Alex Hunter wasn’t one to complain, but after four years of grueling international assignments and very little downtime, he had been looking forward to his long-awaited vacation. Sun, solitude, and silence—that’s all he wanted. As his plane descended into LAX, he glanced out the window, the city’s sprawl stretching under him like a vast, restless machine.
"Welcome to Los Angeles," the flight attendant announced cheerfully over the intercom, oblivious to the fact that, for Alex, this wasn’t a welcome so much as a reminder of the mission he couldn’t refuse.
The phone call from HQ had come just as he’d been heading out the door with a ticket to Bali in hand. He’d already planned every detail of his getaway when his phone buzzed. Duty called, and he was all too aware that "no" wasn’t an option when HQ had a “special request.”
Now, here he was, stepping off the plane, already regretting the decision. The assignment was unlike anything he’d done before—babysitting a celebrity with a reputation for driving bodyguards to the edge. Max Monroe, known for his dashing good looks, a penchant for trouble, and an attitude that could only be described as over-the-top. The fact that the actor had gone through more bodyguards in six months than most stars cycled through assistants didn’t exactly inspire confidence.
“Personal security detail,” Alex muttered, tasting the words. “For a Hollywood diva.”
He could practically feel the vacation slipping through his fingers.
After passing through the crowded terminal, Alex spotted a dark SUV waiting for him at the curb. With a sigh, he tossed his bag in the back, climbed into the passenger seat, and tried to mentally prepare for what was shaping up to be one of the most challenging assignments of his career—if not for the danger, then for the sheer absurdity.
---
Meanwhile, across town, Max Monroe was midway through a photo shoot in one of LA’s more exclusive studios. He reclined in a plush armchair, perfectly at ease while a team of makeup artists and stylists fussed over him. His tousled blond hair was artfully arranged, his jawline meticulously accentuated with light bronzer, and his piercing blue eyes enhanced with just a touch of mascara. The photographer adjusted the lights, directing Max to look a little more to the left, arch his brow just a tad, and give that classic Monroe smirk that had melted millions of hearts worldwide.
Jenny Ray, Max's long-suffering manager, stood to the side with her arms crossed, barking instructions to the crew and keeping a close eye on her star. Every few minutes, she checked her phone, waiting for a call she’d been dreading as much as Alex had.
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When her phone finally buzzed, she moved to a quieter corner of the set, nodding as she answered. “Jenny Ray here.”
The voice on the other end was firm. “Jenny, it’s Chief Reynolds. I’m calling about the bodyguard situation.”
She exhaled. “Right. Listen, I know Max has been… difficult, but—”
“It’s gone beyond ‘difficult,’ Jenny,” Chief Reynolds interrupted. “Max has cycled through more bodyguards than we care to admit, and after this last incident, we can’t afford the risk anymore. HQ’s assigned him a new security detail, a top-level operative who’ll be on duty 24/7. There’s no negotiation here.”
Jenny bit her lip, trying to figure out how to break the news without causing an all-out meltdown. “Fine. I’ll make sure he gets the message. But I can’t promise he’ll take it well.”
"That’s why we’re sending Alex. He’s not here to make friends; he’s here to keep Max in one piece.” The Chief's tone left no room for debate. “Make sure Max understands that.”
With that, the call ended, leaving Jenny with a knot in her stomach as she steeled herself for Max’s inevitable reaction.
---
After a few more rounds of lighting adjustments and makeup touch-ups, the director finally called for a break, and the makeup artists hurriedly stepped back to give Max a breather. Seeing her moment, Jenny approached, putting on her most diplomatic expression.
“Max,” she said with a smile that barely masked her stress, “there’s something we need to discuss.”
Max, his attention still half on the photographer, turned to her lazily. “What’s up, Jen? This shoot is killing me—two more minutes and I’ll need a rescue team just for my face.”
“Oh, you’ll have a rescue team alright,” Jenny said dryly. “In fact, HQ’s already arranged it for you. You’re getting a full-time bodyguard, Max.”
Max’s relaxed smile disappeared in an instant, replaced by an exasperated look. “What? Jenny, no. I don’t need another ‘security detail’ following me around and breathing down my neck. Didn’t we have enough of that nonsense with the last three?”
“Max, listen—this isn’t like last time. HQ is taking this seriously. They’ve assigned you a 24/7 personal bodyguard because, frankly, your little escapades are costing them too much.”
Max crossed his arms, a spark of anger flickering in his eyes. “You can tell HQ I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’m not some kid who needs a babysitter.”
Jenny sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Max, this is non-negotiable. They’re not giving you a choice here.”
“So they think I’m some kind of liability?” he spat, voice rising enough to turn a few heads on set. He lowered it only slightly but added with bitterness, “I don’t need someone watching me 24/7, okay? Especially not some glorified babysitter who’s going to act like my shadow.”
“This isn’t about what you want, Max,” Jenny said firmly. “This is about safety. Remember that little incident at the film festival? Or the time you decided to ditch security to party with the locals in Rio? HQ isn’t willing to take those chances anymore.”
Max let out a frustrated groan, slumping back into his chair as if the weight of her words had physically drained him. “Fine, whatever. But he’d better not cramp my style.”
Jenny almost laughed at his theatrics. “Trust me, he’s more interested in keeping you alive than ‘cramping your style.’”
Max’s mouth opened to argue further, but the director was already calling him back to the set, eager to resume the shoot. Max shot Jenny a look that could melt metal, then flashed a Hollywood-worthy smile as he turned back to the camera, instantly slipping back into his on-camera persona. But Jenny could see the tension simmering just under the surface, and she knew she’d be dealing with the fallout for a while.
As Max posed for the next series of shots, Jenny typed a quick message to HQ:
> To HQ: Max is less than thrilled with the new arrangement. Brace for resistance.
On the other side of town, Alex received the message with a small sigh. He was used to difficult assignments, but this one seemed like it would test every ounce of patience he had. Still, orders were orders.
In a few hours, he’d be meeting Max Monroe in person, and if the stories were anything to go by, he’d need every bit of his training to keep this mission from turning into a circus.