He stood out amongst the female patrons in the lingerie boutique attracting curious stares. He appeared unaffected by the thin smiles of the women eyeing him from head to toe. He was too engrossed in his work keeping tabs on two particular women as they browsed an array of flimsy nightwear. “Why is he following us everywhere?” Shanda whispered. “He’s only doing his job, cut him a break!” “I thought he was your driver. What is he a bodyguard, too?” Selange held out a lace and satin mini-robe. “Exactly.” “Yuck! I’d hate someone following me around like that, it’s creepy. He probably tells your husband everything. What time you shit, what you ate, who you spoke to. Creepy…creepy!” “Shanda don’t create drama when there isn’t any. There are plenty of people who hire bodyguards and after what happened in New York you of all people should appreciate his presence.” “Seriously, that was years ago and I’m not going to let some piece of shit like Freddie cause me to stop living.
