100 Lifetimes of Us (The Romantics #1)

by Maggie C. Gates

It turned out my fourth-grade teacher was right. I, Annie Smith, was average in every conceivable way. But Whitney West wasn’t. She was sexy. Mysterious. Confident and dazzling.

Before I tore my meniscus and dislocated my patella in a headlining UFC fight, Grant Keller—former British SAS badass—had asked me to do a hand-to-hand combat workshop with his associates. “Associates” was a stretch. “Professional cool kids” was more like it. And those cool kids? They were a former Indian MARCOS Marine, a former Delta Force guy, a former Navy SEAL, a former MI6 operative, a former member of the Australian SAS, a former Pakistani SSG soldier, a former CIA officer, and Alona. She refused to tell us who she used to work for, and claimed that she would have to kill us if we ever found out. And then there was me—the MMA superstar turned executive protection agent.

Keller looked at the ceiling of the in-house gym and closed his eyes. “If this building caved in right now, it wouldn’t be soon enough.” He regained his composure and looked at me. “First of all, the ambassador to Algeria is my cousin. And second—” he slapped a file against my chest and hit me with a placating smile “—I’m so glad you enjoy the romance genre because that’s your new job.” I opened the file and flipped through the dossier pages. “Hell fucking yes! Dude! She’s freaking gorgeous. Look at her!” I turned the page so he could see. Keller’s face never changed. “Yes, I’m aware of the way that she looks. I printed the pages.”

Alona was with him in the ring, wrapping her hands as she prepared to kick the former Navy SEAL’s ass. “Whitney West is a romance novelist. And she’s a verified badass.” Malik dropped down from the pull-up bar. “You read romance novels?” Out of everyone, Alona was potentially the scariest of them all. She was quick, quiet, and lethal. She cut Cole a searing glare. “Of course I do. You should too, if you want your girlfriend to be satisfied in bed.”

He slid another page my way—an itinerary. “You leave next week. Get your affairs in order. Contact Ophelia Kensington. She’s Ms. West’s assistant. Schedule a meeting to review any details and get to know your client. You’re about to spend a great deal of time together. I trust you’ll act with the utmost professionalism and distance.”

Tucked in the back booth, I spotted Whitney West. Before I could approach her, a sharp-looking brunette in a fitted skirt and blouse intercepted me. She froze mid-step, her mouth agape as she scrutinized me from head-to-toe. A phony smile worked its way across her lips. “My apologies. I was expecting someone else.” She was definitely the personal assistant I spoke to on the phone yesterday. Posh and snooty. Casually, I sipped my drink. “Ophelia Kensington?” Her eyes widened. “You’re the one Grant sent?” “The one and only.” Unfazed, I opened my arms wide. “Miles Zhou of Keller & Associates at your service.” She stammered, pointing a manicured finger at my attire and beverage. “Y-you’re in swim trunks! And what on earth is in your hand?” I glanced at my cup. “It’s a pink drink.”

Ophelia stared blankly. “This is ridiculous. I’m calling Grant.” “It’ll be hard to reach him at the moment,” I said, sidestepping the frosty princess to slide into the booth opposite my new client. “He’s on assignment.” I offered my hand to the woman half-hidden behind a laptop. “Miles Zhou, at your service.” Whitney shot me a fleeting glance. “Uh, hi,” she said awkwardly. “Sorry. Phee sprang this on me. I’m not exactly dressed for company.” A wig the color of fresh pennies shrouded her face, its haphazard strands splayed out in all directions. Her fingers never stopped dancing across the keyboard, and her warm chocolate eyes barely strayed from the screen. “No need to apologize, gorgeous. And if I may say so, you look majestic. Like a regal tumbleweed.” I set my happy drink next to her black coffee of despair and tried to peer around to her screen.

Ophelia cleared her throat, obviously annoyed. She stood at the head of the table and tapped the toe of her high-heeled shoe. “Are those yellow rubber duckies on your swim trunks?” I looked down and grinned. “Hell yeah, they are. Cool, right?” I stuck my foot out. “They match my Crocs.” “You realize this is a job interview, yeah?” “Actually, crumpets, I’ve already landed the gig. This is a logistics meeting. But I believe in foreplay. Ya gotta break the ice and get warmed up before jumping into business. Nothing says, “I’m your new best friend for the next six weeks” like a pair of yellow duck shorts.” Ophelia pinched the bridge of her nose. “This does not bode well.” “Nonsense. We’re gonna get along great.” “I highly doubt that.”

Goddamn, she was gorgeous. I could spend all day watching her eyes dart back and forth, dancing in rhythm with her thoughts. The wig, however, was a calamity. Maybe Ophelia dropped it on her head before I arrived? These types of assignments usually went one of two ways: the client would either be stodgy and distant, or they would get comfortable enough to be around me—without all the hair and makeup. I always preferred the latter. Providing protection was a rather personal business. Distance made my job harder.

She huffed. “Might as well get this shit show started. Tell me, Mr. Zhou, what qualifications make you—and apparently, Grant Keller—confident that you can keep Ms. West safe during her book tour?” Without missing a beat, I offered my full spiel. “Thirty years of training in judo, jiu-jitsu, boxing, wrestling, Muay Thai, and Shaolin Kung Fu. I’m a world-class fighter and hand-to-hand combat expert. Upon joining Keller’s firm, a former secret service agent conducted my training in executive protection and firearms. I’m backed by the full resources of Keller & Associates, which includes three former intelligence agents from various countries. I’ve worked full-time with the firm for a year. I’ve been operating without oversight for six months, and I have a one hundred percent success rate. My clientele typically require discretion over firepower. I’m fluent in English and Mandarin. On top of all of that, I’m charming as hell and fun to be around.”

“Here’s my perspective,” I interjected. “The stunning alphabet wizard sitting across from me doesn’t require a scary presence to ward off a possible threat. If deterring everyone is what you want, just cancel the tour.” “Yes, please,” Whitney said as she slammed her laptop closed. “I like his idea. Let’s cancel the tour.”

“What you need are a pair of eyes and ears that are trained in threat assessment, a body capable of quickly and quietly neutralizing those threats, and a personality that’s a full-blown fiesta on legs.” I stretched my arms out. “Here I am, ladies. Triple threat.” “You didn’t mention the annoying and irrational confidence,” Ophelia sniped. I winked at her. “That’s just a free bonus.” Whitney cracked a faint smile as she gripped the little hand warmer pouch intended for hiking and frosty temperatures.

Happiness isn’t a zero-sum game. When you spread it around, everyone wins.

Miles Zhou was an enigma. I watched from my third-floor window as a monstrous SUV pulled up to the curb. Holy tattoos. Ink covered every inch of his arms and part of his hands. It stretched up his neck and wrapped around his throat. My mind wandered across the mental image of him, wondering where else that ink went. As scary as he should have been, the guy had the personality of a hyperactive dolphin. It drove Ophelia nuts, and I loved it. Besides, she needed to loosen up.

Miles’s cheery voice crackled over the speakers. “Hey, superstar. You ready to eat?”

Miles’s voice filled the intercom again. “You coming down, or should I come up?” This time, there was a little less of his happy-go-lucky attitude, and a bit more concern. “Uh—” My heart was racing. Why hadn’t I asked Ophelia to chaperone us? Right. She had a date. And a life. “I’m coming,” I squeaked. Shit. I punched the button again. “Not like that,” I blurted out. “Not coming like coming coming. I’m just … I’m heading down.” Miles laughed, and my stomach dropped. “See you in a minute,” he said.

Sure, I had an entire closet of Whitney West clothes, but I always reverted to the safest and most boring choice when I didn’t have Ophelia to dictate my wardrobe choices. Denim shorts, a white t-shirt, and black Converse sneakers were my fall-back. Even my hair, average as it was, was in a mid-high ponytail. Not a sleek chignon. Not a bouncing, bubbly high pony.

“Whoops,” Miles said as he spun the volume dial down. “Sorry about that.” I was too shocked to care, but it wasn’t because of the contents of the audiobook. After all, I wrote the damn thing. “You were reading my book?” I asked. “Of course I was. Gotta do my research.” He grinned from ear to ear. “And what fucking awesome research it is.”

He was tall, with thick mounds of muscle honed from hours in the gym. He walked with a slight lilt, favoring his left leg just a tad. Ink covered nearly every inch of his exposed skin in detailed designs. Some of the tattoos were classic black and gray, while some sported vibrant hues. He was wearing jeans that hung low on his hips and were slightly lighter in spots from wear and tear. His t-shirt didn’t leave any room for the imagination of what was underneath. Jet black hair was shaved short on the sides and left longer on the top. It was messy, but not in an intentionally stylish way. Just messy like he had better things to do than fix his hair.

He reached into a little dish of fried peanuts and popped one into his mouth. “I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier. Or an awkward foot.” He extended his hand across the table. “Miles Zhou. Nice to meet you.” I summoned what little courage I had and shook his hand. “Annie Smith.” “Nice to meet you, Annie. You’re my new best friend.” I let out an awkward laugh that was somewhere between amusement and panic. Thankfully, Miles didn’t dwell on it.

His eyes were kind as he reached for my hand again and squeezed. “Don’t worry, Just Annie. I’ll keep your hands warm.”

I slid my hand beneath her chin and lifted it until those mesmerizing eyes locked with mine. “I’ve got your back. Whatever you need. Day or night.” When she didn’t respond, I cocked my head. “Do you understand?” Annie nodded. “Good. Because I promise to keep that bomb-ass brain of yours safe. Just like I promise to keep your body from getting turned into a skin sweater by a crazy librarian with a penchant for defacing the finest literature ever written.”

“Is there anyone close to you who will attend any of the book tour events? Family? Boyfriend? Friends? Coworkers?” She took a sip of water and shook her head. “No. None of the above.” She paused, then added, “And as for one of your first questions, there is no Mr. Whitney. Or Mr. Annie, for that matter.”

I laughed and swerved through traffic. “You did well.” “I don’t know why my heart’s pounding so fast.” She sat back and pressed her hand to her chest. “There was no one after me.” “Hey—” I reached for her hand and wrapped mine around it. “Adrenaline is a good thing. It keeps you alive. You did really well, Annie.” The smile I earned from her made me feel like I was king of the fucking universe.

Outside, the rumble of an SUV caught my attention. I nearly fell off the bed trying to get to the window to peek outside. When she thought I wasn’t paying attention, Ophelia stuffed a fistful of dressy clothes into my bag. “Someone fancies her bodyguard,” she sing-songed. “Do not,” I shot back. “I just like to look at him.” She paused thoughtfully. “That’s fair. He’s quite fit.”

The buzzer rang, and I tripped over a pile of t-shirts as I bolted to answer it. “Yeah,” Ophelia scoffed. “Just like to look at him. Not into him at all.” I let Miles up and grabbed my bags. Why was I dreading this trip again?

“Are you ever not bouncing off the walls?” Ophelia asked as she strode out of my bedroom. Miles tipped an imaginary hat toward her before grabbing my bags. “Always a pleasure, crumpets.” I locked up, and the three of us caravanned down the stairs. “You two have fun,” Ophelia said as she rested her hip on the hood of her sleek little coupe. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” I looked at Miles. “That’s a very short list of things.”

“Goddamn,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes. “That’s fucking beautiful. And he killed that other dude just for looking at her? That’s true love.” I tried to suck in a breath, but it barely came. “So you’re a mafia romance fan, are you?” Miles smiled at me. “Nah. I’m an Annie fan.” “You mean Whitney West?” He shook his head as he switched lanes. “Nah.” He pressed a button on the dash and paused the audiobook. “Whitney might be the name, but Annie’s the brain.”

Miles frowned, giving me a once-over as he unloaded our bags. “You alright?” He slammed the back of the SUV shut. I pursed my lips and nodded, unsure of what would come out if I actually opened my mouth. “Something you should know about me,” he said. “I need verbal confirmation and consent for most things.” The stern, no-nonsense response was a complete one-eighty from the human energy drink that had picked me up a few hours ago. “I’ll be fine,” I said, swallowing down the unease.

Miles appeared at my back, his reflection in the mirror stealing my breath. Gone were the hilarious swim trunks and Crocs. A tailored suit in jet black covered his chiseled frame. His hair—usually messily styled—was neatly combed. Only the tattoos on his neck and hands showed. If I was being honest with myself, I missed seeing the rest of them. I had been stealing glances anytime I thought he wasn’t looking. There were animals, trees, and a winding path up one of his arms. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it looked like it told a story.

Cool air swirled around my neck as Miles lifted the red hair off of my shoulders, carefully holding it in a makeshift bun. “Get on your knees.” I let out an exasperated breath. “Didn’t really think we were that close yet.” “Not like that, you adorable little perv.” He chuckled. “Trust me. Go slow so you don’t fall.” I held on to the rail and did as he said. Miles squatted down beside me. “Panic attack?” he asked gently. All I could do was nod. “Hold your breath.” He was calm as he counted to four for me. “Let it out slowly.” I exhaled. “Hold again for four seconds.” My lungs started burning, but I didn’t stop. “Now breathe.”

He shook his head. “We can pack this party bus up right now and leave. You have my word. I’ll tell Ophelia where she can shove her spotted dick.” I let out a blustering laugh. “You know that’s a pudding, right? She’s not some kind of lizard person. Do lizards even have dicks? If a lizard is spotted, is the dick spotted, too?” Miles beamed. “There’s my girl. Welcome back, Annie.” I looked down at the slick tile we were kneeling on. “I’m sorry.” “Hey, now—” He tipped my chin up with a crooked finger. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

While Annie attended an author’s brunch, I had slipped out of the hotel with my shopping list in hand. With the time getting closer and closer to when today’s event started, I adjusted my suit jacket and knocked on Annie’s door. “Just a sec!” she called out. A minute later, the door whipped open and red-haired Whitney West stood in front of me. “Sorry. My stomach just revolted after that brunch. Nothing says ‘welcome to D.C.’ quite like emergency diarrhea.” She froze, then tossed her head back and groaned. “Why did I say that?” I laughed. “We’ve all been there, am I right? You ready to go down to the conference center?” She nodded, her eyes discreetly raking down my body before pausing around my crotch. My dick certainly took notice of her eyes in his direction, and he liked it. But I knew that wasn’t what she was looking at. Annie tipped her head to the side. “Are you…” She tapped her lips with a finger before pointing it at my groin. “Are you wearing a fanny pack?”

I unzipped the front and opened it up, feeling like a momma kangaroo. “It’s my Annie Pack. I’m hella prepared now. Anything you need. I gotcha covered, girl.” I pulled out two orange-coated packages. “Hands get cold? I’ve got hand warmers.” I pulled out a handful of other items. “Hand sanitizer because germs aren’t sexy, ibuprofen for the smiling headaches, Imodium just in case—well, you made my point a few minutes ago. Glad to see we’re on the same page there. I’ve got pens and sticky notes, a charging bank for your phone, Band-Aids, breath mints, and lip balm.” I pulled out the pièce de résistance. “And Peanut M&Ms. A little protein and sugar to keep you going. And if those are a little too spicy for your little rebel of a stomach, I’ve got crackers, too.” Her eyes welled up, tears warping those pretty brown irises. “Miles…” I opened my arms. “Hug it out, superstar.”

“Thank you,” she murmured into my suit. “You didn’t have to do that.” “Hey—” I pushed her away just enough for me to get a glimpse of her face. “I’m your bodyguard. I’m gonna protect the fuck out of all of it.”

I leaned forward until my mouth was nearly flushed with her ear. “If she’s just another character, then how do you think her leading man would react to her talking shit about herself?” Annie didn’t flinch. “Because from what I’ve seen, you’re a little more Whitney and a lot less Annie than you think you are.” I reclined in the chair and went back to my lunch. “So you tell me: who’s real and who’s the fraud?” Annie went for her pasta salad next. “I’m beginning to wish Ophelia gave me the stoic brick wall I thought you were gonna be.”

Annie was shutting down on me, and I couldn’t have that. Not if I actually wanted to get to the bottom of this stalker business. I had a hunch about Ophelia Kensington, and it wasn’t a good one.

Reaching down, I wrapped my hands around the tips of her fingers. Annie looked at our joined hands. The pie plate was still trapped between her fingers. “What are you doing?” “I wanted to see if your hands were cold.”

“If you want me to tell Phee to back off so you can have some space, I’ll do it,” she whispered. “But Phee—she means well. I promise. And she’s really good at her job. She’s more Whitney than I am, and she gets frustrated when I don’t want to be her.” Annie was subconsciously confirming my suspicions about Ophelia. There was one person who stood to lose a lot if Annie decided she didn’t want to play the part anymore. I was beginning to wonder just how far she would go to protect her investment.

Her phone chimed with an email. Annie stepped back, putting a foot of space between us. Breathing room was probably good. Being pressed up against her did something funny to me. Instead of my mind racing and my body itching like I needed to burn off energy, I was calm.

“Are you ever not busy?” Her shoulders dropped as we picked up the pace. “I like being busy.” I mulled on that while we power walked back to the pie shop. “I’ve gotta head back to the office to do some prep before the weekend,” I said as I packed my laptop and cleared my side of the back booth that Annie liked to work from. She snickered. “You make it sound like you’re going to the Bat Cave.” I grinned from ear to ear. “You should come by one of these days. Some of Keller’s asses are big fans of yours.”

“Call me when you’re ready to leave here for the day and I’ll come back to drive you home.” She waved it off dismissively. “I’m going to Phee’s.” “Then text me so I know you got there safely. Keep the doors locked.” Her lips parted as if she was about to say something, then clammed up immediately. I didn’t even turn around. “‘Sup, crumpets.” Ophelia let out a prissy, “Hmph,” as she hip-checked me and slid into the booth across from Annie. But my gaze never left my girl. “Follow the protocols we’ve talked about. I’ll check in with you this evening.”

Your girl??

“So, no good news about the identity of the sender.” “I didn’t say that,” she clipped as she walked over to the screen. “I said there was no usable DNA to run.” “Why do I have the feeling that a ‘but’ is coming?” Isla grinned. “Because I’m bloody brilliant.” She pointed to a speck that was isolated on the screen, and circled it with a digital pen. “Your suspect appears to be an avid tea drinker.”

Tea?…… Interesting

“But,” she continued. “I did analysis on the tea.” I raised an eyebrow. “You can do that?” Isla smirked. “I can do damn near anything, Zhou. You should know that by now.” I held my hands up in defense before bowing to her greatness. “Enlighten me, wise one.” “This is breakfast tea.” “Isn’t that super common?” “Indeed,” Isla said as she pulled up the chemical analysis. “Except for one notable marker. Qímén.” “Qímén,” I repeated. “The Chinese tea?” “Exactly,” she said. “It’s used in more expensive blends of English breakfast tea, which considerably narrows down the brand that your unsub fancies. Qímén tea notably has a higher concentration of geraniol. It can also be derived from lemongrass in the production of citronella oil.”

There was someone in Annie’s immediate circle who had a penchant for tea and all things fancy… And as much as I didn’t want Ophelia to be suspect number one for Annie’s sake, she was.

“Just don’t get Whitney killed in the process. I need the next book in her Mafia series.” Aha! Even the great Isla Davenport had a weakness. “You know,” I said, slinking up to her. “If you can pull more than a drop of tea out of the evidence, I’ll see what I can do about getting you that next book.” Isla’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your angle?” I shrugged. “No angle. It’s exactly what it seems like. You want a book, I want my girl safe, and I want to keep K&A’s prestigious reputation of successful assignments in the black.” The tiniest of smirks curled up on Isla’s lips. “Deal. I’ll see what I can do.” “Nice doing business with you, Davenport,” I said, extending my hand.

My phone buzzed with an incoming text from Annie, and it made my heart skip a beat. Not in the usual can’t-slow-down kind of way, but in the way that meant something. I didn’t know why, but it felt big.

I pointed two finger guns at her. “You’re the best, Davenport.” I turned to squeeze by Javier. “You too, Garcia. Stay excellent.” “You eaten yet?” Javier asked Isla. She stammered for a moment, then shook her head. “No.” Lie. The demolished pho was on her desk. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Wanna grab a bite? That food truck you like is parked across the street.” “Food? I’m down,” I said, smacking the top of the doorframe on my way out. I had no intention of going with them, but causing a little mayhem was fun. “No!” Isla and Javier shouted.

Secret office romance??

“Ya know, back in my day I was quite a looker,” Little old lady number one said, nudging Miles with her elbow. He scoffed. “Back in your day?” He grinned and tipped his head toward me. “If I wasn’t contractually obligated to my girl here, I’d be wining and dining you with the finest mini bottle of liquor and bag of pretzels this aircraft has.” She clucked with a pink-cheeked smile. “You two just make the cutest couple. My stars!” She pointed a ruby-painted finger between Miles and I. “On your honeymoon or just keeping the spark alive? That’s important, ya know,” she said as she dropped into the row across from us and rooted around in her purse. Wait… What? Miles said we were contractually obligated. Oh, she thought we were⁠— “Keeping the spark alive, alright,” Miles said as he grabbed my hand and aggressively laced our fingers together. Each one of his tattooed knuckles stood out against my bland skin. He winked at me. “It’s that right, Annie Cakes?” The old woman pressed her hands to her cheeks and cooed. “Young love. It’s beautiful.”

“How do you do with flying?” he asked as quietly as the din of the cabin would allow. “Surprisingly well. Planes don’t bother me.” “How are you doing in that stellar brain of yours?” Miles asked, finally letting go of my hand as he pawed through his backpack. “Excited for the love fest this weekend?”