Finally, finally he remembers that he was asking her out for dinner. And he almost smiles when she says yes.
Who knew he could behave like a human being?
When I get to the restaurant, things are looking good for the boss, but he’s not out of the woods yet. He’s still got plenty of time to fuck it up.
Every time the boss meets someone, he has to think about what they want from him, how they’re planning to use him. That’s another reason why Maria means so much to him: she damn well dislikes that he’s so wealthy. I don’t know what her thinking is, because in other ways she’s really smart, but she loves him for himself. Now if the poor bastard could get his head around that, he might actually have that slice of happiness he’s reaching for.
I open the door for Ms. Alvarez and she slides out.
“It’s good to see you, Trainer. How’s Rachel?”
She’s just so damn sweet—at least she knows what she’s getting herself into this time. She’s stronger than she looks—I just hope she’s strong enough to take all his crazy shit.
“She’s well, thank you, Ms. Alvarez. And it’s good to see you again, too.”
“Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you last night.”
“Not a problem, ma’am.”
Yeah, I’m smooth. Watch, learn, and take notes, Anderson.
The boss is eyeballing me, but I ain’t sayin’ shit, no sir. He knows there’s no point in asking me. Silent as the grave, me.
“Ten-thirty?” he says grittily.
Sheesh, just because I’m smoother than butter on hot toast and he’s an asshole with cheekbones.
“Yes, sir.” You prick.
I watch them as the boss leads Ms. Alvarez into the building for the 18th floor restaurant, Top of the Standard. I hope they don’t have a table near the window because Ms. Alvarez is scared of heights.
They’re holding hands and the heat that’s coming off them is enough to solve New York’s power shortages. That’ll be one helluva elevator ride.
The scene is intimate, private.
Over the last year I’ve had to interrupt quite a few of the boss’s ‘intimate moments’, although usually at the Farm, and I really fucking wish I hadn’t. The worst was this one time when a suicidal employee was threatening to throw himself off the roof of DMA Tower and refused to talk to anyone but Anderson himself.
On that occasion, I had to knock on the door of his rec room at the Farm while he was engaged in something involving a lot of ropes and some poor bitch was suspended from the ceiling on a swing while another guy watched and … yeah, you get the picture.
Damn room is soundproofed—I had to walk in … and then had to look between my fingers. Not that I’m the sensitive kind, but that definitely isn’t in my job description. And because we were in a hurry to leave, I had to help him get her down. I still get motion sickness thinking about it.
And all through that, Anderson was just irritated that he’d had his coitus interrupted.
But this is different. I feel like a fucking creepy voyeur because he and Maria are having a moment, and all they’re doing is holding each other and kissing sweetly.
I walk away.
When I find a place to park, I stroll to the nearest McDonald’s and avail myself of the facilities. I’m lovin’ it.
Two hours later, my cell rings and I hear the boss’s dulcet tones.
“We’re ready.”
Now I’ve got the location of this rooftop restaurant in the GPS, I’m thinking intimate dinner à deux with the delectable Ms. Smith, with a view across the city. Anyway, I’m still working on the whole concept of Rachel being Mrs. Trainer, but I’m a patient man. And if a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well. And I do love doing Ms. Smith.
My cell lights up with a message from Anderson. What now?
Apparently, he needs some private time with Ms. Alvarez, I get the picture. I’ve got to be the invisible man again: deaf, dumb and blind, but somehow able to steer the SUV with three of my five senses out of use.
Anderson has a determined expression on his face. I sure hope Ms. Alvarez managed to have a glass of wine in that fancy schmancy restaurant. If not, there’s a bottle of Tequila Gold in the trunk. It’s a present for Bill’s birthday. I chose it specially—Allison, hates tequila. I’m thoughtful like that.
I notice that I’m getting heavy-footed and ease up on the gas, slowing to a nice, leisurely speed. I’m not worried about getting busted because no cop likes to write up an ex-Forces guy.
My attention is pulled back to the episode of Peyton Place going on in the back seat. And you know what? This dumbass billionaire, who doesn’t have the sense of a sea snail on a beach vacation when it comes to women, has done something smart in his oh-so lonely life. He’s taken a chance. On love.
That’s a warm and fuzzy feeling.
Rachel
I KNOW THAT Justin won’t be home for at least another hour, but even so I’m listening out for the sound of the elevator, his footsteps in the hall.
I miss Justin more each day. I should be worried, but I’m not.
As for Mr. Anderson, I was so glad when he found a normal girlfriend and he was different. He was happy. He introduced her to his family for a start and I have hopes for more, much more. I really want tonight to work out for both of them. It would be awful if he went back to that cold, emotionless, stunted way of life.
And, ugh, that awful Mr. Landon. I do not understand why Mr. Anderson is friends with him. He really is unpleasant and I know that he was involved in recruiting Mr. Anderson’s friends at the Farm. Do you know what he named his chain of cigar bars? Saint-Mars. Sounds pretty, doesn’t it? But if you happened to look up what it means, you’d know that Bénigne d’Auvergne de Saint-Mars was a French prison governor in the late 17th century—best known as the keeper of the Man in the Iron Mask. Oh, yes, Mr. Landon has got a sense of humor: a very twisted, unpleasant sense of humor. Horrible, vile man.
If Mr. Anderson went back to his old ways, I don’t think I could take it—I don’t think Justin could either. He’s terribly fond of Maria and has little tolerance for those sex parties. I’m ashamed to say that at first I was worried that he’d been tempted, but he said that he never was—thank God—and I believe him.
Maria brought Mr. Anderson to life and when she asked for space … well, it was awful. Just terrible to see him so broken. But … take a deep breath … she’s giving him a second chance. Justin was as pleased as I was when he heard that they were going to dinner. He pretended not to be, of course.
I understand his reasons for wanting to stay as detached and unemotional as possible when it comes to Mr. Anderson. Justin says that people working in close protection need to maintain some distance to keep their edge. He says that getting too close to the client could affect his professional judgment. Well, that ship has sailed, in my opinion. He can pretend all he wants that this is just another job, but I know better. He uses humor as a way of deflecting the truth from what he’s really thinking.
But when he’s with me, in bed, I see the real Justin: he’s stripped bare, and I don’t just mean of clothes, although that by itself is a delicious image. What I mean is—he doesn’t hide who he is deep down. I love the way he gives me all of himself. I know he keeps work things hidden from me, things that he thinks will upset me, but he never hides himself, who he is.
And he still wants to marry me. I’m sure he thinks that one day he’ll just wear me down and I’ll give in, but we have things to resolve between us: our age difference, does he want more children, because that could be an issue, and the gun he wears to work. Sometimes when I see it, I get flashbacks from being held hostage. That’s not as often now, so maybe I’m dealing better these days. Perhaps we’re getting closer. Or maybe nothing else is important but being with the man I love.
Finally, I hear the sounds I’ve been longing to hear.
I look up from the sofa and across the room, Justin is smiling at me.
“Hey, baby.
”
He looks tired. Well, that’s hardly surprising; he’s had a long day and he was up early as usual.
“Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?”
“I wouldn’t mind a beer. Maybe a sandwich?”
I can’t help smiling: ‘maybe’ means ‘yes, but I don’t want to look like I’m taking advantage’.
“I guess it’s a good thing I made this chicken salad sandwich for you then, isn’t it?”
“God, I love you! I’m a damn lucky man.”
“Yes, you are and don’t you forget it. But tell me how it went with Mr. Anderson and Ms. Alvarez?”
He smiles.
“Well, it was touch and go. If there was anyone who was more likely to screw it up than the boss … but she’s going to give him another chance.”
I can’t help sighing with relief.
“Thank goodness for that!”
He frowns.
“Justin, what aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing, well, something. It’s just that the boss has bought the building next door.”
“What does that have to do with Ms. Alvarez?”
“He’s planning on moving her brothers and grandfather there.”
Rachel’s mouth drops open.
“When did he talk to her about this?”
“I’m not sure that he has, but Pam asked me about the realtor he was using and was the boss planning to expand Wolf Point since it had all happened suddenly today. But as he also asked Ryan to look into school districts for Junior High and High Schools, I put two and two together.”
Rachel grimaces.
“He’s planning this big move for her family and he hasn’t even discussed this with her?”
“Probably not. But I’m guessing he discussed it with her grandfather when he visited—but who knows?”
“Oh dear! He can be a little…”
“Hell, yes he can. I don’t want to be around when she tells him that—I might have to stop her from throwing things at him, and I know how much you hate washing blood out of my shirts.”
“How very magnanimous of you.”
“Oh, baby! I love it when you use big words. It makes me horny.”
Hmm, I’ll have to add that to the list of things that makes Justin horny. It’s quite a long list.
“Do you like camping?”
I’m confused by the sudden change of topic.
“Sleeping in a tent?”
Justin raises a tired smile.
“Yeah, that’s usually what it means.”
“Uh, well, I haven’t done that in a while, not unless you include sleeping in a tent in Allison and Bill’s backyard with the girls for a night. Why do you ask?”
“I thought it might be kinda fun: you, me and Lilly. Go for a long weekend sometime? Maybe the weekend after Labor Day? What do you think?”
I hate sleeping on the floor, I hate not having a flushing toilet nearby, and I hate having to line up for a shower. But he’s asking me to spend time with him and Lilly. I don’t have to think about my reply.
“That sounds wonderful.”
Chapter 18
A Woman of Substance
I CAN’T SLEEP. Rachel is lying beside me looking so damn beautiful that I want to reach out and touch her just to make sure she’s real. But I don’t want to wake her so I just stay on my side, staring at her.
Eventually, I decide to go make myself coffee even though it’s still an hour before dawn. I check the CCTV room on the way, making sure everything is okay.
I’m getting as OCD as the boss. I’ll be counting the number of times I say ‘fuck’ soon. His fucked-upness must be rubbing off on me. One. Next thing you know I’ll be firing champagne fucking corks from my ass. Two. Okay, I don’t actually have proof that the boss has done that, but I saw his recreation rooms at the Farm. They’re featured regularly in my nightmares, along with the Olympic female wrestling team and a set of anal plugs (extra large). That’s a fucking horror story waiting to happen. Three. And if I start thinking that listening to music from La Traviata is going to cheer me up, I’ll know it’s time to volunteer for that frontal lobotomy after all. I wonder if the boss’s medical insurance will cover it?
The truth is, I’ve got all that shit running through my head. All the boss’s horror stories from his fucked up life. Four. FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! Five. Six. Seven. I’d guessed at most of it—it’s hard not to when the evidence is all over his body and I’ve heard those screams in the night too many times. I have a damn good idea what happened between the boss and Landon, and I can’t understand how no one knew, why his parents didn’t see it. It’s so fucking wrong! Eight. If anyone touched Lilly like that, I’d kill them. I’d hunt them down and tear their fucking eyeballs out—and I’d enjoy it. Nine. FUCK! Enough with the fucking counting or I’ll have to take my socks off! Ten. Oh, wait … eleven.
I can’t say this dark shit to Rachel, she’d totally freak out. She already thinks I’m a few bricks shy of a load. Maybe that’s why she won’t marry me. And, what’s really scary, maybe this is why I can work for the boss: I know what it’s like to have experienced horror. Show me a man or woman who’s done tours in the Middle East that doesn’t have that look. But you lock that shit away from normal people. You keep it in a box in a dark corner of your mind and you lose the goddamn key.
I used to think that the old me died over there … until I met Rachel. You don’t ever get over what you saw: you can get on with your life, but you don’t ever get over it.
Why won’t she see that the job I do is different from the person that I am? So, I carry a gun to work. Hell, this is America. It’s in the constitution—the ‘right to bear arms’. But if it’s going to come between us, I might have to rethink my career path. After all, who lies on their death bed wishing they’d spent more time at the office?
Ms. Alvarez is taking on a challenge with Anderson.
Still studying The CCTV footage an hour later, it reveals nothing new. Not a fucking thing. I feel like I’ve pulled my brain out through my nostrils and reinserted through my eyeballs. It’s like watching re-runs of Dora the Explorer with Lilly. I think the Ancient Egyptians used to do something like that—the weird brain shit, not Dora the Explorer. No wonder it took them so long to invent the wheel.
I’m pondering on the weirdness that is my life when I hear a noise behind me and spin around, reaching for a gun I’m not wearing. Fuck! My heart rate is going fast enough to make a speed-freak dizzy.
“Anything to report, Trainer?”
I’m going to put a bell around his neck if he’s going to start creeping around like that.
“No, sir.”
“Five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
See that? Not a word wasted. That’s what I call guy talk.
I had no idea I’d ended up working through the night. Oh well, a cozy three hours sleep. That’s enough to survive on.
I head back to my bedroom and pull on sweats and sneakers.
You know one of the things I love about Rachel? She irons my sweatpants. I know it’s dumb and pointless and completely unnecessary, but she says laundry smells better when it’s been ironed. I love that Rachel cares enough to do it for me. I think I love it because it’s pointless: it’s my gal looking after me. Not like my ex. Her idea of looking after me was making sure that my best friend’s bed stayed warm while I was in Afghan.
Soon, I’m pounding the streets of New York, hyper-aware that my Smith & Wesson is playing a tune on my ribs. I know the boss doesn’t approve, not that I give a shit, but I know that Rachel hates it, too. And that I do care about. But asking me to leave it behind, especially while the blackmailer is on the loose, would be like saying that Miley Cyrus is shy and retiring or asking me to take on Abigail Anderson without body armor.
Oh hell.
My sunny personality takes a dive when I remember I’ll be seeing Abigail the Diva on Saturday—with fireworks. I wonder if the Andersons have a foxhole in the garden.
Just bury me now.
But then it’s the boss who steps out into left field.
“Trainer, you’ll be driving Miss Alvarez and myself to the Bronx Zoo today.”
I will? I mean, I am?
Maybe the boss wants to feed some politicians to the lions, or maybe it’s climate-change denialists this week.
And then a memory sparks inside me…
Or maybe he wants to do something nice for Ms. Alvarez.
“Dress casual,” he says.
Jeez, don’t make it sound like a date, boss!
“Yes, sir.”
At 7.30AM, I park outside Ms. Alvarez’s apartment a.
A few minutes later, the boss escorts Ms. Alvarez down the steps from her building. She’s busy smiling and talking a hundred miles.
“Dev! Where are we going? What am I going to tell Pam?”
“I’ve told her you’re with me. That’s all she needs to know.”
Ms. Alvarez laughs happily.
“Dev, is this spontaneous fun?”
“Possibly,” he replies, his face unmoving.
“I love it! Hi, Trainer! Do you know where we’re going?”
“Good morning, Ms. Alvarez. I’m not at liberty to disclose the destination.”
“Pah! You guys! Strong silent types, huh?” and she laughs again.
I wonder if she’ll be laughing when she realizes what the boss has in store, bearing in mind that facing your fears isn’t always a laugh a minute.
As we head toward the Bronx River Parkway, she starts to look confused.
“Seriously, Dev, where are we going?”
There’s a short pause before I take the turn to the zoo, and the boss nods at the sign.
“The zoo! That’s fantastic! I haven’t been there since I was a little k— Wait! What are we doing at the zoo? It’s way too early—it doesn’t even open until ten.” She pauses as realization dawns. “Dev, you didn’t, did you?”
The boss smiles and Ms. Alvarez covers her face with her hands.
“Oh my God! You totally did, didn’t you? I don’t know about this … I mean, I do want to do the zipline and the Treetop Adventure, but I have to psych myself up for it! I need to prepare! I have to…”
Jane Harvey-Berrick Saving The Billionaire Page 14