by M. A. Grant
“Good. You understand the bonds of loyalty. I expect it from all I work with. I am sure you are curious what the position entails.”
“Yes, sir,” Atlas said, thrown by Decebal’s turning the conversation into another direction.
He’d expected to be further interrogated about his military past. Every other potential employer had wanted to know exactly what he’d done overseas to see if they could borrow some of his clout when bragging about him to their friends. For Decebal to accept his word and move on... Gratitude and confusion warred in Atlas, even as he tried to refocus.
“I am sure Beatrice explained my past dealings with Whitethorn. My business recently expanded, and my competitors were not pleased. I am concerned they may choose to show their frustrations beyond the negotiation table, in a more personal way.”
“Most of my work has been in protection details,” Atlas said.
“Excellent,” Decebal said. “Your hiring is not for me, but for my son. This would not deter you?”
Atlas gave a firm shake of the head. “No, sir. But you specify this is a protection detail. Our agency’s choice to not carry doesn’t deter you?”
“No,” Decebal said. “Over my years, I have learned the presence of a gun does not guarantee safety, nor competence. Beatrice informed me you would not be armed with a gun and I see no reason why you should be.”
Interesting. “Thank you.”
Decebal reached to a stack of papers on the side of his desk. “Your sister and I already spoke about the nuances of your role. She believed you would be open to them.” He selected a packet and handed it to Atlas. “This is the same potential agreement previous agents signed. My lawyer worked closely with Whitethorn on it, but we can make adjustments. Please, take a moment to review it. I need to speak with Helias.”
Atlas began skimming the documents while Decebal joined Helias near the office door.
It was pretty standard, calling for an NDA and outlining familiar duties he’d taken on in previous jobs. A few changes caught his eye though. He was not allowed to wear any clothes that would indicate he was a Whitethorn employee; instead, he was expected to blend in with the client’s dress. Bea must have already worked that one out with the lawyer, since it stated he would either be provided with clothes or an allowance for their purchase. He had access to the house and grounds only at the client’s behest. His hours could fluctuate as his client requested, but would mostly be standard night shifts due to the family’s personal and business needs. The client was contractually bound to contact Atlas when choosing to leave the house’s grounds; either Atlas would accompany the client to the chosen destination, or a team explicitly approved by him would fill in. That amused him. As if he’d approve of a team without having worked with them before.
The final point at the bottom of the page of changes threw him the most. Under no circumstances, regardless of the severity of harm, was he allowed to take his client to any outside hospital or medical facility. The only physicians and medical staff with clearance to treat the client were back here at Decebal’s house, or they would meet Atlas and the client through a house call. This expectation was inviolate, even if it resulted in the client’s death.
Atlas glanced up from the documents as Decebal returned to his desk. Helias must have left the room, judging from the quiet click of the door at his back. Decebal looked tired as he sat in his chair once more and steepled his fingers. “I assume you have questions,” he said.
“I’m comfortable with all the stipulations except this last one,” Atlas replied and placed the agreement on the desk. He tapped the point about the medical treatment. “I’m not sure I can agree to that.”
Decebal frowned. “It’s nonnegotiable. I’m sure you saw the language stating you and Whitethorn would not be held responsible for any negative consequences arising from the stipulation.”
“I did,” Atlas agreed, “but I’m not sure I can make a personal commitment to watching a client die in front of me.” He pressed his hands together in his lap. “I saw enough death.”
The frown Atlas expected to deepen vanished. Decebal nodded and said slowly, “I believe I understand. Perhaps it would ease your mind to know that the expectation is due to a unique medical condition, rather than a want of feeling. For the sake of privacy and speed of treatment, we prefer to utilize our private physicians. We have had close calls in the past with doctors who have demanded full medical histories and access to numerous documents before offering treatment.”
“Oh.”
“Knowing this,” Decebal continued, “are you more comfortable with our request?”
Atlas didn’t like it. He hated the idea of standing idly by, waiting for someone to come save the day, rather than springing into action and helping. But, after his own experiences with hostile doctors, he understood why Decebal would close ranks so tightly, especially for his son’s sake. “Can you guarantee that someone will be on call at all hours to provide treatment if needed?”
“Of course. We have multiple doctors on staff, all of whom have been briefed. You will be given their office’s direct number.”
“Then I suppose I can accept it,” Atlas said.
“Very good,” Decebal said. He seemed genuinely pleased. “I have already agreed to the agency’s fees and negotiated salary, which will be shared with you when you return to Beatrice for her final signatures on the necessary paperwork.”
Bea was clearly dead set on his getting this contract. “Well, then, if I could borrow a pen—”
Decebal handed one over with a smile and watched Atlas sign the copy of the agreement. Once he finished and passed the papers back over the desk, Decebal flipped through, initialing several pages, before signing the final space with a flourish and returning the document to Atlas. He set the pen aside and called a command to the door.
Helias entered and came to Decebal’s side. Decebal asked, “Is he coming?”
“Yes, though he’s less than pleased.”
“Wait for him in the hall. Knock before you enter,” Decebal ordered Helias, who nodded and vanished once more from Atlas’s sight.
“Who’s coming?” Atlas asked, glancing back to Decebal. He didn’t have anywhere to tuck the envelope, so he held on to it instead.
“My son,” Decebal said, as if it were obvious. “I requested he meet you.”
“He was aware a new agent was being assigned to this position?”
“Oh, yes,” Decebal said. “He was amused at my continued efforts. He enjoys lording it over me every time an agent quits.”
“If I may, sir, why didn’t you have someone already on your staff take the position?”
“Due to shifts within my business and the complications that have arisen from those changes, I believe it is wiser to hire someone from outside my family for the time being.” Decebal tilted his head a little and gave Atlas a knowing look. “Do you understand me, Mr. Kinkaid?”
Oh, shit. Yes, yes, he did understand. Bea had said it was a delicate situation, but he hadn’t expected this. Threats from inside always complicated a job. At least Decebal had the foresight to warn him of it now, rather than when it became too late.
When Atlas nodded, Decebal continued, “Beatrice said you are cool headed. That you do not rise to bait easily. I need such a man to keep my son safe.”
Two quick raps on the door.
“Enter,” Decebal called.
The door opened again and Atlas knew, without turning around, who he’d see in the doorway. Knew it because Fate was a fickle bitch. Knew it because people like him didn’t get easy breaks, no matter how much money an agreement promised.
Knew it because the scent of chamomile had already wafted toward him.
Decebal waved a hand toward the door’s general vicinity. “Atlas Kinkaid, I’d like you to meet my son, Cristian Slava.”
He could do this. Damn it t
o hell, he had to do this because he didn’t have any other choice. The papers in his hand burned his skin through the envelope. He bit his tongue until he swore he could taste blood, rose from the chair, turned toward the door, and said, with all the politeness he could manage, “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Slava.”
Cristian—the gorgeous man from the hall with his too-tight pants and incredible scent and undisguised disdain—tilted his head back and laughed. “Oh, you were right, Mr. Kinkaid. I can tell when you mean it.”
“You’ve met before?” Decebal asked, confused.
He never should have spoken to this brat.
“Briefly. In the hall. He was quite interested in...the job.” Cristian’s blue eyes narrowed as he gave Atlas another too-slow once-over. His smirk made Atlas want to rip the envelope of agreements to shreds right then and there, but that was no longer a viable escape. Cristian must have known it. He slapped Helias on the back. “The consilier will surely tell you plenty about me. In the meantime, I’ve a meeting to attend.” He turned to Decebal. “Dinu and Ioana will accompany me. We’ll be home before sunrise.” And, like that, he walked away again, taking all of Atlas’s hopes for an easy job with him.
Chapter Three
Helias was waiting out front for Atlas when he pulled in for his first shift the next night. He accepted the envelope containing Bea’s final, signed copies of the contract with a murmured thanks and took a moment to inspect Atlas’s appearance.
“I see the suit we ordered fit well,” he said. “Ms. Kinkaid provided us with the measurements from your personnel file. You can expect another suit to arrive tomorrow. The rest will be finished by the end of the week.”
Atlas tugged gently at the bottom hem of the jacket. He owned some nice suits—a cost of doing business in his line of work—but he’d never owned something where the very fabric felt expensive. He owed Bea big time for writing the clothing allowance into the contract. “I appreciate the craftsmanship. And how quickly they were ready.”
That earned him an approving nod from the consilier. “I will be sure to pass along your compliments,” Helias promised. “Do you have your phone with you?”
Atlas pulled it out of his pocket.
Helias brought out his own and tapped out something. A second later, Atlas’s phone buzzed, asking him to accept the drop. He approved it and looked to Helias for an explanation.
“At Mr. Vladislavic’s request, I’ve sent you the general map of the property that was given to previous agents so you can find your way around more easily. I’ve also sent you all the necessary security codes to access the property’s buildings. When the codes change, you’ll be informed.”
He’d need to glance over those files sooner, rather than later. “Thank you. Will most shifts be spent here?”
“I do not believe so. Cristian is heir to Mr. Vladislavic’s business and takes on some of the responsibilities.”
So, business meetings. Calls. Possible trips.
Helias’s mouth did a funny little quirk, like he’d tasted something foul and was trying to politely hide his reaction. “In addition to his father’s expectations, Cristian has an active social life. He prefers to go out frequently. We will provide any vehicles necessary for his trips.”
“What’s different about tonight then?” Atlas asked, noting the lack of any other vehicles parked out front.
“Mr. Vladislavic ordered Cristian to stay on the property while he was away at an unexpected meeting.”
“He placed Mr. Slava on house arrest for the night?”
The faintest ghost of a smile crossed the consilier’s face. “Exactly. Unfortunately for the rest of us, it means Cristian is more bored than usual.”
Helias headed for the house, gesturing for Atlas to follow behind him. The place was transformed from the previous night’s visit. The expectant quiet of the building had vanished, replaced with the familiar noise of people bustling about, passing in and out of doors as they worked. A few called greetings to Helias on their way, while others kept their heads down and moved with clear purpose. Whatever Decebal’s “business” was, it required a lot of people. Keeping track of them all was going to be a nightmare.
He was distracted from the grim thought by a chorus of raucous laughter and teasing jibes spilling from a room in the back corner of the house. A room Helias headed for with dogged determination. Atlas was tall enough he could see over Helias’s shoulder as they neared the cracked door. A small group of smiling people surrounded an odd-looking billiards table where Cristian was lining up a shot.
Atlas had a split-second to admire the line of his arm directing the length of the pool cue, the brow furrowing in concentration, and the stretch of his worn t-shirt over his shoulders before a woman stepped forward and blocked the view. She was about Helias’s height, with rich dark hair, ivory skin, and the strength and grace of a dancer. She wasn’t smiling. She set him on edge for a reason he couldn’t place.
Helias didn’t seem bothered by her intense inspection. “Ioana,” he said in greeting. She moved aside for him without an argument. She didn’t prevent Atlas’s entrance either, but her cool gaze stayed trained on him every step he moved closer toward Cristian and the rest of the company.
Cristian straightened, giving up his shot in favor of leaning on his cue and scowling at the intruders. The others abandoned their places at the table to stand beside him, watching Helias and Atlas in silence. Ioana and a large man were the most imposing of the group. The other two were more relaxed. The tall woman holding the other pool cue had a model’s cheekbones, but walked like a soldier. The slimmer, shorter man beside her wore expensive athleisure and a haircut that could have paid Atlas’s rent, and continued scrolling through his phone as if Atlas were of little concern to him. They held themselves with the ease of people well aware of their own capabilities, which warned Atlas not to test their skills.
Helias ignored them all and focused on his employer’s son. “Cristian, Mr. Kinkaid has arrived for his first shift.”
“Is that who it is? I didn’t recognize him.” Cristian moved to peer past Helias. “Why the suit?” he asked Atlas bluntly.
Atlas clasped his hands in front of him and reminded himself to stay relaxed. “It’s the uniform.”
“You’re overdressed,” Cristian said before nudging Helias aside with the butt end of the pool cue. His attention never shifted from Atlas.
Helias moved with a slight frown. He looked about to start in on Cristian when an alert sounded on his phone. Like that, the consilier’s focus shifted, leaving Atlas to fend for himself.
Atlas reached up and undid his tie, folded it neatly and tucked it into his pocket. Cristian didn’t look away when Atlas reached up again to the neck of his dress shirt. Cristian went still. Atlas popped the top button slowly and hooked a finger under the collar to pull the fine cotton away from his skin.
“Better?” Atlas asked, deadpan.
Cristian made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat and looked down at the table. “Hardly,” he mumbled.
Behind him, Ioana and the large man exchanged a look. So Cristian being flustered was unexpected.
Cristian lined up his shot and drew back the cue. “There’s no reason for you to be here tonight. You should leave.”
His flippant dismissal caught Helias’s attention. The man slipped his phone back into his pocket and glanced at Atlas, who saw nothing but resignation in the split second of eye contact. See? Helias seemed to say. This is what I warned you about.
He didn’t need Helias to fight his battles for him. And he wouldn’t accept payment for work he didn’t do. Cristian may be his charge, but he wasn’t the one paying Atlas’s bills, and Atlas had no intention of letting down his employer on his first day.
“My contractual obligations began tonight. Your father expected me to be here,” Atlas said. “As he is my employer, I will be following his
orders.”
The crack of the cue ball hitting Cristian’s intended target didn’t quite drown out the surprised inhalations of Cristian’s friends. Clearly no one talked to the boss’s son like this. He’d have to ask Bea exactly how many agents Cristian had run off. He couldn’t believe no one had stood up for themselves.
Cristian rose slowly, beautifully indolent, even as he offered Atlas a twisted smile. “How well trained you are already. Watch out, Helias. He’s going to steal your place as Father’s most loyal lapdog.”
Helias ignored the taunt. “If you no longer need me, Cristian, I have some matters to attend to. I assume you’ll introduce Mr. Kinkaid to everyone?”
Cristian waved him off and stepped aside so the tall woman could take her place at the table instead. “Sure, sure. Andrei. Vasilica. You’ve met Ioana. And this is Dinu to his friends, so you get to call him Constantin.” Cristian pointed to each person as he spoke, forcing Atlas to keep up with the quick pace, and probably assuming he wouldn’t remember everyone.
Andrei, the bruiser, was old enough to be Cristian’s uncle. Might be, actually, considering how he hovered protectively at Cristian’s shoulder. Vasilica was the pool shark, though the predatory glint of her eyes was more for Atlas than for the game. Ioana remained a silent shadow at Cristian’s other side, and Dinu—Constantin to Atlas, apparently—glanced up from his phone to nod back to acknowledge Atlas’s existence. These four must be common fixtures around Cristian if Helias wanted them introduced.
Cristian seemed a little sorry that Atlas didn’t ask for the names again. He waited for a moment longer before turning back to Helias. “There. Introduced. Have fun sorting out tonight’s mess. And don’t worry about Mr. Kinkaid. We’ll take good care of him.”
Not ominous at all.
Atlas didn’t move when Helias left the room. He was out of the way of the table and area of play, so Cristian wouldn’t be able to complain, but he wouldn’t give ground and retreat. Nope, he would stand there until Cristian acknowledged him.