Passenger Princess: A Grumpy Sunshine Bodyguard Pageant Queen Romance (Evergreen Park Book 1)

Sitting in the Miss Americana offices in South Jersey, for the first time since I filled out the application, I feel completely out of place, and no level of false bravado can knock the feeling from my mind.

The walls leading to the meeting room we’re in were lined with photos of past winners with their perfect teeth, hair, smiles, and outfits. I know someday soon my picture will be in this hall of fame, with my too-wide smile, the slight gap between my front teeth, and probably too much mascara because I decided when I was sixteen that going natural just wasn’t in the cards for me, and the more blush, the better.

It didn’t help when the receptionist led me to the meeting room, the women we passed whispered to each other, hums of, that’s her, and, I just don’t get it, and, my personal favorite, it should have been Anne, drifting to my ears on sharp winds.

I’m not bothered, not really. I’ve always been a bit of an outcast, despite my unending desire to fit in. Raised with two brothers and a single dad, I spent a long time being too boyish, and then I was too girly when I grew into my curves and leaned into my love of pink, cream, lace, and bows.

Too much, too gaudy, trying too hard.

When I won the Miss New Jersey Americana pageant, a dark horse no one expected to get far, the whispers started again. They only continued when I used my knowledge of social media to go viral multiple times while preparing for the final pageant, drawing intrigue from all angles.

Some welcomed me with open arms, fans and viewers called me a breath of fresh air, and media outlets noted how my participation in the pageant has sparked new interest in the seemingly dying industry.

But still, there are always a good handful of haters at every required media outing, every practice, or get- together for the pageant. The people who look at me like some kind of outsider, a wolf in sheep’s clothing who shouldn’t have even made it through the doors, much less allowed to participate. The disapproval came strongest from the actual organization itself, which, at first, saw me as a way to jumpstart public interest, probably by using me as some punchline, but then regretted letting me in at all when I gained the popularity they were craving.

It seems that disapproval hasn’t changed much with the glares I’m getting right now while I sit at a round conference table, a dozen eyes staring me down like some kind of failed social experiment.

Across from me sits Regina, her blonde hair perfectly blown out, the ends perfectly tucked under her chin in a style that, from what I could see when I did my minimal research, she’s had for at least twenty-five years. Her posture, like most of the pageant women I’ve met, both current and past, is absolutely immaculate, and her black tailored skirt suit says professional.

And the glare on her face screams hatred.

I expected that part, at least, since she’s hated me from the very start.

To her left is a lawyer with long, pin-straight dark hair and a boring dark suit, and to her right, for some reason I don’t think I want to know, sits Miss Utah.

If I thought daggers were coming from Regina, full-blown nuclear missiles are aimed at me from Anne. She fully believed she had the crown on lock, only for me and my silly little self to come in and throw everything to the wayside.

Oops.

When no one speaks after a few beats, I take a sip of my water and sit back with my well-practiced, easy-going smile. “So, can I ask why Anne is here?” I tip my chin toward the curly-haired redhead with perfect posture and a glare that could kill me.

“Because.” She pauses, swallowing as if the next few words taste terrible or physically pain her to say. “I am the first runner-up. I won’t be at all events, but I will be at some over the course of your tour.”

“As you know,” Regina starts. “Your tour representing the Miss Americana pageant starts on Thursday.”

This is why I was excited about the win: the tour. As someone who loves adventures, traveling the entire country on someone else’s dime sounds like a true dream. Add in the opportunity to showcase women-owned small businesses while I do it, and I’m more than willing to play whatever part they want me to for a year.

A fair trade, in my opinion.

“I’m excited to get on the road. My followers are so excited to hear all about my travels and learn more about the businesses we’re going to highlight.”

A tight smile tightens Regina’s lips before she nods, her eyes going cold.

“As a reminder, we ask you to maintain a professional composure at all times, since you will be so directly linked to the pageant and the Miss Americana brand. Any violation of the core tenants of this organization could result in you forfeiting your crown to the first runner-up,” she says, the threat obvious.

Stay in line, or we’ll rip that pretty crown right off your head.

“And wouldn’t that just be so convenient for you, Anne?” I ask the woman who would love nothing more than for me to fail.

“At least someone who deserves it would have the title,” she mumbles.

Now that? That pisses me off.

“I worked my ass off, same as you. I answered my questions, performed my talent, and modeled the swimsuit just like you. I’m sorry you have the personality of a wet carpet and you think you’re above putting yourself out there and letting the plebs get to know you, so no one voted for you⁠—”

Something in Anne snaps, and she leans forward, her beauty turning to ugly venom before my eyes. “It’s a stupid loophole! All that should matter is if you’re pretty and if you’re pageant queen material. Just because people felt bad for you⁠—”

“Enough,” Regina says, the words firm and menacing, and instantly Anne sits back like the obedient dog she is. I have to roll my lips between my teeth to stop from laughing while Regina closes her eyes and sighs deeply as if she’s trying to grasp onto one last strand of her patience.

“All we are trying to say, Ms. Bordeaux,” the buttoned-up lawyer starts. I wonder if she’s also a former pageant queen with her calm decorum and flawless posture. “Is that you signed a contract agreeing to act within the realm of the brand or risk losing your title and potentially being sued for damages made to the Miss Americana brand. Of course, that won’t be an issue if you act in a way befitting your new position.”

I give the poor woman a sweet smile before turning to Regina, the real person who needs to hear what I have to say.

“And as I told all of you many times since I signed on, I will continue to be myself no matter what. That means on stage, on social media, and on this tour. I’m not going to do anything to violate my contract or make the pageant look bad, but I also won’t be anything but myself, which is what everyone has come to expect from me.”

Her smile goes tight, like she’s unhappy to hear my response, but I won this pageant being myself, and I’m not changing just because they want to maintain some false narrative for what the “perfect Miss Americana” is.

Finally, Regina leans back and puts on the fakest of her smiles, one I haven’t seen yet.

“You know, Ava, if it’s too much for you to follow our guidelines, we can easily avoid all of these pesky headaches now. We’re happy to give your crown to Anne and let you keep the prize money.” She gives me an exaggerated sigh and smiles before reaching out to touch my hand, and I have to fight the urge to pull it away. “We understand this isn’t for everyone, the pressure, the expectations…” Her words trail off like she’s expecting me to agree, to nod and accept her offer with gratitude.

Something tells me they’ve never met a woman like me.

What a disappointment for them.

“You know, Regina, I think I’ll be okay. I’m very excited to show the world that a Miss Americana contestant doesn’t have to be picture-perfect, that they can be a normal, everyday, down-to-earth girl. I’m excited to represent a version of women not often exemplified in the Miss American pageant before.”

“How very not like other girls of you,” Anne says with venom, and I turn to her with a sugary-sweet smile.

“Funny thing is, unlike you, I’m exactly like other girls, and I’m grateful for that. I love being relatable and approachable. I like pink frilly things, bows, and makeup. I love getting my fancy coffees, reading my silly little romance books, and listening to the same music as other girls because it’s fun. The only difference between me and other girls, like, say, you, is I don’t judge people for what they do or do not like. I just let them live their best lives and cheer them on.”

Next, I turn to Regina.

“Which is what I hope to show everyone on my tour: how anyone can be a Miss Americana so long as they are themselves. I’ll make sure I’m not acting in a way that would hurt the image of the Miss American pageant, but I’m not changing who I am. I won this title because of who I am, not who I pretend to be, and that won’t be changing any time soon.”

Suddenly, the kindness leaves her eyes, and she leans forward, a viper preparing to strike. For the first time, I’m seeing the real Regina—the rotten trash beneath the glittering facade she shows everyone else.

“Now listen here, you little brat. I⁠—”

Before she says whatever threat she’s looking to throw my way, someone knocks at the door before it cracks open.

“Regina, Five Star Security is downstairs and will be upstairs in a minute or two,” the receptionist says, poking her head into the door.

“Perfect, send them in when they get up.” She turns to me, her previous threats have melted, and neutrality is now on her face. “That’s your bodyguard for the trip.”This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

My head shifts a bit in confusion. “Bodyguard? Why do I need a bodyguard?”

“We wanted to make sure we had someone on staff reporting to us on how you’re doing,” she says before pausing, the unspoken threat hanging in the air before us. Someone following me around and reporting back to them on my every move, looking for some reason to say I’ve broken my contract, some reason to take my crown and give it to Anne.

And just like that, I decide I’m going to do everything in my power to toe the line but stay well within the bounds they drew for me. I will prove them wrong while never giving them whatever they need to get rid of me, because doing so would mean they win, and once I set my mind to something, I never lose.

Will I change myself?

Absolutely not.

But will I play the game they’ve started with perfection and look good doing it? Absolutely.

They’ve never met a woman who can play the game as well as I can, that much I can guarantee.

“And, of course,” Regina’s condescending voice continues, breaking through my thoughts with a small smile in the words. “We want to keep you safe from all those admirers you’ve acquired. Some of them seem quite…attached to you, and of course, we wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

Something about how she says it sounds like a threat rather than a reassurance.

“Who is it?” I ask, leaning back.

“A…” The lawyer taps on the screen of a tablet and then looks at me. “Jaime Wilde? He is new to working with us, but not new to the firm he works for. Impeccable recommendations.”

“Hmm,” I say, trying to place the name somewhere. It’s familiar, though I’ve met so many people in the last six months, and all names are starting to melt together.

Another knock comes before I can dig too far into my subconscious, the same pretty brunette popping her head in. “Regina, Five Star Security is here.”

“Perfect, send them in, please.”