The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy

by Kingsley, Claire

  “I still maintain that was an isolated incident, and they’re taking precautions so it doesn’t happen again.”

  “You’re not always at work,” Luna said.

  “We all know Bluewater’s safe,” I said. The Bluewater enclave—where the four of us lived—was our baby. We’d developed twenty-five hundred acres of swampland into a thriving micro-community. It was one of my proudest achievements, and there was nothing like being neighbors with your best friends. It made life a little less lonely.

  Not entirely without loneliness, if I was being honest. But better.

  “Well, I still maintain you need personal security,” Emily said.

  “I love you guys, but I don’t need a bodyguard. I can handle things myself.”

  They gave each other undisguised yeah right glances. But I could tell by the way they shifted in their seats and picked up their cocktails that the discussion was tabled. For now, at least.

  I did appreciate my friends’ concern. But I already had enough on my plate without adding another complication, especially an unnecessary one.

  And I ignored the little voice in my head that whispered tantalizing thoughts about having someone in my life I could rely on. About trusting someone else enough to let go—letting them shoulder some of the burden. I’d tried that and look where it had gotten me.

  Yes, I was alone. But I was accustomed to it. It was what I knew.

  And I wasn’t sure if I could trust someone deeply enough to let them in.

  3

  Jude

  I was a few minutes late to meet Derek at the boxing gym, thanks to Miami’s shitty drivers. Sometimes I questioned my choice to drive a motorcycle. I was an experienced driver—hell, I was better on a bike than most stunt drivers—but that didn’t account for other people being idiots.

  Derek was already here, wrapping tape around his knuckles. An industrial-sized fan hummed in the background and a few guys were lifting over by the squat racks. I dropped my backpack next to the roped-off boxing ring.

  “Afternoon,” Derek said in his mild British accent.

  My instincts prickled, which was weird. I glanced around the gym, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I didn’t sense danger, exactly. Derek’s face was impassive, his attention on taping his hands. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was up to something.

  Then again, maybe he was.

  “Afternoon,” I said, keeping my voice neutral, like I didn’t suspect anything. Not that I had reason to suspect Derek of anything, but my instincts were rarely wrong.

  We gloved up and got in the ring without any conversation. That was normal enough. Bounced around and warmed up our shoulders. Life after forty meant both of us had to take better care of our joints.

  I’d known Derek Price for a long time. We’d crossed paths when I was still an intelligence operative—he hadn’t known that at the time—and I’d looked him up when I moved to Miami. Now he was a corporate fixer, specializing in public relations and image management, especially during and after scandals. I did some work for him once in a while, particularly when he needed someone on the ground.

  With our joints and limbs sufficiently warmed up, we got to sparring. Jabs, right hooks, upper cuts. Boxing with Derek was mostly a way to work up a sweat. We knew each other’s moves too well to surprise each other very often. And it wasn’t like either of us was going for a knockout.

  “Did you finish up with that last job?” he asked.

  “The stalker? Yeah. He won’t fuck with her again.”

  He swung and I ducked. “Good. What’s next? You have something on deck?”

  “No. I told you, that was the last one.”

  His grin irritated me, so I swung harder.

  He blocked with his gloves in front of his face. “Sure it was.”

  “I’m serious, man. I’m retired.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Ellis.” He launched a solid right hook and I shifted my feet, twisting my torso so he’d miss.

  “I’m not kidding. I’m done with all that shit. I just want to live a quiet, ordinary life.”

  Derek scoffed. “You’ve been saying that for five years and I still don’t believe you.”

  “And I still don’t care.”

  “What are you going to do? Play golf?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I swung but he sidestepped.

  “You don’t even like golf.”

  “I’m getting better.”

  He rolled his eyes and threw a left hook. “That’s not what I said, and no you’re not.”

  I glowered at him from behind my gloves. He was right, I sucked at golf. And it was boring. But I was going to learn to like it, because golf was ordinary and I needed a fucking hobby.

  “I don’t know why you won’t admit that you like the work you do,” he said. “Come on man, you help people. What’s wrong with that?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with helping people. That’s not the point.” I stopped and lowered my arms. “Do you know how hard it is to get out?”

  Derek’s smirk melted off his face. He knew I almost never talked about my time in the CIA.

  “I was lucky to be able to tie up all my loose ends and walk away,” I said. “Not a lot of guys like me get to do that. So yeah, I’m going to golf. And work out with your nosy ass. And then I’ll figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life. Maybe I’ll open a food truck.”

  He laughed. “It’s a food truck now? What happened to starting a bakery?”

  “The numbers don’t really pencil,” I said.

  “So you’re sure? No more security jobs.”

  “Positive.” I put my hands up and gestured for him to come at me. “That was the last one.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  I lowered my guard. “Why?”

  Instead of taking advantage and landing a nice uppercut, he stepped back. “Because I have a friend who could use your help.”

  “No.”

  “Just hear me out—”

  “No.”

  “Come on, man, listen first.”

  I raised my gloves and stepped closer. “No.”

  “Jude—”

  I swung and missed on purpose. He wasn’t even trying to defend himself. “Hands up, Price.”

  He lifted his gloves, his dark brow furrowing.

  We kept trading blows without talking, but that determined expression never left his face. I bobbed and weaved around him, trading swing for swing.

  Wordlessly, we finished up. Sweat dripped down my temples and soaked my shirt. We stepped out of the ring and Derek took off his gloves, dropping them in his open duffel bag.

  “It’s Emily’s friend,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

  I pulled off my gloves and tossed them on top of my bag. Fuck. Emily was Derek’s girlfriend, and she was… well, she was great. Wealthier than God, but she’d worked her ass off for every bit of her success. I wasn’t exactly a have-a-big-group-of-friends kind of guy, but Derek and Emily were a great couple.

  And if it was for her friend…

  “I already said no, Price.”

  “Some guy tried to attack her in the parking garage of her building.”

  “That was Emily’s friend? Wasn’t that in the news?”

  Derek nodded. “Cameron Whitbury, CEO of Spencer Aeronautics.”

  “Was it an isolated incident?” I asked before I could stop myself. Damn it. I wasn’t getting involved. But something about the story was poking at me.

  “Not sure. She’s high profile enough for the usual—threats on social media, that sort of thing. But nothing up close and personal like this.”

  “Secured parking garage?”

  “It is, although not too difficult for a pedestrian to gain access,” he said. “An odd place for a purse snatching, however.”

  The location did make me curious. Purse grabbing tended to be a lot like pickpocketing. A crime of opportunity, usually out on the street.
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br />   “I’m sure the police are investigating,” I said.

  “You know they’re not. They probably spent ten minutes searching the garage to make sure he wasn’t still lurking in a dark corner, took a report, and called it a night.”

  I shrugged. “It was probably random.”

  “It could have been,” he said. “But maybe it wasn’t. Cameron’s good at taking care of herself. But right now, she could really use personal security. Someone who can make sure she’s safe, and figure out if there’s more behind this than meets the eye.”

  I groaned. “No.”

  “It’s not a long-term gig,” Derek said. I could tell by the look in his eyes, he knew he had the advantage. “Consider it more seed money for your food truck.”

  “I have plenty of money.”

  “Look, I know there are other security companies out there who could handle this. You’re massively overqualified. But she’s Emily’s friend. Hell, she’s my friend too. I don’t like trusting this to just anyone.”

  Goddammit. This was how it always happened. I’d say no, but they’d keep talking. And next thing I knew…

  “Fine,” I grumbled, crouching down to put my shit in my bag. “But only temporarily. If she needs long-term, she can find someone else. I don’t do this kind of thing anymore.”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Consider it a personal favor to me, not a regular job.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Thanks, man. This is going to make Emily feel so much better.”

  I glowered at him.

  He smiled, ignoring my irritated glare. “I’ll text you the details.”

  Derek left—he was a smart man who knew when to make an exit—and I gathered up my stuff to head home. His text came through before I’d even left the building. I rolled my eyes and walked out to my bike. Apparently I had to work tomorrow.

  4

  Jude

  Pausing on the sidewalk, I looked up at the glass office building. It reminded me of a safe house I’d used a few times in Prague. Unremarkable from the outside, just another high-rise with people in business attire coming and going.

  I’d decided to stop beating myself up for taking yet another job when I kept saying each one was the last. This wasn’t even a job, really. It was a favor. Totally different thing.

  Granted, the last one had probably been more of a favor, too, considering I’d refused to let her pay me. But she was a college student, it wasn’t like I could have taken her money.

  In any case, I was only here to do Derek a solid. And maybe this would earn me some good karma. I could certainly use it.

  Since I hadn’t spoken with the client yet—and wasn’t sure about attire—I’d opted for simple. Light gray button-down shirt. Slacks. I’d cuffed the sleeves, showing my tattooed forearms, because this was summer in Miami and it was hot as fuck.

  I went inside, grateful to whoever had invented air conditioning. Checked my watch. Derek had said nine-thirty. I was early, but I’d wanted a chance to scope things out.

  Uniformed security guards manned the front desk. I was pleased to see they looked alert.

  “Can I help you?” one of them asked.

  I swiped off my aviators. I’d already memorized the layout of the lobby and identified six things I could use as a weapon if necessary. “I’m here to see Cameron Whitbury.”

  “Your name?”

  “Jude Ellis.”

  The second guard eyed me while the first turned his attention to his computer. A woman in a blouse and slacks walked by, flashing an ID badge. The guard nodded to her.

  “Thirty-sixth floor,” the first guard said. “Ask for Brandy.”

  I had an appointment, and I’d still have to go through a second layer to get to Cameron. That was good. “Thanks.”

  The elevator had stainless steel paneled walls that almost acted as mirrors. The dark carpet looked new. It took me up to the thirty-sixth floor and dinged, the doors opening.

  The large Spencer Aeronautics logo was painted on the wall behind an imposing front desk. A receptionist with deep red lipstick and an earpiece watched me walk in.

  “Can I help you?” Her voice was one shade shy of annoyed.

  “I’m here to see Cameron Whitbury.” I’d been instructed to ask for Brandy, but I wanted to see whether the receptionist would still make me go through another person.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  I nodded once. “Jude Ellis.”

  “One moment.” She tapped something into the phone on her desk. “I have a Jude Ellis here for Ms. Whitbury.” She paused, then tapped a button on her phone. “Brandy will be out in a minute.”

  Brandy again. That was good, but so far, I didn’t see any signs of further security on her floor.

  A moment later, a woman came out. Mid-thirties. Blond, hair pulled back. Blouse and pencil skirt with black heels. Probably highly organized, but unlikely to be helpful in a crisis. Too smiley.

  “Hi,” she said. “Jude? I’m Brandy, Cameron’s executive assistant.”

  I shook her hand. Small. Manicure, no callouses. Good grip, though. “Hi.”

  “I’ll take you back.”

  I followed Brandy through a doorway next to the reception desk. Without meaning to, I picked out every hiding place and spot for an ambush. I couldn’t help it; my brain just worked that way. I noted the exits, potential hazards, a conference room with a table that could be used for cover if turned over. People glanced at me as I walked by, faces showing expressions of mild curiosity.

  Brandy stopped outside a closed door. The windows on either side were frosted glass, offering no view inside the office. She knocked, then opened it and stuck her head inside.

  “Have a minute?” After a pause, she looked back and nodded for me to follow.

  Cameron Whitbury stood behind her desk, her attention on a file. Thick coppery-red hair hung around her shoulders and her crisp white blouse had two buttons open at the collar. A thin gold chain draped across her throat.

  A disconcerting sense of unease made the back of my neck prickle. I shifted my shoulders and turned my head to rub my shirt collar against the back of my neck. What was bothering me in here?

  There was a bathroom—door ajar, light off. Large windows showed a sweeping view of the city. Another wall had a framed blueprint of a vintage airplane. Neat desk with a laptop and a few files. Nothing unusual.

  But something was off. I could feel it. The sensation intensified when my eyes went back to Cameron.

  “This is Jude Ellis,” Brandy said.

  Cameron glanced up and smiled. “Oh?”

  “Okay, so, let me know if you need anything.” Brandy ducked out of the office and closed the door.

  That was odd.

  Cameron’s eyes were on the door, her lips parted slightly. She had a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks that softened the angles of her face.

  She was fucking gorgeous is what she was, but that wasn’t why I was here.

  Her gaze shifted to me and a little groove formed between her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  “Jude Ellis.”

  “Um…” Her eyes flicked up and down and she licked her lips. For a second, I could have sworn she was checking me out. But just as quickly, she was all business. She picked up her phone and swiped across the screen a few times. “Do we have an appointment? Because I don’t have you on my calendar. Maybe Brandy forgot, although that’s not like her.”

  “I was told nine-thirty, but if you’re busy, you can just have someone show me around. Ideally, I’d like a schematic of the building and an org chart. Things seem fine in here for now, so if you could just point me in the right direction, I’ll familiarize myself with the terrain.”

  She stared at me like she had no idea what I was talking about. Her green eyes were oddly mesmerizing. “You’ll what?”

  “I need to know the layout of the building.”

  “Who are you?”

  Was she serious? “Jude El
lis.”

  “Right, but who are you?”

  Wait, had Derek set me up? That asshole. “I take it Derek didn’t tell you I was coming.”

  “Derek? As in Derek Price?”

  “The very same.”

  The crease between her eyebrows deepened. “No, he didn’t. Why would Derek ask you to come here?”

  My neck prickled again. Maybe it wasn’t danger I was sensing, but Derek’s bullshit. Although this wasn’t in character for him. He wasn’t exactly a prankster. Why would he have done this?

  “That’s a great question. He said you needed security, but apparently he was screwing with me. Sorry to have wasted your time. I’m going to go rearrange his face now.”

  I turned to go, annoyed that I’d ironed a shirt for this.

  “Wait,” she said. “Derek told you I needed security?”

  “Yeah. He said it was a favor for Emily.”

  Cameron rolled her eyes and shook her head. “That sneaky bitch. Don’t move.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  She picked up her phone and tapped the screen a few times, then put it to her ear. “Don’t pretend you don’t know why I’m calling.” Pause. “Yes, he’s standing right here.” Another pause. “I already told you I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  She opened her mouth to say something else, but apparently whoever she was talking to—I assumed it was Emily—wasn’t letting her talk. Cameron’s lips parted again several times, like she was about to speak, but instead, she kept listening. I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation.

  Finally, Cameron pinched her lips closed and her nostrils flared. Those green eyes flashed. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  She ended the call and set the phone back on her desk.

  “Emily asked Derek to hire me behind your back,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, she did.”

  There it was. My easy out. I didn’t want another gig. She didn’t want a bodyguard. I could tell her it had been nice to meet her, walk out that door, and never look back. Maybe go play golf.

  Or go punch Derek in the teeth.