Jane Harvey-Berrick Saving The Billionaire

by Harvey-Berrick, Jane

  Evans nods.

  “Done.”

  He turns on his heel and leaves.

  I know he’s feeling pretty fucking pissed about the way the whole situation went down. And Lance Banner: we lost one of our own.

  Security is my call.

  No more civilians calling the shots. This is my gig, and I’m so fucking tired of being treated like a dog without a dick.

  Next, I call Ryan with an update.

  He’s shocked but gets right to work. He’d make a good Marine. Without the hair gel and eyeliner, although there was this one guy … long story.

  He promises to get Anderson’s PR team to handle the media too, because this is going to be big news.

  “I’ll inform senior management,” he says. “They need to know what they can say and what they can’t say, and I’ll get a message to Pam. She’ll want to be here. I’ll have the company jet fueled and on standby for her within two hours. That should give her time to wrap things up with the Taiwanese.”

  I don’t give a fuck about that, but I know a lot of jobs are riding it, so I let it go.

  WAITING FOR RACHEL to wake up is one of the worst nights of my life. I drift in and out of an uneasy sleep, more alert when the pain meds wear off about five in the morning.

  And then her blue eyes open and she stares right at me.

  “I knew you’d come.”

  My eyes begin to water and I lean forward, almost afraid to touch her.

  “I thought I was going to lose you, baby.”

  I can hear the break in my voice.

  Her hand rests on my neck and I can feel her fingers stroking my hair.

  “I never gave up. I knew you’d find me.”

  And then I can’t stop the tears anymore, because I nearly didn’t find her, I nearly lost her. And if I had, I wouldn’t have wanted to go on living.

  She doesn’t say anything, leaving me a little dignity as she continues to stroke my hair.

  When I’ve finished acting like a pussy, I sit up and wipe my eyes.

  “I love you, Justin Trainer. I love you so much.”

  I’m too burned to talk, so I just lift her hands to my mouth and kiss them gently.

  She smiles and runs a gentle finger over my lips.

  “My poor, sweet soldier.”

  “Marine, baby. No need to go insulting me.”

  She laughs gently, then her smile fades.

  “You’re wincing!”

  “Nah, that was me smiling. You’re confused.”

  The joke falls flat.

  “Justin?”

  “It’s just a flesh wound, baby. I’m fine.”

  “You … you were shot?!”

  “Baby, it’s just a scratch, I promise.”

  “But you’re sitting so awkwardly…”

  Her voice trails off, worried and distressed. Now is definitely not the time to discuss this. For one thing, it’s fucking embarrassing.

  She fusses some more, until I threaten to strip off all of my clothes to prove that I’m okay.

  Finally, she changes the subject.

  “How’s Maria? And Dolores. How are they?”

  “They’re both doing okay.”

  Her eyes close, and she drifts back to sleep.

  Later the next day, they send her home.

  No lasting effects.

  I could have kissed the doc who told me that, except for the fact that he looked like a Sumo wrestler with the breath of a buffalo.

  Allison tried to persuade Rachel to go stay with her, but she was determined to be at the house when the boss and Maria come home.

  Several reporters are hanging around the garage entrance at Wolf Point. They yell questions at the Rover’s blacked-out windows, but we’re through them in a few seconds.

  THE NEXT DAY Maria comes home.

  And I realize something: Wolf Point is the longest I’ve lived in any one place since I was a kid. I’ve found a place where I fit.

  Fuck me sideways now, because I’ve just said I fit with Devon I-don’t-have-all-my-dogs-barking Anderson. Yeah, he’s not as fucked or fucked up as he was, but that’s not what you’d call a ringing endorsement either. Yeah. Well, call me Kathy Bates and give me a typewriter because I just don’t care.

  I’m relieved to drive the happy couple home and drop them at the lobby where Evans escorts them inside. Packages safely delivered. Job done.

  I park the Rover in the underground garage and lean against the side of the elevator as it surges upward, weary to my bones, letting the peacefulness of Wolf Point wash over me. Another few minutes and I’ll be with my woman, holding her in my arms, then eating her fine cooking. What more does a man need?

  But as I walk into the building, I hear music playing. It’s familiar, but … holy fucking shit! That’s not from a playlist, that’s someone actually playing the piano.

  I sneak a look and I’m surprised as hell to see the boss sitting at the piano playing real music, and it ain’t Chopsticks.

  Damn, he’s good. Really good.

  And I realize, with Landon’s death, he’s finally exorcised the old ghost of the abuse he received from his piano teacher. Music can finally mean something other than pain.

  And sitting next to him on the piano stool is Maria, her eyes closed and a huge smile on her face.

  I back away, because this moment is perfect and private. Yep, today is a good day.

  I take a moment to head to the CCTV room, remove my Smith & Wesson, locking it into the safe and putting the holster in my desk.

  Since Landon died, we’ve all breathed easier and finally, finally, I can relax when I walk into our home.

  I’m surprised to get a text from the boss—is the recital over already? So I jog up the stairs to his office and find that he’s already sitting at his desk. He sees me and looks up.

  “Trainer, a moment.”

  “Sir.”

  I step into his office, alert for any emergency that might have occurred in the last twenty minutes.

  “Take a seat. Please.”

  Please? Am I getting canned? I try to remember if I accidentally shot any employees today or discharged my firearm in the DMA Tower. Nope, don’t think so.

  I sit in the chair opposite his desk, wary now.

  “I thought you’d like to know that I’ve been in touch with Lance Banner’s brother.”

  I nod, because Mason already told me this. He also told me that the boss sent a large check so that Lance’s brother will never have to work again, and set up a trust fund for a new gymnasium at Banner’s old high school.

  “He wishes to have a private memorial service: family only. I have sent my condolences.”

  We all have. All of the men who worked with Banner.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I never thanked you, Trainer,” he begins. “For saving the lives of Maria and … and of our child.”

  His voice began strongly, but now it’s cracking with emotion.

  “You risked your own life for them, for me—and the words ‘thank you’ don’t seem enough. They aren’t enough. There’s no amount of money that will ever, ever make up for that, no price I could put on … on their safety. But … I want you to know, to understand how truly grateful I am. You saved my family. Thank you.”

  His little speech has left me stunned and damned uncomfortable. I clear my throat.

  “Just doing my job, sir.”

  He gives a wry smile.

  “I thought you might say that. But still, I am indebted to you. And I’d like you to have this.”

  He hands me an envelope.

  “Sir?”

  “Open it later.”

  He stands up and holds out his hand, so I shove the envelope in my pocket and we shake hands.

  I leave his office bemused. I was doing my job, what I’m paid to do. I was guarding the billionaire and his wife. If anything, I fucked up and got myself shot while I was doing it. But Maria and the boss made it out of there and the little spawn is safe, too. Yea
h, I guess that’s a win for the home team.

  I walk into our apartment and see Rachel standing by the kitchen counter.

  She turns around and smiles.

  “Justin, you’re home.” She leans her head on one side and stares at me quizzically. “Is everything okay?”

  I scratch my ear.

  “Yeah, the boss just thanked me for saving … you know.”

  Her smile is soft and pleased.

  “Good,” she says simply, then walks over and kisses my cheek. “Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  I nod and head to our bedroom, shedding my jacket and tie as I walk through the apartment. Then I turn around and pick them up—I guess Rachel’s training is beginning to sink in.

  When I grab my jacket, I hear the crinkle of paper and remember the envelope that Anderson gave me. I sit on Rachel’s side of the bed and open it. Inside, there’s a check.

  It’s a good thing I’m sitting down because I count the number of zeroes in disbelief. And then twice more. But the number doesn’t change.

  Twenty. Million. Dollars.

  I stare at it, counting those zeroes again, just to be sure.

  There’s a note with it, written in Anderson’s precise handwriting.

  There is no price I can put on my family’s safety, or what it means to me, but I hope that this money will help secure the future for you and your family.

  Sincerely,

  Devon Anderson

  I stare at the note and the check, my brain spinning. Part of me wants to give the money back because I was just doing my job. But another part knows what this money will mean for Lilly: no college tuition to worry about; no scrimping to save for a down-payment on a tiny apartment; no worrying about paying the rent or the mortgage or putting food on the table for the family—all things I’ve worried about at one time or another.

  And I realize something else. Anderson is giving me my freedom. I don’t need to work for him or any other fucker out there. I never have to work again. I can’t imagine what that would be like. Anderson has more money than God and I’ve never seen anyone work harder. I can’t imagine not doing something with my time.

  I wonder how this will change everything, and then I start to worry that Rachel won’t marry me. The woman is so damn honorable that she’d say all sorts of dumb shit about not marrying for my money.

  Fuck me, I’m rich!

  But Anderson is right. You can’t put a price on your family; you can’t put a price on happiness. And I already have everything I want.

  I decide not to tell Rachel about the money until she marries me. Then she’ll have no choice but to accept it.

  I stuff the check and note back in the envelope, and then hide it in my old sea bag at the back of the closet.

  I lay on the bed, my hands behind my head as a slow smile spreads across my face.

  I’m a freakin’ millionaire!

  Chapter 33

  The Omen

  GRADUALLY, LIFE RETURNS to normal. Or as near normal as it ever gets working for the boss. He treats Maria like she’s made of glass and it’s pissing her off. It’s pretty funny really. I would have said he’s whipped, but bearing in mind some of the shit I’ve seen go down in this house, that’s probably not the best analogy.

  As for me, life is good.

  And I’ve got a wedding to plan.

  Scratch that. Rachel is planning a wedding. I’ll just shit, shower and shave, then show up when she tells me.

  Well, it’s not quite that simple, not when your future wife invites a billionaire to your wedding.

  Yep, it’s official: my twisted, fucked up bastard of a boss is going to be at my wedding—and I’m going to smile. Either that, or Rachel has promised I won’t get laid for a month. Woman fights dirty.

  “You know that you want him there really, Justin,” she laughs. “Admit it! You like him. You care about him.”

  “Pays the bills.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Fine. Be a guy about it. But you and I both know that you like working for Mr. Anderson.” She raises her eyebrows. “‘Keeps life interesting’—that’s what you said.”

  Crap. I did say that.

  “And you admire him,” she says quietly.

  She’s not going to make me say it out loud, but she’s right. And she knows it.

  Anderson tries more than anyone I’ve ever met to be a good man. He works hard and enjoys a level of wealth that is impossible to comprehend, but he’s selective about how he spends his money. He’s not ostentatious. He doesn’t shove five grand of coke up his nose everyday like some people I’ve worked for. He doesn’t use hookers and he doesn’t cheat on his wife. I can’t say I’m sorry that he’s given up his orgies. I’m relieved it’s all over.

  So, yeah. It’s true. I admire the boss. But those words are never passing my lips. Although, if Rachel grabs me by the balls again like she did last night, all bets are off. Just sayin’.

  As for Landon, the police aren’t pursuing me for his death. That’s been pinned on Kranz. He’s denying it, of course, but as Landon was killed with his gun, it’s his word against all of ours.

  Turns out that Landon really had been funded by some of Anderson’s competition who had ties to the Mob, but he hadn’t been able to steal the info on the Taiwan deal, so he owed a lot of bad people a lot of money. Van Sant was manipulated or blackmailed into filming the orgies, we’ll never know which, but I think in his own twisted way, he really did love the boss. As for Landon, it’s a helluva lot more complicated. I don’t know if the boss will ever come clean about the guy. His parents know something is up because Anderson refused to go to his funeral, the old family friend.

  The cops think Kranz is looney tunes. He told them that he knew Landon from the same S&M clubs, and that Landon knew the boss from the scene. But as there is no record anywhere of the boss’s involvement, that particular scandal went away. I don’t know whether to credit Howard for the disappearing trick, or the amount of money that Anderson had to lay out to make it all vanish. A combination of both seems likely.

  My thoughts are a little different: I think that Landon saw Kranz as a potential scapegoat rather than a true partner; I definitely don’t think Landon hired him for his brains. Either way, the boss has made sure that Landon’s memory is whiter than white.

  He let the police and his parents believe that Landon was in the wrong place at the wrong time, like Rachel and Dolores, and had simply been posting bail for an old friend, without understanding the consequences.

  I don’t know if it was out of some sort of fucked up sense of loyalty or because he didn’t want to upset his parents. Maybe he just wants to forget about him.

  Saruman, a.k.a. Oscar Black/Rufus Lovell/Maryann Summers was quietly disappeared by the CIA. My belief is that his skills have been recruited, so maybe the guy will end up saving the world after trying to end Anderson’s.

  Howard is back to quietly working away on his terra-farming projects or what the hell else goes on in that mind of his. I’ll say one thing: he’s loyal to the boss through and through.

  I heard a whisper that when Kranz was arraigned while he was still in hospital recovering from the gunshot wounds that I wish had ended him, he’d pleaded not guilty. I don’t know what happened after that, but it doesn’t look as if he’ll stand trial, due to the fact that the shrinks are saying he’s two cans short of a six-pack—his attorney advised him to plead not guilty by reason of insanity. That surprised a lot of people, and I can’t help wondering if the boss pulled in some favors so that Maria doesn’t have to be cross-examined on the stand. I wonder what it takes to get a sane but sadistic fucker like Kranz declared unfit to stand trial? How much cash would you have to lay down to grease the wheels? How many important people would you need to have in your pocket?

  Yeah, well, I said the boss is a good man—I didn’t say he’s a saint.

  I wanted to get married at Christmas, a quiet wedding. Small. Simple. Rachel said she was too
busy for that, what with moving over to the Farm with the Andersons.

  It feels strange not living in the city even though I drive the boss to DMA Tower two or three times a week, but Rachel loves our new cottage with its own backyard, and for the first time ever, I was able to have Lilly stay over. Carla bitched about it—of course—but she didn’t try to stop me.

  A March wedding has been nixed, too. I think Rachel wants to wait until after Maria’s baby is born. Yeah, because things get so much less busy with a newborn in the house. There’s going to be a nanny, because Maria is adamant about going back to work, so it looks like the staff numbers will be increasing exponentially.

  Life has settled into a pattern, more or less. Until that night…

  “Justin, why did you set your alarm so early? Did you forget to tell me about a flight?”

  Rachel’s voice is groggy.

  Then I suddenly realize that it’s not the alarm, but my cell phone.

  Howard Hughes calling.

  “Shit!” I sit up suddenly.

  I answer the phone and hear Anderson’s voice on the other end. He’s trying to sound calm, but I can hear the underlying panic.

  “I need to get Maria to the hospital.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I don’t even get to finish the second syllable before he’s hung up.

  “Is it the baby?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh no! Her C-Section was scheduled for next Tuesday!”

  “Yeah, well Anderson Junior is already on the way.” I can hear ‘Ave Satani’ playing in my mind. Kidding.

  “Give my love to Maria. Let me know when there’s news. Don’t forget her maternity bag—it’s…”

  “In the boss’s home office where it’s been for the last month.”

  She smiles and kisses me, totally distracting me from pulling on my pants.

  “Go!” she laughs, shoving me out of bed.

  “You’re cold, woman,” I grumble.

  “Come back with good news and I’ll show you how not true that is.”

  Yeah, like that’s really going to help me leave.