CHAPTER TWO
SEVEN
There was one thing I liked less than onboarding a new protection client after I’d vowed to step back from personal close protection.
Onboarding a new client who wasn’t even fucking aware that she was my client.
I checked my watch, almost finished with my third root beer of the night. Sitting at a bar for six hours and only drinking root beer wasn’t exactly my definition of fun, but on day three of tailing Jordan, I needed to get creative about staying in the shadows.
Her strip club was across the street. I had a perfect view of the long, black awning lining the front door that she went into around seven p.m. Now, at almost one a.m., I was dying for her shift to end. You could only drink a root beer so slowly and use the restroom so many times before the bartenders started to wonder. From my initial scope of the property, the only back entrance led to an alleyway accessible from the front of the building. I should have seen her if she’d left. But there was always that possibility she was long gone already and I’d somehow missed her.
This is why setting up formal security checks with a willing client is preferred.
I knew this. Axel knew it. Damian knew it.
But Jordan didn’t exactly want a relationship with her brothers. And her brothers weren’t exactly willing to let their recently discovered sister wander the streets of New York without someone looking out for her.
After spending the past ten years thinking she was dead or had been abducted, discovering her mere miles away from their home base had been the surprise of their lives. Of course I had to say yes when they asked me to check things out and make sure she was safe.
I just wasn’t sure how much longer I could remain undetected. Jordan didn’t seem like the type of little sister to take kindly to an unwanted close protection officer.
“You need anything else?” The buzzed-head bartender jerked his chin toward my drained glass. I liked root beer, but not this much.
“I’m good. Just gonna hang out here for a little bit longer, see if my friend shows up.” I slid him another hundred dollar bill. His eyebrows arched, and he quickly accepted it, nodding.
“Sounds good to me. Take your time.”
The Fairchilds paid well. Handsomely, even. Especially for a job like this, for someone so loved.
A sister they thought was dead or missing, resurfacing alive and well.
I couldn’t even fathom. There’d been a time in my life I wished for such a surprise discovery. But my loved one—not my sister, but my fiancée—remained dead. Life didn’t have a miracle in the cards for me. Eight years later, I could think about it without emotion stirring. Sometimes I worried that meant I’d become an unfeeling monster. But then I remembered that had been the plan all along.
I kept an eye on the strip club across the street. She had to be coming out soon. She worked eight to two at the coffee shop, and now seven to after one at the club. The girl’s schedule was intense. I’d know, because I’d been trailing her to every activity and planned to continue until I could identify all the security risks in her daily life.
I’d already identified enough for a goddamn multi-page list. I knew where she slept, where she worked, the times she transited, the routes she took. Her apartment complex could win a gold star in subpar security—I’d walked right into the foyer the other day while she was at the coffeeshop, and then into her actual fucking apartment. Everything was unlocked. Not a single set of eyes or camera to see me.
Abysmal. And already highlighted in my report.
The front door of the strip club opened and two girls strode out, laughing. A platinum blonde—not my charge. And the other? I squinted, trying to see through the murky shadows of the sidewalk. Dark blonde hair pulled into a sleek top knot. A black leather jacket, halfway zipped, with dark leggings and black boots. It was the boots that tipped me off before I made out her face. Jordan. They started walking along the sidewalk but paused a moment later, gesturing toward the bar.
I groaned inwardly as they crossed the street and headed this way. Spending even more time in this bar was not the goal, and now this opened me up to being spotted in another locale she frequented. I sighed and flagged the bartender for another root beer.
From my seat, I could see the main doors. The girls came in, attracting plenty of looks. They weren’t dressed provocatively by any means, but I’d quickly found in the past three days that Jordan attracted looks wherever she went. Whatever she did. She had a magnetism I’d personally felt when she almost gave me a third-degree burn at the coffee shop. And being the subject of attention, wanted or otherwise, was yet another security risk.
But as far as I could see, she couldn’t help it. The woman was perfection in physical form. I hadn’t seen the inside of that club yet or what she did in there, but there was something about her that satisfied a deep, primal urge for aesthetics. Her gray-blue eyes had nearly rendered me mute earlier that week at the coffee shop. Judging from the way her co-workers and customers interacted with her, she had a little extra sparkle for everyone. And hell, if she wasn’t the client’s sister, I’d try to find out if she had a little sparkle for me, too.
But there was nothing more off-limits than a client. Especially one ten years my junior.
Besides, I didn’t go sparkle hunting anymore. I was an unfeeling monster who couldn’t even relate to his former self, since losing my fiancée eight years ago.
I didn’t let people in. I observed them. I protected them. And I went on with my life.
“We’re gonna need two gin and tonics.” The blonde’s order rang above the din as she leaned over the counter to speak to the bartender. Jordan pressed in at her side, nodding along. About nine people separated us. I prayed that would be enough to blend into the faceless mass of people inside the bar. I snuck a glance at Jordan just as her gray gaze snapped my way.
Our gazes connected in a gut punch.
Fuck.Clients weren’t supposed to make my balls do that scrunchy thing.
I pulled out my phone and tried to look busy. Bored as fuck. Whatever drunk people did at bars when they were trying to zone out. I swiped into my messages and looked at the last texts I’d sent Damian: Visual confirmation at her second workplace, I’ll stick around until she leaves and heads home. Their plan was to slowly reconnect with her before launching the big question: would she accept a full-time bodyguard, or any amount of protection, while they navigated this media shitstorm and SEC prosecution?
From the edges of my spatial awareness, I felt someone approaching. I swiped my phone off and sipped my drink. Jordan was at my side a moment later, wedged between me and the occupied barstool to my left.
“Why do I keep seeing you?” Her voice came out low, almost lethal. This wasn’t a come-on. Or maybe it was, and I was just out of the game.
I took an extra sip before responding. I cleared my throat. “Because you have eyes.”
Her chin dipped, something equal parts furious and amused circling in her expression. “Hard-hitting dad joke there. Are you following me?”
I worked my jaw back and forth as I mulled over my response. I hadn’t expected her to confront me like this. Hell, I hadn’t even thought she’d connected the dots. But she wasn’t supposed to come inside this bar. I’d backed myself into this corner, in all possible senses.
“You’ve been to the coffee shop every morning this week.”
“Is that a crime?” I asked, because something inside me was begging to poke her a little. “I like the shop. It’s cute.” I liked the view of her from this close. She was the same as Barista Jordan, but with a full face of makeup and a brazen attitude that couldn’t give a fuck about customer satisfaction.
She snorted. “Cute.” But she softened. Call something cute to a woman’s face and it’ll get them every time. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here. Right outside where my other job is. Absolutely nowhere near that cute little coffeeshop.”
I could have blamed it on coincidence. But that would never fly for the remaining portion of my security risk assessment. She’d surely spot me again. I needed to fess up. Immediately.
“You’re right. I’m actually a close protection officer.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You a cop?”
“No.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing following me?”
“I’ve been tasked with assessing your security risks.”
Her eyes shrank to slits then, and I could see the gears turning in her head. “That sounds like some made-up bullshit.”
I reached for my wallet, thumbing through the cash and credit cards until I found the business card I needed. The Showalter Agency. I’d worked for them in Louisville, where I’d crossed paths with Trace. I wasn’t with them anymore, since my goal was to start my own company now, but it had my name on it, my credentials, and it looked professional.
She plucked it out of my fingers, holding it between two magenta-polished nails as she studied it. “Seven. Not Sven.”
“Correct.”
“Well, I think you’ve got the wrong girl.” She slipped the business card into the pocket of her leather coat. “I didn’t hire you for a security assessment, so you can move along now.”
“Somebody hired me. And I’m doing the job I was hired for.”
She lifted her chin, staring at me in a way that made the thing with my balls happen again. There was something about the hipster clothing paired with the stripper makeup and the no-fucks-given conversation that had me short circuiting. Jordan was an anomaly. One that had me deeply intrigued.
“Who hired you?” Her question landed like a knife.
“Axel and Damian Fairchild.”
At this, her eyes fluttered shut and she visibly crumpled. Her jaw flexed and she pressed her magenta-tipped index and middle fingers to the center of her forehead.
“You have to be fucking kidding me.”
“They want to ensure your safety, which is no laughing matter to them.”
She laughed, but it was brittle. “Oh, I’m sure they are very concerned about my safety. Now that they remembered they even have a sister.”
I wasn’t ready to wade into that family dynamic. I knew the Fairchilds’ side, and couldn’t even claim to know the whole picture. But the whole picture didn’t concern me. I was only invested in the picture I was hired for.
“Why don’t you just go home now?” she went on. “I’ll buy your drink. You can stop wasting your time.” She leaned in closer, inspecting my soda. “What the fuck are you even drinking?”
“Root beer.”
“Odd choice for a Saturday night in Manhattan, but whatever.” She pulled out a bifold wallet from her backpack and thumbed through the fattest stack of bills I’d seen in recent history. Whatever she did inside the club walls, it paid well. She pulled out a twenty and patted it against the bar. “Okay? You’re dismissed.”
“Do you typically take the subway at this hour or do you call for a private ride?”
A cocky grin curled her plump, pink lips. “Why the fuck would I tell you?”
“You don’t have to. But the way you get home has degrees of risk that would be helpful to assess. Including your level of intoxication.”
“I’m a single girl in New York City. You think I don’t know about the fucking risks?”
“Do you carry pepper spray?” I asked.
She blinked once, tipping her head. “I’m not an amateur. I have three different ways to defend myself on my body at all times, including eight-inch heels that double as harpoons. I hear they work best on close protection officers. They’ll touch your brain Egyptian-style. Are we done here?”
I lifted my palms, trying not to show my amusement. A prepared woman was absolutely an aphrodisiac. Not that she’d ever hear that from my lips.
“And don’t follow me,” she added. “If you even try, I’ll make sure you know just how risk aware I am.”
“Noted.”
She sent me another long, level look before pushing off the bar and heading back to her friend at the opposite end. Jordan popped on a bright smile and received her gin and tonic. She settled into a chair, clinking glasses with the other woman before taking a sip.
This was my cue to leave. But after seeing those soulful blue-gray eyes up close, it was hard to leave. Even though she’d come over with fangs bared, she still managed to sparkle. But I couldn’t stick around to see anything else.
The unconventional approach to the security assessment had failed.
I left the rest of my root beer untouched, along with Jordan’s twenty, and wove through the crowded bar for the front door. Jordan’s eyes scorched a hole through my back as I left the bar and paused on the damp sidewalk outside. I twisted to look back through the window, and her gaze flicked away from me.
She was smart. Vigilant. Good qualities for a twenty-five-year-old to have. But she could do so much better. There was no way in fuck I should have been able to waltz right into her apartment building. She needed upgrades or at the very least, someone to show her where the rotting joints of her existence were.
I booked it to my M5 parked in the corner garage. Nights like these, I didn’t mind driving through the city, when I knew the traffic would be calmer. Normally, though, I took the Fairchilds up on their offer to send a vehicle. I had no problem bathing in the luxurious life they offered, like handing off annoying city driving to someone else; I’d come to prefer it, even. But sometimes, a man just needed his BMW.
As the car hummed with power and the cold leather seat beneath me warmed, I sent a text to Damian.
SEVEN: She took a detour after the club and ran into me at the bar across the street. She recognized me from the coffee house and approached me. Didn’t go terribly well.
DAMIAN: Fuck. Where are we at now?
SEVEN: I told her you and Axel contracted me for a security assessment. She asked me to stop following her. I’ll swing by her apartment later and stick around until I see she’s home. Then I’ll reconfigure the plan tomorrow.
DAMIAN: Thanks. How’d she approach you? Mad?
SEVEN: She threatened to stab a heel through my skull.
DAMIAN: Okay. I guess that answers my question.
SEVEN: She’ll likely reach out. Be prepared.
DAMIAN: I’ll wear a helmet. You warned us this could happen. I just don’t understand why she doesn’t want to talk to us.
I stared at his message for a few moments, mulling over what she’d said to me. I didn’t understand it any more than he did. And with the way things were progressing with Jordan, I might not ever.
I stored my phone and pulled out of the parking lot. First stop, some late-night pho. I had time to kill before I staked out her apartment, since I had an inkling Jordan wasn’t just a one-and-done girl when it came to a night out with her girlfriend. As I accelerated down the street, heading for Chinatown, my mind drifted back to Jordan.
Those stormy, gray-blue eyes that doubled as a whip. The take-no-shit attitude that begged me to dive deeper.
But I wouldn’t go deeper with her. That wasn’t the M.O. The game plan was, and always would be to stay focused. Don’t open up. Just remain a brick wall. Complete the job. The rest would fall into place.
In a way, Jordan’s resistance to the assessment was a blessing in disguise. I didn’t want to be anybody’s close protection officer again for some undetermined amount of time, and I certainly didn’t want to be glued to the side of someone like her.
Because I already knew that Jordan would make the focus and brick wall portions of the job worse than difficult.
She would make them impossible.