The boss doesn’t say anything, but Rachel grasps Maria’s hand, and they share a look. My heart lurches painfully. Is that what Rachel wants, too? Does she want to have children? Would I want to be a father again?
It’s scary as hell, but the honest answer is yes: if the kid was with Rachel, I’d definitely want that.
The boss still hasn’t moved.
“Devon, say something, please!”
Maria sounds desperate. Finally, he speaks.
“I know I’m not the easiest man to be with, Maria. But you have accepted me in every possible way. Why do you think this would change anything? You know how I feel about you. This changes nothing.”
And that’s when Rachel pulls at my sleeve, leading me away.
I watch from a distance, because that’s my job. The boss has arm around Ms. Alvarez and they’re talking quietly.
I look down at Rachel. She doesn’t speak but leans her head on my chest as we sway slowly to a rhythm that has nothing to do with the music playing over the speakers.
Throughout the evening, the rest of Maria’s friends and family, cousins, uncles, aunts, , second cousins, great aunts and a great uncle, come to meet the boss. They don’t know who he is exactly, but they sense he’s not one of them. And still, he draws them to him. His icy politeness ought to drive them away, but it’s that pesky charisma of his—he charms them all.
Bastard.
But at least the boss has survived his first wedding in the Bronx. And I can’t help thinking that if little Ms. Alvarez manages to put up with his jaded heart, there might be another wedding.
Or it could be his funeral.
I’m known for my optimism.
Chapter 12
Games People Play
THE DAYS OF early summer have long gone, turning into one scorching hot July day after another. Time passes in relative peace and Rachel has started to spend most of her weekends at Wolf Point with me. Finally.
The boss and Ms. Alvarez are still acting like a couple of teenagers, texting each other day and night. But that’s kind of apt when I think about the boss. He’s never been on dates before, never taken a girl home. Nope, no homecoming dance or prom for Anderson. He’s lived his life isolated from anything real. Why? I’m not sure, although I have several theories.
Ms. Alvarez banned him from stalking her at work. I happen to know this because Anderson was cursing blue and green when she told him. He argued that he’s the boss so he can make the rules. She yelled back that she had a life and was trying to have a career and he had to let her do it on her own terms and own talent. He sulked for 72 hours but gave in eventually. He does that a lot around Ms. Alvarez—the sulking followed by the giving in.
So most days they don’t see each other at DMA Tower. Rachel says they talk every night that Ms. Alvarez doesn’t spend at the house, as well as all of those texts.
He wants her to move in. She’s resisting because she says her grandfather is too old to take on the responsibility of three teenage boys by himself.
It hardly seems worth the argument, seeing as Maria has been spending so much time at Wolf Point, she may as well change the address on her driver’s license right away.
He hasn’t mentioned marrying her, but Rachel says it’s inevitable. I’m still undecided, but when the boss makes a pit stop at the Cartier franchise in Saks, I think she might be right.
The sales area has pink marble floors and gilt wall sconces. Kind of reminds me of a high class whorehouse that I saw in Bangkok once when I was guarding a client.
I nod at the security guard as a professional courtesy. He’s checking to see if I’m carrying. Pu-leeze: this is a custom-made suit—if you can tell I’m packing, I’d have to shoot my tailor.
I can also see what he’s thinking: You only look after one guy—I have a whole store full of expensive jewelry.
Maybe he’d like to try being personal security for billions of dollars’ worth of a walking, talking, fucking Mount Vesuvius.
Anderson glances at the engagement rings but ends up picking out a classy diamond bracelet. I’d bet my year’s salary that it’s not for his mother or sister.
I stare around at the stunning displays of watches, rings, earrings, cufflinks, pendants, chains and necklaces. For the briefest of moments I feel regret that there’s nothing in here that I could afford to buy for Rachel. This store is for the seriously wealthy. But would I want all the shit that goes with it? No. I can walk away from this game at any time: Anderson can’t.
But I would like to take her away somewhere warm and sunny and expensive. She deserves the best that life has to offer. Which isn’t me. But thankfully she has low standards.
And she’s great with Lilly. I couldn’t be serious about any woman who didn’t love my kid. I’m very serious about Rachel.
They’ve met three times now, well, twice more since Christmas Eve. That seems like a lifetime ago. The first official date was a trip to the zoo, and last month we took her to a pizza parlor and then played mini golf.
I’d like to have a family summer vacation for the three of us, but the boss might have to make a last-minute trip to Taiwan, so I can’t give Carla a firm date. She thinks I’m being difficult just for the hell of it.
I’m pretty certain that she’s seeing someone. She’s not admitting it, of course. Not that I care who she sees, except that if it’s a guy who’s going to be around Lilly, I want to check him the fuck out.
Rachel said that Lilly is already talking about cute boys in her class—she’s only just eight, for fuck’s sake! If I have anything to do with it, she’ll have no dates until she’s graduated college. In fact, I’m seriously thinking about staking out her first boyfriend in the front yard as a warning to the others.
I’m guessing Maria’s grandfather would feel the same if he knew Anderson’s secrets.
And the boss’s past is about to catch up with him one Thursday evening after dinner.
I get to have a lot more dinners at home with Rachel now that the boss’s schedule is so different. I should thank Ms. Alvarez for that one day.
I’m vegging out on the sofa with Rachel, my eyes closed as she runs her fingers through my hair, something that she knows renders me comatose, when my phone beeps, informing me that someone has entered the building using the boss’s private entrance code which was just changed.
“What’s wrong, Justin?”
“Not sure. A visitor. Back in a minute.”
I don’t have time to retrieve my Smith & Wesson from my wall safe and that pisses me off. It’s a timely reminder that I should be prepared 24/7. I’m getting soft, which means I’m getting careless. I’ve been in this job too damn long. The thought shakes me up.
When I reach the entrance, Frederick Landon has already exited the elevator and is strolling through the living room, a well-dressed reptile.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the bodyguard,” he laughs mirthlessly. “Forgive me for not remembering your name, but Devon casts a wide shadow. Do you like being in it all the time?”
I don’t reply because if I react, then it’s given him what he wants. Maybe the boss will tell me to throw this basking shark out on his bony ass. Guess I’ll find out.
“Mr. Anderson and Ms. Alvarez are in the TV room. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Who? Oh, another Spic. Evidently it runs in the family.”
His lips turn white as he presses them together, and I gather that the news isn’t welcome. It interests me because it means that the boss hasn’t updated Landon on his activities. That gives me a warm glow.
Landon probably smirks into one of those big ole mirrors hoping an inanimate object will tell him that he’s the fairest of them all. Yeah, and I’m auditioning for America’s Next Top Model wearing a Stars and Stripes Speedo.
I’ll drag the bastard out of here by his fucking cravat if he so much as lays a finger on Ms. Alvarez.
Landon starts toward the TV room when I block his route.
�
��If you’ll wait here, sir, I’ll let Mr. Anderson know you’re wishing to speak with him.”
“No need,” he sneers, trying to step past me. “I’ve seen Devon in flagrante delicto more times than you’ve shot your pistol.”
He smirks at his joke, but I just give him the blank stare that I reserve for men I’m not allowed to punch.
“Wait here.”
He huffs with frustration but has no choice.
I phone the boss who is definitely not happy to hear the news that his old friend has dropped in.
I decide to lurk in case I’m required for the very serious pleasure of applying the toe of my boot to Landon’s bony ass as I kick him out.
The boss stalks into the living room looking stressed, glancing at me as I stare back impassively. Nevertheless, my expression says, Over to you.
“Frederick? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to drop by?”
“Maybe I wasn’t aware that an old friend needed an invitation,” he replies tightly.
The boss is trying not to appear flustered but I see the muscles in his jaw jump as he clamps his teeth together.
Shaking my head, I start to leave the room, but bump into Ms. Alvarez.
She looks worried, and I don’t know whether it’s the sight of me smiling, or the thought of Gomez Addams lurking in the living room with Uncle Fester.
“Who is it, Trainer?”
“A Mr. Landon—I’m told he’s a friend of Mr. Anderson’s father.”
She gives a small ‘oh’ of recognition, then a determined expression sweeps over her face and she marches into the living room.
I hesitate for half a second, then follow her.
“I have company, Frederick.”
At least the boss sounds pissed, but Landon waves a hand dismissively.
“The little girl, I know. The muscle informed me.”
Harsh words and sarcasm? Aw, does that mean we can’t be friends? Thank fuck for that.
“The muscle has a name—Justin Trainer—and I’m not a little girl: I’m 24 and my name is Maria Alvarez.”
Landon turns with a sneer on his face.
“How delightful. You must forgive me, my dear. I forget that you young people like to sound older, but believe me, that all changes once you hit forty. Well, I’m Frederick Landon, an old friend of Devon’s father—and a very close friend of Devon, of course.”
He extends his hand and Ms. Alvarez shakes it, turning red when Landon not very discreetly wipes his fingers with a handkerchief afterwards.
The boss stands between them uncertainly. Why the hell isn’t he kicking him out?
There’s a long, ominous pause, and the girl from the Bronx shows that she has better manners than either of these Hamptons inhabitants.
“Would you like a drink, Mr. Landon?” Ms. Alvarez says at last, breaking the heavy silence.
“How sweet of you to offer me a drink in Devon’s home. But I suppose that’s your service skills coming to the fore.”
Ms. Alvarez flushes but remains cool.
“Yes, I did some waitressing when I was in college—you meet all sorts doing a job like that. It certainly teaches tolerance.”
Anderson’s watching them like a tennis match, or possibly one of those slo-mo car crashes that you see on TV.
Landon arranges himself on one corner of the sofa, crossing his legs while ensuring that the sharp creases in his five-thousand dollar suit aren’t wrinkled.
“Devon knows what I like.”
And I don’t think he just means how to fix a dry martini.
And then I realize what this scene reminds me of: the time Carla met my old girlfriend from high school. Meagan was a nice girl and she ended up marrying one of the lumber men in our old town. But Carla acted like Landon is now—a hissing, snarling, scratching alley cat. It wasn’t pretty, ‘cause Meagan wasn’t a pushover either.
Since the boss decides to pour Landon a glass of wine, I decide to leave them to it. If eviction is required later, he can beep me.
I head back to the staff wing, vaguely depressed. When the hell is the boss going to get rid of Landon?
“Who was it, Justin?”
“Frederick Landon.”
“Ugh, that awful man. Why is he here?”
“I have no idea, but it looked like the first act of Gunfight at the OK Corral out there. Except the boss was pouring him wine and Landon was spitting out the bullets. Ms. Alvarez was deciding which kneecap to aim for.”
Rachel shakes her head sadly. I know how she feels.
I don’t know what time Landon leaves, but it was late.
The next morning, the boss is surly and morose; Ms. Alvarez is almost mute, staring out of the car window as I drive them to work.
“I guess I’ll see you,” she says quietly.
“Fine,” snaps the boss.
I open the door for her and she raises sad eyes to mine.
“Thanks, Trainer. Say bye to Rachel for me.”
“I will, Ms. Alvarez. Enjoy your weekend.”
She gives me a weak smile as the boss scowls. I know she has plans to spend some time with her brothers, time that doesn’t include the boss.
Who’d have thought the former bootneck was giving the billionaire socialite tips on good manners? He’s such an asshole.
THE BOSS SEEMS to relax slightly as we head home after work that evening. He pulls out his cell, and I’m really hoping he’s not going to call Ms. Alvarez. I hate to blush and drive.
“Frederick … yes. What? No … are you free for dinner tonight? Eight? Good. I’ll pick you up … French. Okay.”
I groan inwardly. How fucking dumb can you get? His girlfriend is busy for one weekend and the first thing he does is arrange to hook up with De Sade’s second cousin. I really hope Ms. Alvarez doesn’t find out about this because if she does, she’ll kick the boss’s sorry ass out of the state—in a quiet, non-violent sort of way. And, frankly, he’ll fucking deserve it.
I admit I may not be one of those ‘New Men’ that Rachel tells me she’s read about in magazines—Neanderthal seems to be one of her favorite adjectives when it comes to me, I have no fucking idea why—but even I’m not dumb enough to do what the boss is doing. And I have a horrible feeling he’ll just go ahead and tell Ms. Alvarez that he’s seeing Satan’s chief cheerleader, because when it comes to reading women’s feelings, the boss is still at the starting gate. Sure, he can make them come like the Orient Express, but he still doesn’t know fuck-all about women.
I drop him at the entrance to Wolf Point then go park the Rover.
Rachel is in the staff kitchen and something smells really good—and it’s not the baked salmon dinner.
I wrap my arms around her and kiss the back of her neck.
“Justin! I’m cooking!”
“So am I, baby. Warming up nicely.”
She laughs and pulls free.
“How was your day?”
I shrug.
“Pam wanted to know why the boss was acting so weird again.”
“What did you tell her?”
“She was freaking out that it was something to do with the business end of things. I told her that his girlfriend was busy this weekend, and let her work out the rest for herself.”
She leans against me, and I enjoy the warmth of her body against mine.
“It’s just you and me tonight, baby. The boss is going out.”
“Oh! There was nothing on the calendar?”
“He’s going out for dinner. With that Landon motherf— creep.”
“That man!”
She folds her arms and looks pissed.
Yup. Pretty much the same reaction I had.
“I don’t know what he sees in that person. Well, I hope Ms. Alvarez doesn’t find out.”
“Baby, he’ll probably just tell her.”
She gapes at me.
“Surely not!” She stops and purses her lips as I watch her curiously. “Oh, honestly! Sometimes I wonder about Mr. Anderson!”
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br /> “You, me, and half the western hemisphere, baby.”
I run my hand up her thigh, tugging her skirt so that it’s resting next to the top of her thigh highs.
“Got the whole evening to ourselves, baby.”
She smiles and runs her hands over my hips giving my ass a good squeeze. I flex into her so she can feel my growing interest.
And I don’t care that I’m so hungry my stomach thinks my throat has been cut, and I don’t care that the boss is still in the building. I sweep Rachel over my shoulder and sprint to the bedroom with every intention of showing her who is on top in this relationship.
Or maybe we can take turns.
Chapter 13
Endgame
THE BOSS HAS dinner with Landon—it doesn’t make him happy. What a shocker. Maybe I should go into the shrink business but I reckon anyone with any sense could tell him that Landon messes with his mind. This Stockholm Syndrome shit has a lot to answer for. And if it really is just a case of the boss meeting up with a guy, someone he later went on to have a sexual relationship with, riddle me this: Landon is supposed to have taught the boss to play piano—his whole family talks about what an amazing pianist Anderson is; he has a very fucking expensive Steinway Grand Piano in his living room, and he never plays it.
Rachel dusts that damn great slab of mahogany and ivory twice a week: he never touches it; never even looks at it, as far as I can tell.
That to me says it’s a huge chunk of grief and guilt tied like a millstone around his neck while he tries to swim the Hudson River. So why keep it? But he won’t get rid of it—or Landon.
The boss makes no sense—least of all to himself.
But the weekend finally winds to its weary end and Ms. Alvarez has reasserted visiting rights. But there’s a tension in the air that wasn’t here before, and she smiles less than she used to.
It’s none of my business, but it pisses me off all the same.
I sleep badly, so lurk in the CCTV room instead when my tossing and turning is stopping Rachel from getting a solid seven hours.
Jane Harvey-Berrick Saving The Billionaire Page 9