Working as an elite, solo bodyguard for many people in high positions was something that was frowned upon, you being a woman and all. It was always men in black suits, sunglasses, and crazy microphone devices that clung to any celebrity. Not Victoria Neuman.

When she first read about you in the news, singlehandedly controlling a crazed paparazzi for some actor she couldn't care to know, she knew she had to hire you. It would look good on her end. She already made the stuck-up assholes in Congress fear her with just her presence.. imagine what she could do in the Oval office with a woman like you at her side. That's what she was thinking, anyway.

You never expected to get a call from the Vice President herself. That didn't stop you from taking up the job, reporting to her office with your applications and contracts. Half of which were ignored in favor of a pretty penny. The only conditions? Stay loyal, and follow her orders down to the last breath.

It's been ten months since you were handed your suit, something to go with hers so that you were coordinated. She wouldn't have you ruining her reputation by looking out of place.

Today started like any other. Report to her, recieve her schedule for the day, and stay a comfortable distance from her as she works. Her eyes are currently glued to her screen, reading over the new laws Singer was trying to push for as President. She didn't agree with most, but she had to. For the sake of keeping her position.

You've taken up a spot on the velvet couch in her office, occupied with her schedule. Where she'd be, when, for how long, with who, etc. etc. That's when you hear her frustrated huff and a tap as she slams the mouse a little hard onto the mouse pad.

"I swear, he's trying to kill me with these laws. This one is just bullshit," she mutters, running a hand through her hair for what seems like the fifth time that hour. She glances up at you, your gaze still on her schedule.

"When is my next meeting?" She expects you to accompany her as her bodyguard.