Trapped By the Billionaire Mountain Man Protector (Mountain Man Bodyguard Protector #10)

Chapter 1

one

. . .

Mia

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Some trooper you are.” I pounded my dashboard with my fist, but that didn’t magically release my little Isuzu from the mud. I revved the gas, and my tires spun. But that was it.

Typical. Spinning my damn wheels and getting nowhere.

I held up my phone and stared at the map, but it was still telling me where I was ten minutes ago, which was the whole reason I overshot the turn and ran off the road to begin with.

If you can even call it that. Road. Ha. It’s more like a loose collection of rocks. And it’s quickly disappearing.

I reached to open my door, but it was pouring out there, while I’m dressed for the biggest (okay, only) gala in East Greenwich.

Missing the gala wouldn’t upset me one bit.

But this client paid a pretty penny for me to be by his side. And if I screw this up by not even making it to the guy’s house, I’m going to fall out of Harvey’s good graces: he made that super clear when he gave me the assignment.

And I know for a fact he hog-tied one of my coworkers after she disobeyed his orders. Then he left her there, trapped in her room at the club, bound and gagged.

I couldn’t stop wondering, was that a private matter between them? Or was it a threat? For me.

Any way you looked at it, he wasn’t someone I couldn’t afford to disappoint. I needed to get close to him, to get in his good graces and stay there.

I flipped the little SUV into reverse, and gassed it. Then back to drive, and stomped on the gas again. Didn’t budge.

Come on.

“Who the hell lives up here, anyway?” I progressed into shouting with every slam on the gas pedal, and it helped.

Not my situation, but, like, spiritually.

“There isn’t a damn thing up here for miles, I lost phone service I don’t know how long ago, and if you were a damn billionaire like this guy is supposed to be, wouldn’t you spring for some goddamned son of a bitch roads? ”

Good girl. My godawful vehicle responded to the cursing. Just like I taught her. And with that stomp of the gas pedal, she lurched forward, and I was on the road again.

Progress.

I pulled up to the address, 77 West Mountain Road. It must have been a mistake. I double checked the text.

A mistake or some sort of joke. I wasn’t Harvey’s newest girl down at the club, not by a long shot. He ran through us quick. But maybe I was being hazed anyway, after six months.

This wasn’t a billionaire’s home. This was a tiny-ass shack. I guess if you squinted you might be able to sell it as a rustic cabin to an out-of-towner, but Jesus.

I pulled around and parked in front of it. My stomach turned over. There was a big guy out there, standing under the awning. Waiting for me. Hawk-eyeing my car.

I turned the engine off. Though I didn’t want to. I wanted to kick it into reverse and get the hell out of there.

I hadn’t known what to expect. This was my first call outside the club. He didn’t run over with an umbrella or anything. Didn’t move an inch. Not a gentleman. Now I knew.

I leaned over, popped open my glove compartment, and slid my Beretta into my purse.

Safety first.