we're stuck at the Apple store because Hailey needs someone to fix her phone. Her fiancé Cole will have a fit if she’s off the grid.

God forbid. It’s not like she isn’t being shadowed everywhere by her bodyguard—big, brooding Scott Mayfair, of the dark, dirty looks and annoyingly consistent hands-off-Alison attitude—for our “girls weekend”. But her phone stopped working at lunch, so now Hailey’s waiting for a so-called genius to help her fix it.


I’m going to take advantage of the fact that Scott can’t leave Hailey’s side and go buy myself a present.

“I’m just heading around the corner,” I murmur to my sister. She knows where I’m going. Every time we come to the city, I visit the Mercer Street Agent Provocateur. It’s become my little ritual.

Alison Dashford Reid, all grown up and secretly wearing something naughty beneath her studious university student uniform of yoga pants and hoodies. Although that’s not what I’m wearing today—while it works for Washington…New York City, not so much. Not at the level that Hailey and I are playing this weekend.

I’ve got my Jimmy Choo fuck-me boots zipped over my skinny Sevens, and a wool jacket over a silk camisole, because it’s February and there’s only so much cold my nipples can take in the name of fashion.

I sling the skinny strap of my purse across my body and join the flow of Saturday afternoon shoppers. New York is unlike any other city in the world, and SoHo might be my favorite neighborhood in my favorite city. Narrow shops and cobblestone streets. It brings out the girly-girl in me, and I indulge that lucky bitch with pretty underwear.

Inside, Agent Provocateur is glossy black lacquer and sparkling crystal chandeliers. A sea of silk and lace. Black ribbons and satin cups. It oozes feminine power and celebrates all things sexy.

My private collection of lingerie is one step in the direction of claiming more of that attitude for myself.

One day soon, I’m going to be this woman.

I sigh. Maybe not soon. I have to keep my head down until I’m done school and can leave Washington. Leave the toxic world of my parents behind and just be myself.

Be Alison, girl with silk panties. Girl with an easy, breezy attitude toward sex and men and life.

“Can I help you?” A smiling salesgirl approaches, and I’m glad I dressed up. I look the part of the rich socialite, and all afternoon I’ve been getting that treatment. Not normally something I care about one way or the other—and if pushed, I lean toward other. Because seriously, being rich just gives people the excuse to be depraved fucks.

And then have children, and ruin their lives with the depravity.

I shudder inside.

But on the outside, I just smile at the salesgirl. “I’m going to look around a bit. First time in a while since I’ve been in the store.”

First time since all the weird shit went down with my sister last year. Now I can’t just get on the train and come to New York for the weekend. Now when I suggest a girls’ trip, it’s a full-on thing, complete with Scott tagging along if Cole is busy.

We made that mistake once in the fall. Ugh. Totally un-fun, although it did beat a totally awkward family Thanksgiving.

This trip wasn’t my idea, even though it’s my birthday weekend. But Hailey’s got a gleam in her eye about a wedding dress, which means Cole’s finally won their non-stop battle over whether or not to get married.

Well, not that there’s a battle over getting married. Just a battle over the actual “getting hitched” moment. As in, Hailey doesn’t want a wedding. Not one our mother can ruin.

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