Diva (Ironclad Bodyguards Book 2) by Annabel Joseph, Molly Joseph Page A

the adulterated drugs.”
    Liam was in a suit like them, but he didn’t have gray hair, and he wasn’t an asshole. Unlike the other suits, he’d actually visited Lola’s hospital bed and gazed down at her sleeping figure with true concern in his eyes.
    As for Greg, he was gone. The manager’s firing had been the first order of business. The rest of the “team” was huddled in a lounge down the hall from Lola’s hospital room.
    The taller man, Fuckhead, frowned down at the paperwork in front of him. “You must understand our concern. We hired Mr. Gutierrez because you said he was the best. We hired him to keep our performer sober.”
    “You also hired Greg Plume,” countered Liam. “If not for Mr. Gutierrez’s presence—and his sobriety—Lola might have died last night.”
    Ransom suppressed a shudder. It had been so close. He’d seen death in her heaving chest and pained features. Her pulse had raced into the mid 200s. If she’d gone into cardiac arrest, he wasn’t sure they would have been able to bring her back.
    He’d paced outside her room for the last twelve hours, unable to sleep, unable to regroup. The MadDance jerkoffs had filed a complaint with Ironclad, and the CEO had flown in from London to assist him with the situation. Ransom was both horrified and relieved when Liam showed up. He was horrified because Liam Wilder was the big fucking boss, and he was here to clean up Ransom’s mess. He was relieved because he couldn’t have dealt with these assholes himself.
    “Do you deny that my agent saved Lola’s life last night?” asked Liam.
    Fuckhead and Asshole exchanged a look. “He may have saved her life, but we’re not impressed with his ability to keep her sober.”
    “I left her with the manager,” Ransom said. That was his mistake, one that would haunt him.
    “Mr. Gutierrez is one of the top agents in the world for this type of protection,” Liam said to the gray-hairs. “I’d consider long and hard before I replaced him with someone else. I don’t have anyone better.”
    And Ironclad was the best security company on the planet. The math added up, but Ransom had failed. Why? Because Lola was a reckless, brainless brat? Or because he’d been distracted by an unprofessional fascination with his client? That was the root of his mental anguish. From the moment he’d seen her twerking on top of that sound console in Brussels, he’d entertained inappropriate thoughts.
    He’d fantasized about what it might be like to grasp that ass in his hands and fuck her. He wanted to throw Lola Reynolds down and go feral on her body, client or not. He never got emotional or physical with clients, but he’d gotten flustered—and hard—when she climbed all over him yesterday, and not noticed her medical crisis until it was almost too late.
    He looked up at the expectant pause in the conversation. They’d asked him something. His mind was a million miles away, or just down the hall, where Lola slept. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long night. Can you repeat what you just said?”
    “How confident are you in your ability to keep our client safe from this point forward?” asked Liam.
    “With a sober tour manager? Very confident.” He cracked his knuckles under the table. “From now on, I won’t let her out of my sight.”
    Mr. Asshole piped up. “You must understand how essential it is for Lady Paradise to complete the entire tour.”
    “I get it,” said Ransom. “She’s the money. Her name is Lola, by the way.”
    Mr. Asshole scowled. “Do you have any idea how much we’ve invested in her?”
    “Probably way less than you’ve made.”
    Liam nudged his leg under the table. Ransom mashed his lips shut.
    “At the end of the day, this is business,” said Mr. Fuckhead, being fuck-all honest about their mercenary interests. “There’s no one popular enough to replace Lady Paradise if she can’t perform. Without her, the monetary loss would trickle down not just to us but to all the