Billionaire Bodyguard

by Jill Snow

  “No. Never played a video game in my whole life. Wouldn’t know how to start.”

  She looked up at his face, wondering if he was joking.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  She could tell he was telling the truth. There was something about the way he said it. Puzzling, like him. He wasn’t a bit like she had expected. She imagined the owner of Sunny Studios to be older, larger and have an unfortunate taste in flowery shirts.

  “So, then, why Sunny Studios?”

  “The company was making a profit and looked like a good investment. The price was right, so my business bought it.”

  So he wasn’t much different after all. It all came down to the mighty dollar. “Do you usually buy businesses just because the price is right?”

  “Back to being prickly again, I see.”

  She stared at him, something telling her he wasn’t comfortable with his decision.

  “No. I don’t. Not usually,” he said after a pause. “This time I was distracted.”

  There was something about the look on his face that made her want to know more, but the song had ended.

  “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Dunne.”

  “Do you think you could call me Conor, Ms. Williams? I always thought the Americans loved the Irish. I was assured of a very friendly welcome.”

  She forced a smile. He was trying to be nice. It would be rude to tell him to beat it so she said, “Emily. My name is Emily. Thank you, Conor. It was…interesting to meet you.”

  “How about coffee tomorrow?” he asked just as she was about to walk away. She looked at him.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m working.” As if she would have coffee with him. Not if he were the last man on earth.

  “An hour for coffee won’t hurt, or is that your way of telling me to get lost?” he asked.

  She got the feeling he was baiting her as his eyes glittered with amusement. She hesitated, biting her lip wondering what his game was.

  “Do you always bite your lip when thinking about coffee? I’ve forgotten my checkbook. I can give you the check at the coffee shop.”

  “No rush, you can drop the check into the office sometime next week.”

  “My checkbook gets upset if it doesn’t have coffee. Please?”

  She laughed in surprise at his teasing while wondering what he was up to. What could he achieve by meeting her in person? Did he think she was going to spill the secrets of her game plan?

  “Come on, Emily. A coffee. You can take it as an opportunity to educate me and collect your check.”

  “Are you laughing at me again?”

  “Never. I simply wish to see you for coffee and talk to you a little more about your project.”

  She wasn’t sure whether he was being sincere or not. Looking at him, she thought he could be. If you could ignore the fact he owned Sunny Studios, he seemed like a nice, decent man. Would he hold back the check if she refused? Somehow she didn’t think he would.

  “Yes, but only because we need the check. Eleven at the coffee shop in the plaza.”

  He ignored her comment about the money. “Do you want to meet there or should I pick you up from your home or the office?”

  “No, there is fine, thank you.”

  “Until tomorrow, then, Emily. Good night.”

  She stared after him as he walked away, resisting the urge to ask him why he had come to the fundraiser. He must have known his company wasn’t welcome although he wasn’t the ogre she’d thought he’d be. It bugged her she couldn’t work out what he was up to.

  “I’m glad I invited him. I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do but I had a gut feeling he could be helpful. Getting him on board with our ideals would be a major coup.”

  Emily swirled around to correct her friend. “Have you lost all sense? He owns Sunny Studios. The vilest operation on this planet.”

  Carrie just laughed. “Emily, face facts. He may own your most bitter rival, but he’s too drop-dead gorgeous to be totally evil.”

  “Don’t be silly, Carrie. You can’t judge someone by their looks.”

  Despite her protests, Emily’s face grew hot. Carrie was right. He was gorgeous and friendly and polite. He hadn’t moved his arm a millimeter when he held her. No accidentally touching her body or other stupid moves that a lot of the men she had met from the entertainment industry tried. But she knew better than to be swayed by a handsome face. Conor Dunne was up to something and she was going to figure out what it was.

  Chapter 8

  Emily pushed off her high heels and chilled out on the sofa with her glass of wine. By all accounts, the evening had been an incredible success. Jason’s fundraising idea had been fun and the guests had enjoyed themselves. Their donations were up from the last fundraising event. They now had sufficient money to pay their rent for six months and take care of most of the business costs in addition to paying the staff their low salaries. She had promised them a large bonus when Warrior Queen, their flagship game, launched. Assuming it was a success. Which, since the future of their company depended on it, it had to be.

  She leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes. Immediately, Conor’s face came to mind. He had been interesting to speak to, not the dumb chump she had assumed was in control of Sunny Studios.

  Opening her eyes as her thoughts wandered off, she decided she was too wired to relax. She might as well get some work done. Turning on her laptop, she immediately checked her Twitter feed. That was a big mistake. Not only was her feed full of rants against her, but there were some more threats. The main ones repeated the same theme. If she didn’t stop raising concerns, they would destroy her and her company. Her stomach churned at the content of some of the tweets. She forwarded them on to the police, even though they had said it was a waste of time.

  She moved to the blog page. Her video review had gotten more traffic than any other post. A significant number of comments were encouraging. Some even asked when the first edition of Warrior Queen was due out. She replied, saying it was still with beta testers but initial feedback was good. The anticipated launch date should be within six months, just in time for Christmas.

  As she moved down the messages, her heart stopped. There was another, more personal threat. For a start, the guy knew where she lived. Jumping up, she immediately checked her front door was locked, although she knew she had done that before. The building had a front desk and only those who lived here would be admitted. Any guests had to be invited in.

  She went back to her laptop and re-read the message. Coming for you as you live alone.

  Shaking, she picked up her phone and called Carrie, but her call went to voicemail. She rooted through her purse for the number of the police officer she’d filed her original complaint with. She got through to a female officer. The officer was kind, but she suggested that Emily was overreacting, telling her a lot of women lived alone and that it was probably just a lucky guess designed to throw her off. The officer told her to call back if she got a more specific threat. Emily hit the off key on her cell, resisting the urge to launch it across the room.

  She googled the commenter’s name but nothing came up. The link in his signature led to a blog with a for sale sign on it. She fired off an email to the host, but quickly got a canned response saying they were unable to disclose the owner’s details. She knew they couldn’t do that without the proper authority, but it still annoyed her.

  After a few hours of pacing back and forth, she finally fell asleep on the sofa with the TV still on. She was too scared to turn it off.

  Still bleary-eyed the next morning, she took a hot shower followed by two mugs of coffee. She had to get the blog post finalized and posted. Then there were the edits on the last work on Warrior Queen. Carrie had asked her to review some marketing material she had been working on for the Christmas release. Jason had sent her some work he needed her final say on, too. Where on earth was she going to find the time to get everything done? And, darn it, she was supposed to ha
ve coffee with Conor as well. Why had she agreed to go?

  Maybe she could persuade him to do a take-out order and walk her back to her office. That would be time enough for him to give her the check and hopefully she could find out what his ulterior motive was. There was more to this than coffee, that much was certain. But what?

  She looked at the mountain of tasks she had to do and wondered how she was going to fit it into the weekend. She had promised her grandmother she would drive out to see her tomorrow. She couldn’t cancel. Not again. She had cancelled last Sunday and the one before that. Nana wasn’t getting any younger.

  Chapter 9

  Conor whistled as he got ready for his date. But it wasn’t a date, he kept telling himself. He just wished it were. For the first time in forever, he had met a woman that set both his mind and his body on fire. Emily Williams was intelligent and driven, and there was something about her he couldn’t shake.

  He picked up the papers he had requested. They gave him a brief history of her background. Twenty-nine years old, she was one of two children, her and an older brother named Brian. Her father had run his own business, but both parents had been killed in a car wreck when she was still in high school. She was close to her paternal grandmother, who lived in an assisted living center. Her elder brother was quite a bit older, married with a family. They didn’t appear to be that close. No sign of a boyfriend, or girlfriend for that matter. She didn’t have any pets. She seemed to be a workaholic and was very committed to changing the face of the gaming world. She gave a fair bit of time and her personal money to local charities. Very private, didn’t post her picture on her blog and didn’t attend the usual gaming conventions. The more he read, the more questions he had. He wanted to get to know Emily Williams.

  He stood waiting at the plaza for ten minutes, wishing he had gotten her cell phone number. Had she stood him up? Was she trying to make a fool of him? No, that couldn’t be it as she needed the check. Was there another coffee shop near here? He hated being late. It was a sign of a disorganized mind and something he absolutely abhorred was disorganization. His parents used to tease him when he was younger over his fixation with everything having a place. His mind worked like that, too. If a business situation became too complicated or awkward, he was able to put it into a separate compartment and deal with it later. And as for personal relationships, he mostly just avoided those so he wouldn’t have to make a place for them.

  He paced back and forth, wondering how long he should wait. Maybe she had decided not to come after all.

  “Mr. Dunne, I am so sorry. I hate being late. I just got caught at the office and didn’t realize the time and…” Emily looked at him. “I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, but it’s fine. I only arrived a few minutes ago.” Why did he go and say that? It wasn’t true. “Shall we?”

  He held the door open for her. She brushed against him, her scent wafting in the breeze.

  She asked him what he would like and insisted on paying as her apology for being late. He was taken aback by the gesture, as any woman he had ever taken out expected him to pay. He insisted on carrying the tray, though, and she seemed as if she would argue with him but then gave in. He had been brought up to respect women as equals but to always be a gentleman.

  “I am so sorry I was late.”

  “So you said, repeatedly. Please forget about it. These things happen. I hope you got whatever it was sorted out.”

  She glanced at him and something in her look told him it wasn’t sorted and was more of an issue than she was letting on. He wanted to tell her she could confide in him, but he couldn’t. They didn’t know one another. She seemed on edge, too, looking around her as if trying to spot someone she knew. Surely she wasn’t that uncomfortable because of his presence. He was not Sunny Studios—that was simply one of the many businesses he owned.

  “Were you happy with the way last night went?” he asked.

  “Yes, very. We raised a lot of money, and your donation certainly helped.”

  “Why did you call it the DC Williams Foundation? Did you name it after your father?” he asked, handing her the milk.

  “Oh, thanks. Yes. My pop used to say we should never forget the local community. It was easier in those days of, course. Dad ran a store. He knew most of the neighborhood. Mom helped him by knowing which families were in the deepest need. So every Christmas those families got a visit from Secret Santa. A parcel of holiday food, presents for the children and such. He never gave cash. I guess he thought giving actual things was safer. Money can be used for drugs or alcohol.” She took a breath. “I like to think the foundation can carry on some of his work. If we can educate people while they enjoy themselves, it’s a win. The plan is to donate a percentage of profits to charities helping abused women and children. Dad would have approved, I hope and Nana, his mom, likes the idea. She was involved in the Civil Rights movement in the 1960’s. She is committed to achieving equal rights for women, has been her whole life. Dad was very proud of her. I’d like to think he’d be proud of me too.”

  “He sounds like a nice man.”

  Her face opened, the look of love and longing taking his breath away.

  “He was. He and my mom were special people.”

  He wanted to take her hand and offer his condolences but then he would have to admit to spying on her. Something he doubted she would take kindly to.

  “So what do your parents do?” she asked.

  “A bit of this and that.”

  She cocked her head as if waiting for more information. She didn’t say anything. The silence lingered until he felt compelled to answer further.

  “Dad died some time ago.” What? Why did he admit to that? He never talked to anyone about his dad. “I don’t see much of my mam.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t want to talk about his parents. Nobody needed to know his mother was a drunk, not to mention anything about his dad. His thoughts flew back to John Baker. He had said something about his father being a gentleman. That was a word he would never use to describe his dad.

  “So why did you want to meet this morning?” she asked, not looking at him but toying with her cup.

  He smiled at her, liking the way her cheeks pinked. “Are you always this direct?”

  “I don’t mean to be, but I have a mountain of work to get through and…oh, my goodness. Sorry, that sounded so rude. I just…”

  “Don’t worry. I understand. I was hoping you could give me a little bit of insight into your new products? How are your games going to be different to those on the market? And still be…”

  “Successful?” Her eyebrow arched as she finished his sentence for him.

  “Well, yes, I guess that is what I was meaning to ask.”

  “We have done plenty of market research. A significant number of gamers play the games for the challenge. The competitiveness. To be the best.”

  “So what do you need in the best ever game?” he asked, finding he genuinely wanted to know. He also wanted to keep her talking. He didn’t want her to go back to work.

  Emily laughed. He wanted to make her laugh again and again. He threw his hands up, saying, “I don’t care how much you laugh at me. I honestly have never, ever, played a video game. It just wasn’t my thing.”

  “But you love movies, right?”

  “You can’t compare the two.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. To some gamers, the storyline is incredibly important, just like a movie. You need a good script. You need fantastic graphics. They have to be the hippest, the coolest on the market.”

  “So can’t you copy the best game out there and just strip out the bits you don’t like or agree with?” He was winding her up, but watched as she fell for the bait.

  “Are you serious? What would you say if someone suggested they strip out the racist parts of Gone with the Wind and re-filmed it? Or what about Star Wars without the fighting and the war?”

&nbs
p; “Emily, I was teasing.”

  “Oh. Sorry,” she said.

  He watched her cheeks redden again and immediately felt guilty. This was important to her and he was teasing. That wasn’t fair or gentlemanly behavior.

  “So it’s not just about the graphics being the coolest or the best storyline, is it? Because I guess they would be the easy bits to do. Right? You can hire graphic artists and we aren’t far from the best scriptwriters known to man. So what else is there?”

  “That’s the special ingredient, the secret sauce.”

  “Like the KFC original recipe?” he asked, smiling, trying to restrain himself from reaching for her hand. Her skin looked so soft, it was almost too much to resist the temptation to touch her. So he sat on his hands.

  “Yes, exactly that. The game has to have something the others don’t have. Like a certain spell sequence if it was based on witches and sorcery, or a new skill or a different type of society with its own rules. And the characters have to be realistic, even within a fantasy realm. I mean, who would go out fighting an eight-headed beast in her best bra and underwear? It just wouldn’t happen.”

  He couldn’t help it as he burst out laughing.

  “What? Oh, right. I can’t believe I just said that out loud. That’s normally the bit I reserve for Carrie and the girls. Well, this was nice but I really should get going. You know—”

  “Emily, please relax. It’s fine. I’m a grown man. I’m not afraid of the word ‘bra’. And actually, I agree with you. I prefer to fight multi-headed aliens wearing full body armor.” He smiled, hoping to show her he was joking.

  She smiled, her eyes dancing. “You’re so different than what I thought you would be like.”

  “I’m guessing you had me pegged as someone with a subscription to Playboy and similar magazines.”

  She looked embarrassed.

  “Did I have the plastic wife, too? And what about the chest medallion? Oh, I forgot, I left it at home this morning. It didn’t go with my suit.”