Chapter 246 - The man makes the suit.

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Ethan turned his head toward her. Taylor was wearing comfortable clothes, and her hair was slightly disheveled. Although she was trying to appear calm, the exhaustion was evident in her eyes.

—Your perfume —he replied casually.

She regarded him suspiciously. The floor was covered by a thick carpet, and she had approached as carefully as possible, barely making a sound. Even so, Ethan had known she was coming before she uttered a single word.

Taylor walked around the sofa and sat at the opposite end, crossing her legs.

Ethan picked up the bottle of bourbon from the table.

—After everything that happened to you today, would you like a drink?

—Yes, thank you.

As Ethan poured the whiskey, Taylor picked up a cushion and held it against her chest. She then turned her attention to the television, where reporters continued discussing her, her concert, and the crowd beginning to gather at Soldier Field.

Her expression grew distant.

After everything that had happened throughout the day, she knew perfectly well that she would not be able to sleep. She had tried to remain alone in her room, but whenever the lights went out and everything fell silent, her mind returned to the explosion.

That was why she had eventually left the room in search of company. When she heard movement in the living room, she decided to come out.

Taylor slowly turned her head.

The detective was still calmly sipping his drink, without the slightest intention of moving.

She hugged the cushion more tightly against her chest.

—Didn't you just ask if I wanted a drink?

—Yes.

Ethan nodded and gestured toward the bar with his head.

—What, do you want me to serve it to you?

Taylor watched him for a couple of seconds, waiting for him to react.

—Please... could you behave like a gentleman?

When Ethan still did not move, she pressed a hand to her forehead in resignation.

—Besides, I paid for that whiskey. Pouring me a drink doesn't count as giving you an order, does it?

—No, I suppose not.

Ethan let out a brief laugh and finally rose. He walked over to the bar, picked up another glass, and poured some whiskey into it. The amber liquid flowed slowly into the glass.

He then returned to the sofa and handed her the drink.

—Here you go.

—Thank you. See? It wasn't that difficult.

She forced a smile before taking a small sip of the whiskey. The bourbon burned her throat slightly, but it helped her relax.

—You're on every news channel in Chicago. You really are popular —Ethan commented, gesturing toward the television.

Ethan finished his drink and placed the empty glass on the table.

Taylor studied him for a moment, trying to decide whether he was serious. Then she choked slightly on the whiskey and began to cough.

—Wait... You're joking, right? —she asked once she had caught her breath—. I'm one of the biggest pop and country singers of my generation.

She pressed a hand to her chest as she stared at him in utter disbelief.

—I didn't say I didn't know you —Ethan clarified—. I know who you are.

—It didn't seem like it.

—I read an article about you some time ago. It talked about your career, your tour, and all the money you were making.

Taylor narrowed her eyes.

—And that's all you know about me?

—There was also a photograph.

—What a relief.

Ethan ignored the sarcasm.

—When Hank mentioned your name, I recognized it immediately. I knew you were famous, but I thought he meant that you were a popular singer.

He gestured toward the television, where the news continued showing the fans gathered around the stadium.

—I didn't realize there was this much excitement.

The explanation seemed to ease Taylor's disbelief somewhat.

—So you know who I am, but you're not a fan.

—Exactly.

—Have you listened to any of my songs?

Ethan took a few seconds to consider it.

—Possibly.

—Possibly?

—Maybe I heard one on the radio without knowing it was yours.

Taylor looked at him as though he had just said something incomprehensible.

She took another sip of whiskey before sinking a little deeper into the sofa.

—You're a very strange person.

—You're not the first person to say that.

Taylor slowly swirled the glass between her hands. Strange as it seemed, she found it refreshing to talk to someone who was not impressed by her fame.

—By the way, where are you from? Your accent is a little different, but it sounds familiar.

After all, Ethan was going to protect her for the next three days, and she barely knew his last name.

—The Keystone State —he replied as he changed the channel.

Taylor blinked.

—Pennsylvania?

—Pennsylvania —Ethan confirmed—. I grew up in Banshee, a small town you've probably never heard of.

—Really?

A sudden spark of delight brightened Taylor's face.

Ethan turned to look at her.

—There wouldn't be much point in lying to you about that.

—That's not why. I grew up in Pennsylvania too.

Ethan regarded her with surprise.

—That wasn't in the article.

—Clearly, it wasn't a very good article.

—So that's why you recognized the accent.

Taylor leaned back against the sofa and shook her head in disbelief.

—All right. You definitely know almost nothing about me.

—I already told you I'm not a fan.

—I grew up in Pennsylvania. It's one of the most basic facts about me. Don't make that face. At least now we have something in common.

Ethan smiled.

—Now I know.

He extended a hand toward her.

—Allow me to introduce myself again. Ethan Morgan.

Taylor looked at the hand in front of her.

—You're right. Now we know each other.

She placed her hand in his, and they shook briefly before letting go.

Taylor adjusted her blond hair.

Little by little, the conversation had managed to lessen some of the distance between them.

Taylor's gaze shifted toward the gleaming silver pistol resting on the table. Its metallic finish, dark grip, and extended barrel gave it an appearance quite different from the weapons she had seen before.

—Is that your service weapon?

—It is.

Ethan followed her gaze to the Beretta 80X Cheetah Tactical and nodded.

—Why is it different from the ones the others carry?

Taylor raised a hand and pretended to fire with her fingers while closing one eye. There was something almost childish about the gesture.

—I've seen service weapons before. Most of them are black and rather boring.

—Each officer can choose from several authorized models —Ethan explained—. That's the one I prefer.

He took out a cigarette and, after receiving Taylor's permission, placed it between his lips and lit it.

—It's accurate and reliable. As long as it does its job, its appearance doesn't matter.

Taylor hugged the cushion a little more tightly against her chest.

—And its job is to kill?

—Its job is to stop whoever tries to kill me first.

She remained silent for a moment before taking another sip of whiskey.

—Does that mean you've killed someone before?

Ethan slowly exhaled the smoke and tapped the ash into the ashtray.

—Haven't your bodyguards?

—I'm the boss. They're employees, and we aren't very close —Taylor replied with a shrug—. I don't usually ask them those kinds of questions.

—Perhaps because you didn't want to know the answers.

Her eyes brightened with curiosity.

—So you have. You didn't deny it.

Ethan looked at her.

—I have.

—Then tell me what it feels like.

Taylor leaned slightly forward.

Ethan raised an eyebrow.

—Aren't you a celebrity? Why would you want to know about things like that?

—Can't you tell me?

—Why are you so nosy?

—Who said celebrities can't be nosy?

The voice came from behind them.

Megan appeared with a glass in her hands.

—And here you two are, drinking without inviting me.

Taylor looked toward her.

—What do you want to know?

—What were you talking about?

Megan approached them.

—I was asking the detective what it feels like to kill someone.

Taylor had still not abandoned the subject.

—Come on. Tell us. We won't tell anyone.

Megan sat down immediately.

Curiosity appeared in both women's eyes.

To Taylor and Megan, Ethan's profession was equally mysterious. A detective so young must have faced dangerous situations and accumulated some rather interesting stories.

At that moment, listening to him talk seemed far more exciting than any thriller.

Ethan noticed the interest with which they were watching him and sighed.

—First of all, I don't usually talk about those things. It's my job, and I don't enjoy taking someone's life.

He extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray beside him and then looked at them seriously.

—Second, it's late, and it has been a very long day. You should try to get some sleep.

He picked up his Beretta from the table, checked the safety, and placed it in its holster. He did not bother answering any more questions.

After lightly stretching his shoulders, he walked toward the small room beside the entrance, from where he could watch the main access point. The door closed behind him, leaving the two women alone in the living room.

Taylor and Megan exchanged a look.

—He's also very arrogant —Megan commented, lightly biting her lip—. Although I have to admit he's very handsome. If it weren't for that damned attitude, he would be almost perfect.

Taylor's lips stretched into an amused smile.

—Oh...

She winked at her.

—Don't you have his number?

Megan took a long drink of whiskey.

—He's too controlling. I don't like men like that.

Taylor nodded slowly, although her smile suggested she did not entirely believe her. Megan watched her for a few seconds before turning the question back on her.

—What about you?

Taylor looked up.

—What about me?

—He's young, handsome, a detective, and he just risked his life to protect you —Megan listed, counting each quality on her fingers—. Aren't you even a little interested?

—Shut up and drink.

Taylor raised her glass to hide the smile beginning to form on her lips.

Before taking a drink, she cast a fleeting glance toward the closed door of Ethan's room.

—He's young, handsome, a detective, and he just risked his life to protect you —Megan listed, raising a finger for each quality—. Are you really not even a little interested?

—Shut up and drink.

Taylor raised her glass to conceal the smile beginning to curve her lips. Before taking another sip, she cast a fleeting glance toward the closed door of Ethan's room.

Megan noticed the gesture but merely smiled to herself.

The following morning, Ethan awoke very early. He opened his eyes and studied the small room for several seconds, trying to remember where he was.

His shoulder hurt less than it had the previous night, although he could still feel the patch pulling whenever he moved. His regeneration factor would soon finish healing the injury.

He checked the time.

It was barely five in the morning, and beyond the windows, Chicago remained shrouded in darkness. However, he could already hear footsteps and muffled voices on the other side of the door.

After washing up and arranging his hair with his hands, he stepped into the living room.

—The coffee is on the service cart —Megan announced from the sofa.

She had a tablet resting on her lap and a cup of coffee between her hands. The dark circles beneath her eyes revealed that she had barely slept, but she was already reviewing the day's itinerary.

Ethan looked toward the table, where coffee, fruit, toast, and several covered dishes had been laid out.

—Do you always work before sunrise?

—Only when someone is trying to kill my boss and the entire day's schedule changes at the last minute —Megan replied wearily—. So lately, yes.

She took a sip of coffee and pointed toward the bedroom door.

—I also asked the hotel staff to find some clothes for you. Go change.

A complete black suit hung from the doorknob, accompanied by a white shirt, a dark tie, and the rest of the necessary garments.

Ethan examined the outfit.

—How did you figure out my size?

Megan looked him up and down without the slightest attempt to hide it.

—Trust my eyes. They're rarely wrong.

—That sounds concerning.

Ethan looked down at his clothes. He was still wearing the jeans and bloodstained T-shirt from the previous night.

It was hardly the most professional appearance for a celebrity's personal bodyguard.

—Thank you —he finally said.

Initially, he had planned to return home to shower and change. He disliked wearing the same clothes for more than a day, but leaving the hotel meant leaving Taylor unprotected, even if only for a short time.

He picked up the suit and checked the label.

—You really do have a good eye.

Megan raised her cup in a lazy toast.

—It'll fit. And when you come out, try to look grateful. Finding a tailored suit at five in the morning isn't usually part of my job.

—I thought performing miracles was a requirement for working with a celebrity.

—It is.

Ethan shook his head and returned to the bedroom with the clothes in his hands while Megan turned her attention back to the tablet.

He showered.

Then he changed.

Megan had been surprisingly accurate with the measurements.

The suit fit him perfectly and, most importantly, did not restrict his movements.

The suit was Armani. Ethan had no particular interest in designer labels, but he had to admit that it looked quite good on him. Megan had chosen the size almost perfectly.

They had also included a pair of sunglasses. He put them on in front of the mirror for several seconds, tilted his head slightly, and then removed them.

—Too much.

He folded them and slipped them into the inside pocket of his jacket. Then he threw the bloodstained T-shirt and the previous night's jeans into the trash, secured the Beretta in the holster at his waist, and left the room.

The living room was empty, but several voices and the clinking of silverware came from the nearby dining room. Ethan followed the sound with one hand in his pocket.

Clink!

Chloe's fork slipped from her fingers and struck the plate. Her mouth fell open, and she completely forgot what she had been saying.

Taylor and Megan automatically followed her gaze. For several seconds, all three wore precisely the same surprised expression.

—What is it? —Ethan asked as he approached the table.

He pulled out a chair and sat down as though nothing were unusual.

—Do I have something on my face?

—No —Megan replied.

She swallowed the piece of egg in her mouth with some difficulty and looked him up and down again. The black suit fit his shoulders perfectly, while the white shirt and dark tie gave him a far more elegant appearance than he had worn the night before.

Megan looked at Taylor with a mischievous smile.

—Be careful. If someone photographs you together, some gossip magazine will claim he's your new boyfriend tomorrow.

Taylor, who was still looking at Ethan, averted her gaze and picked up her coffee.

—Magazines have printed worse things for far less.

—Don't give them any ideas —Chloe replied, finally retrieving her fork.

Clothing did far more for a person than many people were willing to admit. After showering, shaving, and putting on the suit, Ethan had nothing to envy about the Hollywood stars who made their living largely from their appearance.

The silver grip of the Beretta discreetly visible beneath his jacket also added a certain air of danger.

—I hope that never happens —Ethan said calmly—. I already have enough problems without appearing in a gossip magazine.

Megan raised an eyebrow.

—That almost sounded as though dating Taylor would be a disaster.

—I didn't say that.

—But you thought it.

Ethan ignored the accusation, surveyed the table covered with food, and picked up a plate.

—Are you going to eat breakfast, or are you going to stare at me all day?

Taylor hid a small smile behind her cup of coffee.

That was precisely why he had initially refused. Appearing too often in public could complicate matters later in his real job.

Fortunately, it would only be three days.

Had it been any longer, he probably would have refused the deal.

—I have to admit, your confidence and ego surpass those of many superstars —Megan said, giving him a thumbs-up.

After the initial surprise, Taylor continued eating breakfast.

Half an hour later, the chaos began. The doorbell rang repeatedly as makeup artists, stylists, and other staff members arrived in a steady stream. For Ethan, the workday began with carefully inspecting their bags, equipment, and belongings before allowing them to approach Taylor.

Approximately half an hour later, the group hurried out of the hotel.