Guarding the Billionaire Page 14

  I swoop back down to kiss her, and for the briefest of moments the connection is there again. Then she puts her hand against my chest and pushes gently.

  “Up!”

  “I am up.”

  She laughs.

  “Not that part of you! You have work. Go! Time for Mr. Anderson’s morning run!”

  I groan. After last night’s workout with Rachel, the last thing I need is a six mile sprint with the boss.

  She pushes me again.

  “I’ll have breakfast waiting for you when you get back.”

  “God, you’re a fantastic woman. Where have you been all my life?”

  “Justin, you’ve already had me. Flattery won’t get you any further.”

  I shrug.

  “Sure about that?”

  She laughs again, then reaches to the floor and throws my clothes at me.

  “Go! Don’t forget your pants!”

  “The words every man wants to hear.”

  But now I hustle, because she’s right: I’m running behind time. I scoop up the rest of my clothes and do a nude sprint across our living room, taking a chance that Anderson isn’t going to come looking for me just yet. I pull on my sweats and running shoes, and get ready to head out.

  But I take a second to stop by Rachel’s bedroom, and she looks up, surprised.

  “You still owe me a date, Mrs. Smith.”

  Her eyes sparkle as she smiles at me.

  “I’ll look forward to it, Justin.”

  Anderson is waiting in the foyer. He looks pissed. Guess I must be a second late. I think he’s going to chew my ass out, but then he raises his eyebrows and looks like he’s hiding a smile. What’s his problem?

  But when I get in the elevator, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls. I look like hell. I’m unshaven, I have bed head, and I haven’t had time to shower. I’d better not stand too close to the boss. Basically I look like shit. I may as well hang a sign around my neck: ‘Well fucked’. I wonder if he’s going to say something.

  But nope, no comments, no reaction at all. That changes when we get outside. Instead of the usual medium-fast pace, the bastard speeds up. He fucking motors around one of our longer circuits, and when I catch a glimpse of his face, I can see that he’s smirking at me. He knows. I don’t usually have trouble keeping up with a client on a run. I’m used to fat fuckers who wheeze their way around a half-mile track. Anderson’s killing me. And he’s enjoying it. Twisted fucker.

  By the time we get back to Wolf Point, my legs feel like lead, and my eyeballs are about ready to pop out of my head and I’m drenched in sweat. But he still hasn’t said anything about Rachel. I get the feeling that he’s already made his point.

  Rachel is in the kitchen. She looks damn fine in her neat uniform of white shirt and black skirt, her hair shiny and smooth.

  I can’t help myself. I walk up and wrap my arms around her waist while she’s cooking and nuzzle her neck.

  “Hi honey, I’m home,” I say softly.

  She laughs.

  “Well, go shower and I’ll get you some breakfast. Now! Or I’ll end up burning this.”

  God, I love her ordering me around.

  By the time I climb out of the shower, the kitchen is empty. She must be serving Anderson. Suddenly, I’m anxious that he’ll say something to Rachel when I’m not there to defend her. If he starts on her, I’ll fucking kill him.

  I’m halfway along the corridor when Rachel returns. She stares at the expression on my face.

  “What’s wrong, Justin? You look…”

  “Did Anderson say anything to you?”

  “About what?” she seems genuinely puzzled, but I’m relieved.

  “I just … I got the impression this morning that he knows.”

  She blushes.

  “Oh! How?”

  “I guess I looked rougher than usual this morning,” I remind her.

  She smiles.

  “Yes, you weren’t your usual debonair self.”

  “Debonair? I don’t think anyone has ever called me that before.”

  “Really? I think you look very handsome in your suit. But this morning…” she laughs, “not quite as suave as usual.”

  “Suave and debonair? I could get used to these compliments, Mrs. Smith.”

  “You might have to, Mr. Trainer.” Then she frowns. “Mr. Anderson didn’t say anything to me: he seemed exactly the same as usual. Oh, he did ask me to tell you that he’s going to Scarsdale tonight for supper with his parents.”

  I groan.

  “You don’t like the Andersons?”

  “Yeah, they’re fine. It’s just … Abigail.”

  She laughs.

  “Justin! Are you telling me that an ex-Marine with your experience in close protection can’t handle one nineteen year-old girl?”

  “Yeah, that’s about the size of it.”

  “You want me to come and protect you?”

  “Would you, Mrs. Smith?”

  “Why certainly, Mr. Trainer. If you’re scared.”

  “Fucking terrified.”

  Chapter 12

  Ch-Ch-Changes

  THE DAY DRAGS. There’s nothing urgent at Anderson HQ, so I head to the CCTV room and doze with my eyes open, my head propped up on my hand. The rest of the security team leaves me alone. Most are ex-services and they know the look of someone who’s been awake all night. They just assume it’s to do with Anderson, certainly not the delectable Rachel. And they aren’t going to know.

  By 6PM, most of the employees have left, just a few ass-kissers who want to impress the boss with their work ethic. They’d have to work 24/7 to put in longer hours than him. And there are a few females hovering in reception, hoping that he’ll notice them. Dream on, ladies, it ain’t gonna happen. Not now that he’s got his next fuck on order. Although I’m still curious about the female that I saw him with at the Farm, and how those husband and wife pairings work out. Although not curious enough to ask. Or watch.

  The thought sours my mood. Rachel will be away this weekend. She hasn’t even gone yet and I miss her. He hasn’t mentioned that we’re going to the Farm, so maybe he’ll be working at Wolf Point and I’ll be able to take a day to see Lilly. Just depends on whether Anderson is planning on leaving the building.

  But first, I’ve got to get through an evening at the Andersons’, or more specifically, spend the evening avoiding Abigail Anderson’s attentions. I ponder the idea of camouflage, but figure the boss might ask questions.

  He’s quiet on the drive over to Scarsdale. Fine by me, although a little conversation would help me stay awake.

  The Andersons’ mansion is beautiful and serene, and again I wonder how someone so fucked up could have come out of a place like this. Maybe there are some memories that no number of happy years can entirely erase. I should know: one tour of Iraq, two in Afghan.

  Mrs. Anderson is waiting, her face lighting up when I open the boss’s door and he steps out of the car.

  “Devon, darling!” she says, kissing him on the cheek. “Happy birthday!”

  “Mother,” he smiles briefly.

  His birthday? He didn’t say anything. But then again, why would he? Although some people I’ve worked for expect the help to give them a fucking parade every time something happens in their insular little worlds. Not Anderson.

  “Trainer, you can park the car around the side. There’ll be a meal for you in the kitchen … or you may prefer to sleep in the car?”

  His face is impassive but I can tell he’s amused, referring, no doubt, to the pile of shit who escorted him on his run this morning. Bastard.

  “Sir.”

  I hurry back to the car just as Abigail Anderson gallops into view. I catch sight of her disappointed face in the car’s side mirrors. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing more of her later.

  Security at the Anderson mansion obviously isn’t a priority. There are multiple entry points, not least from the golf course that borders their land. If the boss is going
to spend time here, there’ll need to be changes. In fact, I’m going to recommend that Mason speaks to him about upgrading security for his whole family. If someone wanted to make a quick buck, his family would be a softer target than Anderson himself, living in his Wolf Point fortress.

  After checking out the perimeter, I wander into the kitchen. The cook introduces herself as Nora. She’s a friendly woman in her fifties and has produced a fine meal of poached salmon. Objectively, I’d say not quite up to Rachel’s standards, but pretty good.

  I’m thinking about heading back to the car for a nap when Abigail Anderson crashes into the kitchen. Nora is serving in the dining room, and Miss Anderson’s eyes light up when she sees that she’s caught me alone.

  “Hi, Trainer! Devon said you’d be sleeping in the car, but here you are. Are you waiting for me?”

  I need to nip this in the bud … before my nerve fails.

  “Miss Anderson, you’re going to get me fired and I like being employed—and having all my limbs attached.”

  “Oh! Don’t worry about Devon! You’re so cute when you’re serious! What’s your first name? Devon won’t tell me. Have you got a girlfriend? Oh, you’re the strong, silent type, aren’t you? I think you and Devon must get along famously.”

  Suddenly she turns bright red and her eyes widen.

  “Oh! I don’t mean like that! Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Wow, I’d never have guessed! I mean I did, guess, that is, but wow!”

  What did I miss? Now she thinks I’m the boss’s butt-buddy? How’d she go from flirting with me to that?

  Thankfully, Nora returns before I manage to connect my brain to the parts that speak. Nora casts a stern and disapproving eye at me but smiles warmly at Miss Anderson. Fucking typical—some women always think men are the bad guys!

  I make my excuses and leave while Abigail pouts. She’s going to give some guy a stroke one day—and it might be me.

  I MANAGE TO get an hour’s shut-eye in the Rover with the seat tilted back before the boss leaves. His father is with him, and I can see from the way he’s eyeing me that Miss Anderson has apprised him of her latest theory. For fuck’s sake! Now I’m the boss’s beard? But at least it’ll keep Miss Anderson off my ass. Oh crap, unfortunate expression, given the circumstances.

  I just want to get the hell out of here.

  We drive back to Wolf Point in silence. I wonder whether I should wish the boss happy birthday, but I’m so pissed off with his family I can’t summon the enthusiasm. I think back to how I spent my thirtieth birthday: shit-faced with the rest of my Unit. Anderson doesn’t seem to have any friends. In fact, despite his vast wealth, he’s not a happy guy, just miserable in luxury. The thought reminds me that the Senator will be oiling his asshole this weekend.

  I drive into the garage, and Anderson is out the car door and into the elevator before I even have the car in park. I do a quick re-con, but there’s nothing out of place.

  It’s after midnight, so I assume that Rachel has already gone to bed. She’s left a light on for me in the staff kitchen—with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. God, this woman!

  Under the cookies, there’s a note. She’s written one word: ‘Tired?’

  Hell, no!

  FRIDAY NIGHT, AND Rachel has left for the weekend. The staff quarters are so empty without her. Shit, I miss her smile.

  She’s gone to stay with her sister, as usual. She enjoys spending time with her nieces. I wish I could see Lilly, but we’re leaving for the Farm.

  Mason’s team have been all over it. They found evidence that recording devices have recently been removed, leaving some hastily patched up holes where cabling and cameras were situated.

  Despite this, Van Sant still has a job and is still the manager at the Farm. I have no idea why, and if Anderson is playing the long game, I wish I knew what it was. Because right now I don’t know what the game is, I’m unsure who are the players, and no one’s told me the rules.

  Landon is there, too, saggy ass on display, withered dick sticking out like a cocktail sausage. Van Sant avoids me.

  It’s all guys tonight, no women anywhere, but with ages varying from twenties to seventies. I don’t recognize any of the faces but I saw the cars they arrived in—all costing more than a year’s salary for a Marine.

  At least I have help with security this time—one of Mason’s guys does the door checks, a quick sweep of the metal detector and for any weapons, cell phones or covert recording devices. Two other men patrol the perimeter, making sure that no one is sneaking in. I’ve pulled the oh-so-lucky duty of being the man on the inside.

  I keep my eyes open for anything of concern—and learn that glitter lube comes in multi-packs.

  I’ve learned not to be affected by seeing what goes on here, six or seven men fucking and being fucked in a pile of sweating, heaving bodies, but even I have to look away when one guy proceeds to defecate on another guy—literally squats down and shits on his chest.

  By dawn, the orgy has wound down and a new team takes over outside. Anderson won’t have anyone but me inside, so I take a quick shower to wake me up, then do another sweep of the main house before napping in one of the chairs downstairs.

  By mid-morning, the guests start leaving, dressed in their weekend casual of golfing t-shirts and loafers.

  When they’ve all gone, Anderson appears with Landon, and I drive the two of them back to the city. At least Landon sleeps the whole way, his mouth hanging open. Anderson works on his laptop.

  Saturday evening, the Senator arrives and once I’ve escorted him to Anderson, I stay resolutely out of sight.

  I wander into the CCTV room, now my office and work until my eyeballs desiccate.

  Despite my tiredness, I don’t sleep well. About 2AM, the meditation room door slams and I dream uneasily for a few more hours.

  When I wake, just before my alarm, there’s no uncertainty—I know exactly where I am. The bed feels very empty. Not that I’ve slept in it much the last few nights, so I’m aware of Rachel’s absence all the more. It’s not a good idea to feel like this. After Carla, I told myself I wouldn’t make myself vulnerable again. I think Rachel’s different, but how well do I really know her? Christ, this place makes me nuts; I can’t think clearly.

  I arrive in the foyer at the same time as Anderson. I know he can’t have slept more than two or three hours, but he doesn’t show it, except maybe around the eyes. He’d have made a helluva Marine—if he wasn’t so fucking crazy.

  When we get back from our daily run, Anderson gives me the rest of the day off. I guess that means the Senator is staying. So I try and arrange some time with Lilly, but apparently my Princess has another play date with one of her friends from school, and fathers are surplus to requirements. I offer to pick up Lilly at the end of the afternoon, but that’s not convenient either. Next time I should give more notice. Carla knows that’s next to impossible with my job. Not that she cares. If I didn’t push so hard, I wouldn’t have any kind of relationship with my daughter.

  Instead, I head downtown and find Lilly a postcard of Central Park and a dog making a funny face in the shiny surface of the lake.

  I sit on a bench and write small so I can tell her how much I miss her and all the fun stuff we’ll do next time I take her out.

  I wonder what her mom says about me when I’m not there.

  When I did my first tour in Iraq, two guys in my platoon got Dear John letters. Un-fucking-believable. And do you know what one cunt wrote? Things could maybe have worked out if we’d spent more time together. What the fuck did she think he was doing? Sitting in the fucking freezing mud of an Afghan winter just for the hell of it? We passed the letter around so we could all make our feelings known about the ho he’d had a lucky escape from.

  The point is, you have to fight for what you want, but you’ve got to have weapons and you’ve got to have opportunity. I don’t know what the boss wants to fight for. He’s got every physical comfort money can buy; he’s rich and s
uccessful—and he acts like he’s had his heart and soul surgically removed.

  But then I think back to his fucking awful meditation room and I know that despair is at the root of it all.

  No amount of money can chase away the horror.

  I text Carla and ask if I can take Lilly out next Saturday. The boss is going to the Farm by helo with one of Mason’s men, and I’m following on later with the car, so I’m free for most of the day.

  I fume helplessly while it takes her three hours to text back a single word: Fine.

  Chapter 13

  The Parent Trap

  IT’S THE NEXT weekend and Rachel left for her sister’s last night. As the Senator was visiting and I had nothing else to do, I hit the gym, got in a couple of hours lifting weights, doing crunches and squats. Running every day with Anderson, I don’t usually bother with a cardio workout, as well. Benefits of having a health freak boss. Make that just freak.

  Saturday morning, we leave the Senator alone at Wolf Point, a situation that I really don’t fucking approve of and Anderson really doesn’t fucking care.

  We run the usual six miles and then I’m off duty for the next ten hours while they … you know what? I don’t even care what they do to each other. All I’m told is that Anderson is flying to the Farm late tonight and I’m to meet him there with the Rover. Mason has a guy on standby in case shit happens.

  I shower quickly and reach the outskirts of Naugatuck, CT, by 10AM.

  It’s a strange feeling parking in the driveway of the house I bought with Carla over ten years ago. It’s a one-story, ranch style home, kind of ugly, but set on an acre of property. The land is what sold it to me, all that space. Even back then, I knew that when I came out of the Marines one day I wouldn’t want to be cooped up. Which makes it ironic that I’m living in the middle of a city with heat bouncing off the concrete buildings and steam rising from the ground.

  It feels a little cooler here, and I stare at the tall trees fringing the boundary. I was going to build Lilly a treehouse. I never did.

  At least Carla keeps the place nice. The grass has been cut recently and everything looks tidy. She told me the neighbor’s kids help out.