"Urgh, I feel like I've been in this damned car forever. Can't you drive this thing any faster, Cullen?"

Evelyn's eyes flash up to the rear view mirror to see her bodyguard's golden-brown eyes lock onto hers.

"Not unless you want us to get another speeding ticket today," he replies wryly.

The young woman rolls her eyes and grumbles as she slumps back onto her seat and examines her freshly manicured nails.

"See, this is why I hate Val Royeaux," she mutters bitterly. "All this fucking traffic."

A small smile plays on her lips when she hears the light chuckle from the driver's seat.

Fact: Evelyn loves it when Cullen chuckles. Or laughs. Or smiles. Or does pretty much anything, actually.

Not that he knows.

Nope. The man hasn't got a clue.

And it isn't for Evelyn's lack of trying, either; the woman is an unabashed, first class flirt.

Her gaze glides over to Cullen's arms, and the little smile makes a reappearance on her heavily glossed lips as she admires the flex of his forearm muscles as they move around the steering wheel. She flips her hair over her shoulder in an exaggerated move to attract his attention in the rear view mirror again. The flash of gold that locks onto her tells her she was successful.

"You're very quiet," she comments coyly, scooting closer to the centre of the backseat. "Are you always this way?"

He'd only been assigned to her as a bodyguard a day ago. She doesn't really know much about him other than him being some sort of boxing champion until a year ago.

"Uhh...I...I guess so? Do you want me to turn up the radio?"

"No," she smiles, leaning forward and close enough to smell his cologne. "I wanna talk. With you. Unless you can't drive and talk at the same time?"

She sees him sneak a glance at her from the corner of his eye, now that she's too close to see in the rear view mirror.

"What would you like to talk about?" he asks hesitantly, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"Oh, I don't know," Evelyn drawls. "How about...you? I should get to know my bodyguard a little better, seeing as we're practically joined at the hip now."

She can literally see the blood rush up to the tips of his ears.

"All right," he replies. "Anything in particular you want to-"

His phone starts ringing and vibrating in the car's cup-holder, and he presses against the wireless earpiece in his right ear.

"Cullen speaking," he responds, his hesitant and awkward manner now replaced with stern professionalism. His eyes narrow as he listens to whatever it is his caller has to say. "I see. Thanks for that, Rylen. I'll take a detour."

"What is it?" Evelyn asks when he disconnects the call.

"Paparazzi are flooding the front entrance to the talk show venue," he replies. "I'm going to have to take you in through the back entrance."

"Oh no," Evelyn groans and falls back against her seat, resting her head against the tinted glass. "The fucking movie isn't even out yet."

"Don't worry," Cullen says in a calming voice. "They're not expecting us to come from the back."

"I certainly fucking hope not," she grumbles and scowls out at the city.

When she notices Cullen slowing down, she pulls out her makeup mirror and checks her reflection.

"Okay," he parks the in a secluded loading bay and turns around to face her. "Are you ready?"

"Let's just get this over with."

He chuckles again, the sound sending a thrill through Evelyn's insides. She opens the passenger door and steps out into the cool, evening of the Orlesian capital, gathering her Burberry coat around her for warmth as Cullen shrugs into his black suit jacket.

That Rylen guy was right; the back is completely deserted apart from the two of them.

"Come on," Cullen places a protective hand in the small of Evelyn's back and escorts her into the building. He blocks Evelyn from view when they walk into the reception to summon an elevator. They promptly take it up to the talk show studio on the twenty-fifth floor.

As soon as they step out, a man clad in an expensive grey suit jumps up from a settee and greets them with wide-eyed relief.

"It's about fucking time!" he calls out before taking Evelyn in his arms for a quick hug and peck on the cheek. It doesn't slip Evelyn's notice that the man eyes Cullen with great interest.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Dorian," Evelyn apologies as she allows him to lead her into the green room, with Cullen trailing behind them. "Fucking Val Royeaux and its traffic. You know how it is."

"You're here now, so it doesn't matter," he smiles before sneaking a quick glance at Cullen over his shoulder. "But who on earth is that fine specimen you brought along with you? The latest beau?" He wriggles his eyebrows like a villain straight out of a children's cartoon series.

"Shh! He's right there!" Evelyn nearly pinches Dorian in the thigh. "He's my new bodyguard. Cullen."

"My, but he is strapping," Dorian whispers as he holds open the door to the green room open. "You'll have to tell me all about him later."

Evelyn smirks in response, her eyes sweeping over the tall, curly-haired blond when he steps into the green room soon after her. She smiles coyly and looks away when he glances up and meets her gaze.

She was never a fan of getting a personal bodyguard to begin with. Too much restriction, she thought. It was only at the insistence of her manager that she finally relented.

And how extremely glad she is that she did.

Before getting whisked away onstage by Dorian's television crew, she pulls out her phone and composes a quick text message to her manager.

So the bodyguard you chose for me? I didn't know Vogue was auctioning off its models for personal guard duty.

Her phone buzzes a few second later.

Varric: told you you wouldn't regret it. Nobody knows you like I do, babe. Now you owe me a drink.

Evelyn laughs at the response, her eyes quickly flitting over to Cullen before sending a reply.

Make it five.