Passenger Princess: A Grumpy Sunshine Bodyguard Pageant Queen Romance (Evergreen Park Book 1)

The fan meet and greet was fun for the first two hours, but I’m ready to have the spotlight off me.

I’m smiling so much my jaw is starting to get tired, but when I look at the clock above the door, we’ve only got about five more minutes before we’ll be out and headed to dinner, where I can eat, and then sneak out quietly and head back to the hotel for the night.

‘Big fan, Ava,’ a man says after a group of young girls walks off, giggling. He puts his hand out to shake, and I accept it with my gracious pageant smile plastered across my face, but it slips just a bit when he uses the handshake to tug me into him, forcing me into a hug. His cheap cologne envelopes me, and when I step back, it clings to me. I don’t say no to hugs since I usually don’t mind it, especially with young fans, but now I’m contemplating adding it to the rules.

In this moment, when my eyes drift to the corner Jaime was going to stand in, I regret not pushing Regina to let me keep him at my side.

This man makes me feel uneasy.

‘You’re gorgeous, which you know, of course. I’d love to take you out tonight and help you get a more intimate feel for the city of Augusta.‘

Absolutely the fuck not.

I give him a kind but closed-lip smile, the type women give just to appease creeps, and shake my head. ‘Unfortunately, I’ve got so much going on, I don’t have time for anything else. Thank you so much for the offer, though,’ I say apologetically. The door to the room closes, indicating that this man and the three groups behind him are the last of the meet and greet.

He reaches into his pocket, grabs his wallet, and pulls out a card. ‘My number, in case you change your mind.’ He hands it to me with a wink, and I grab it with as small of a smile as I can manage with the cameras still on me before setting it on the small table next to me we used for holding the small gifts or letters people have given me or signing things.

I shift back to the creep, facing the assistant who is holding his phone, and turn for a photo. As I do, his hand moves behind me, landing on my lower back, and even though I want to tell him to fuck off, I grin and bear it, ready to do whatever it takes for his turn to be done. Cameras click all around as I smile, tilting my head a bit, and then it happens.

His hand moves down and then out, and he slaps my ass.

It’s not hard, the angle strange, but he does it all the same, and I step back, shocked. I don’t register anything other than the wide, proud grin on his lips.

‘Did you just slap my ass?’ I ask, still in shock. The side door opens and closes as I do, but I don’t move my gaze, continuing to stare at this man.

‘Oh, come on, it was just a love tap,’ he says with a chuckle and that same self-satisfied dude-bro look on his face.

‘A love tap? A love tap?’

‘Don’t make it a bigger deal than it was,’ he says, hands raised in that way asshole men do when they feel like a woman is overreacting.

He wants overreacting? I’ll give it to him.

I pull my hand back and slap him across his cheek, staggering a bit as I do, my heels putting off my center of gravity.

‘What the fuc—’ he says, then stops when someone comes behind him, grabbing his arms and pinning them behind him. I barely even registered that the man had started to lift his hand to strike me.

And holding him back is Jaime.

I don’t even know when he came back or when he walked into the room, but for the first time in a long time, I feel safe.Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

Relieved.

Jaime’s eyes are on mine as he holds the man’s arms back behind his back with ease, regardless of how much he fights, jerking against the hold.

‘What the fuck, man?’ the man spews.

And in that flash of time, I see it all. Regret and fear and anger in his eyes, and I know—I know—it’s my fault for insisting he go with Anne just so I make less waves. None of this would have happened if I’d just listened to him and let him insist on not going with her.

Right on its heels, another thought knocks through me, reminding me it’s not my fault. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wouldn’t have happened if this fuckwad knew boundaries.

It’s this asshole’s fault.

With that thought, my hand pulls back, and I slap the man across his face. Again.

‘How do you like it, huh? A little love tap?’ I ask, slapping him again as Jaime holds him back, adrenaline rushing through my veins as I do. ‘Not so fun, is it? A love tap, my ass!’

I don’t let myself wonder what would have happened if Jaime wasn’t here and didn’t grab him when he did. Instead, I meet Jaime’s eyes as he shifts the man out of my striking range, and somehow, I settle myself, coming back to reality.

‘Ava! Ava!’ reporters call, and my skin heats, the adrenaline coming down as I realize what just happened: I slapped a man, and every moment was caught on camera.

This is going to be everywhere in ten minutes, max.

‘Ava! How does this reflect on the Miss Americana organization?’ a reporter from the American Star I’ve seen a few times asks.

‘What?’ I ask, stilling. I look over my shoulder as Jaime hands over the douche who smacked my ass to the hotel’s security.

‘The Miss Americana pageant. How do you think this reflects on them, considering you’re here on their behalf? You assaulted a man repeatedly.’ Preston Smith, I remember what the reporter’s name is. He’s fond of writing disapproving and speculative articles about me.

Lovely.

For a split second, panic fills me. Does this break my contract? I remember there being a line about being the spokesperson for the pageant and how my actions reflect upon them and being liable for damages if my actions reflect poorly on them.

And then I remember I don’t fucking care.

If defending myself after someone assaults me reflects poorly on them in their eyes, they can fuck themselves.

That’s one time I’d be willing to lose the crown to Anne for sticking up for myself.

So I straighten my shoulders and look at one of the cameras dead on.

‘I slapped a man back after he, a complete stranger, slapped my ass without my permission.’ I smile sweetly at the reporter, putting my curated pageant girl in place, the real version that won me the social vote and, ultimately, the pageant. ‘Payback’s a bitch, you know?’

‘I just mean, the ideal for the Miss Americana contestants are docile caretakers, not someone who seeks retribution and violence. As you know, young girls are watching your every move. You’ve become a role model.’

My head moves back as if the reporter slapped me. In my peripheral vision, Jaime’s head snaps up as well, not because he’s shocked by the question like I am, but because he knows. We might not have been working together that long, but he already knows me well enough to know that question is going to piss me off.

‘You’re right. Girls are watching; they’re watching women in the spotlight and using what they see to shape how they believe they deserve to be treated and how they should act at any given moment. They’re watching how we do or don’t stand up for ourselves when assholes like that—’ I jab my finger in the direction of where the man was. ‘Take advantage of us. And I hope they’re taking notes on how they must stand up for themselves. When I was growing up, much of the media I saw told me to grin and bear it, to let it happen because, chances are, that woman did something to deserve it. She didn’t dress right, or she said the wrong thing or encouraged some entitled man. But that’s fucked. Why should I live my life any differently simply because men exist?’ My chest is heaving now, and everyone around me is silent. ‘So yeah. I hope girls are watching. And you can take that quote and twist it however you want, but when I say it, I mean I hope girls are watching women stand up for themselves, and I hope they are taking notes. That’s what the real Miss Americana should be, and that’s the Miss Americana I’m going to be.’

Finally, I’m out of words—or, at least, I’m out of words and bravado—and I’m staring at the small crowd of fans and reporters when it happens.

I hear a single set of claps from my left, where Miss Georgia is standing, a wide smile on her lips. I smile back, and more claps start from another woman I don’t know but recognize as a popular social media influencer. Her phone is up as if she’s been recording my entire tirade.

God.

I totally am fucking this whole thing up.

More claps start around the room, fifteen or twenty people here to witness everything, then some cheering. I start to panic because what am I supposed to do with this? Encourage it? Try some form of damage control. I’m not completely sure.

Of course, he sees it. Jaime sees the panic taking over.

‘All right, shows over,’ Jaime says, voice booming through the small room. ‘Everyone out.’

‘There’s still—’ the PR manager squeaks out.

‘No, there’s not. Ava will sign some things for whoever we didn’t get to, but we have a police report to file, and Ava needs to rest after all of this.’ I blink at Jaime, whose face is as hard as stone, something the reporters definitely see because, without any argument, they start to leak out. And I’m grateful because adrenaline is suddenly gone from my veins, leaving an uneasy panic in its wake.

‘Come on, Princess,’ Jaime says a few moments later, his arm going to my waist and guiding me towards a chair. ‘Let’s get you in a seat.’

‘I’ve got it, big guy,’ I say, fighting his arm around my waist. ‘I can walk, and I won’t run off to go slap another asshole who absolutely deserves it.’

‘I know. Trust me, I know. You’re a tough, capable woman. But please, give me this.’

I don’t have it in me to argue, not with Jaime, so I just let him lead me to the chair, sit me down, and manage the rest of the evening with gratitude.