Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

Chapter 5

(Dean)

The woman was hiding something. I watched her as she floated through the kitchen. Trying to figure out what kind of princess I was dealing with. She busied herself cleaning, as if I weren't there. Typical rich bitch? Perhaps. But then there were those moments when she would glance. She'd give a courteous smile, a glint of manners sparkled in her eyes before she wiped the smile away and averted her eyes, But not before I noticed the fear. Something scared her. Something she didn't want to or didn't think she should acknowledge.

Baylee was a pro in the kitchen. The smell of her cooking alone told me that. No matter how much she cleaned, she never forgot the roast in the oven. Basting it often. My appetite grew with every wafting scent that escaped through the open oven door.

She never asked me to do anything. Another thing I found odd. In my experience, employers didn't care for me to sit idle on their dime. Despite my purpose, they wanted me to do some kind of chore to earn my keep. I'd refuse of course. I was a bodyguard. Not an errand boy.

A formal dining room joined the kitchen and Baylee prepared it for the meal. She set out fine china from a cabinet and used gold plated cutlery. She placed the roast on a serving platter. Carefully placing the vegetables in a circle around it until she was happy with the presentation. And she did the same with the sides. Placing each in fancy white serving bowls. When she was done, she stood back. Eyeing every detail of the table, slightly wringing her hands.

"Dinner is ready. You're welcome to join us." She invited me to sit at her table. Another shock. I'd never been invited to dine with my employers before. I usually watched and if I was lucky they would offer me a plate of leftovers.

She left the room and returned a few moments later and sat across from me. She folded a napkin on her lap and waited. She didn't reach to serve herself. Nor did she sip from her water goblet. She kept her eyes down until her husband entered the room nearly fifteen minutes after she'd taken her seat. He pulled out a chair at the head of the table and handed his plate to his wife. She took it and filled it with a portion of everything she'd set on the table then handed it back to him.

"Help yourself, Ambrose." Brock addressed me without so much as a glance.

"I can't wait. This smells really great, Mrs. Lesnar."

But she didn't acknowledge my compliment and she didn't serve herself until after I had begun eating.

She remained quiet throughout dinner. I found it odd. She asked me no questions. Nothing about what she thought I was there for and even her husband didn't discuss the reasons I was there. No new information.

I complimented her repeatedly on the dinner she'd prepared.

"Thank you." She would say meekly and flit a glance at her husband that seemed almost nervous. Was she scared for him? Had he made her think he was in as much danger as her father?

Brock left the table without so much as a thank you. Moving in a way that suggested he was entitled to everything his wife had done for him. As if she should be forever grateful that he had chosen her.

Breakfast was the same. I awoke when I heard the Lesnar's bedroom door open. I peeked out my door and watched as Baylee exited. It was four in the morning. I dressed and took my place in the corner of the kitchen and again watched as she worked diligently on a large breakfast.

She had the dining room table set perfectly by the time Brock joined us two hours later, only Brock didn't stick around. He grabbed a sausage link and a piece of toast as he pulled on a jacket simultaneously.

"What are your plans today?" Brock's demanded dryly.

"Just some grocery shopping."

"That's all?"

"No. I – um – have other errands to run." Baylee stuttered. "And I may stop by The Prog for lunch."

"Hmm." Brock spat. "Who are you meeting there?"

"No one, Brock."

"Ambrose will be with you. Always. Do you understand?"

Baylee seemed surprised, a bit scared, but she didn't argue.

"And he will report back to me. He will tell me about everything you do and every one you see."

I may have known little about being in love and how married couples interacted with each other but I knew what a threat sounded like.

The woman sure did like to shop. She was loaded, yet she played the couponing game like she was a single mom living in the ghetto. She traveled from one store to the another, dragging me across town, keeping me in long lines, cashing in loads of paper. And she was organized with her little book and newspaper ads. I was impressed and also very irritated. Her husband had told me that her grocery shopping kept her out all day at the door before I'd left for work. Brock had seemed a bit suspicious, but as I tagged along, I saw she never told her husband a lie about that part of her life. Hell, no. If anything, she understated just how much time it monopolized.

I didn't complain. Actually, she made me laugh as she argued with the cashiers and the managers who tried to reject her legitimate coupons at the register. I didn't blame them. Hell, they had to pay her at the end of the transaction, but by two o'clock that afternoon, I was exhausted and she said she still had to do her regular shopping. Oh, I couldn't take anymore, but I could only tag along and be thankful that her next stop was the little café called The Prog. A humble little sandwich shop nestled in the simple part of town.

She took a booth that was apparently her favorite, by the fireplace and ordered a glass of sweet tea. I found a nearby table.

"Don't do that," she complained in a soft voice. "You make me nervous already. I'd rather have you right in front of me then staring at me from across the room." So, I joined her.

"You have company today." The grey haired waitress smiled broadly. "The husband?"

"No," Baylee said quickly.

"Oh, good," The old lady stated. "He didn't look like I imagined your husband would look like. He must be the little brother."

"He's a friend."

"A friend. Well it's about time. You dine alone too often. You're usual Miss?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You do come here a lot." I remarked after the lady had walked away.

"Since I was a kid." She sipped her tea through a straw. Baylee was a pretty woman. I could understand why Lesnar wanted to protect her. I also understood that her protection wasn't the main reason he'd hired me. Lesnar was scared his wife was cheating. She seemed faithful enough to me. She obviously never had company at the little diner if the waitress's words could be believed. And I believed they could be.

"So, what is it your husband wants me to find out?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, come on. There's has to be a reason the guy paid me big bucks to be your shadow lady. Why don't you just tell me what it is?"

"I have nothing to hide."

"No boyfriend? Nothing. It's going to be pretty stressful trying to see some guy with me around I bet." I took a bite of the sandwich that had been delivered rather quickly and studied Baylee. Watching for the tell-tale signs of deception. "I'll give you one chance. Tell me the truth and promise me it's over and I will never tell your husband. It will be our little secret."

"Which one do you want to know about?" Baylee said it matter of factly, like her indiscretions were nothing anyone should be mad about. Typically rich. They all thought they could do whatever they wanted. "There's Paul and … Ricky … and oh let's see. Craig and Justin and George."

I nearly choked on my tea.

"That's a long list."

"Oh, yes and I'm sure there's someone I'm forgetting. But don't worry. You'll meet them all."

She really was something. I rolled my eyes with disgust. The woman didn't seem to care if her husband found out. Hell, she probably had an iron clad prenumpt protecting her.

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