The Dragon Bodyguard_Silver Talon Mercenaries

by Sky Winters

  "You come highly recommended," Damien continued. "Your current employer had nothing but good things to say about you."

  Ingrid's face turned red; she was never all that great at receiving compliments.

  "Yes, it was great working with Mr. Abernathy."

  "'Was'?" asked Damien. "I was under the impression you were still in his employ."

  "Well, I am," said Ingrid. "Technically. I've been watching his two daughters for the last couple of years, and the two of them just left for college today. So, I'm trying to find a new client."

  Damien raised one eyebrow.

  "Then the timing is perfect for both of us; I'm looking for someone to start as soon as possible."

  This is just what Ingrid wanted to hear.

  "One issue, however," he said.

  "Oh?"

  "Yes," he said. "But first, would you care for something to drink?"

  "Um, a black coffee would be nice."

  He nodded and pressed a button on the intercom.

  "Samuel, a black coffee and a latte with extra milk, please. And extra foam."

  "Very good," came the voice on the other end.

  "Here at Ladon, they work with extremely…exclusive clients. Clients whose lives they prefer to keep from others, lives that involve careers in which the utmost discretion is required."

  Ingrid nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

  "To that end, any further discussion of the job will require you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. I assume you're familiar with the concept?"

  "Just from what I've seen on TV," she said. "I'm basically not allowed to talk about anything. With anyone."

  "Precisely," said Damien. "Certain details about my life are simply not for the public to know, and I need to make sure that loose lips don't let anything slip."

  Ingrid wracked her brain for a brief moment to think of anyone she could possibly tell. After all, it's not like she had a wide circle of girlfriends in the city that she got together and gossiped with.

  "I…don't think that'll be a problem," she said.

  Damien raised an eyebrow.

  "If you're confident in that, then I can have you sign the NDA right now and we can get on with the rest of the interview."

  Ingrid considered it for another brief moment.

  I mean, I'm not agreeing to anything but not talking about it, she thought. What's the harm?

  "Sure," said Ingrid. "Let's do it."

  Damien nodded and pressed another button on the intercom.

  "Send in the lawyer."

  With that, the doors to the conference room opened and a trim man in a sleek suit entered, a leather folder in his hands. He approached Ingrid, placed the folder in front of her, and opened it up to reveal an official-looking document packed full of tiny letters in legalese that she couldn't hope to understand.

  "Shouldn't I read this first?" she asked.

  "You certainly could," said Damien. "But it's nothing I haven't already told you. Trust me – we're not in the business of screwing people over by getting them to sign baffling contracts. You put your name down and you get up and leave right afterward, no harm, no foul."

  Ingrid looked at the contract one more time, then picked up the pen tucked into the folder and jotted her name down. Once she was done, the lawyer wordlessly snatched the folder back up and left the room as quickly as he came.

  Coming in just past him was the assistant that Damien had spoken to, two cups of coffee in his hands.

  "Two lattes with extra foam," he said, setting the drinks down on the conference room table.

  Damien flicked a harsh glance at the assistant, who was a trim young man dressed professionally.

  "Now, Stefan," said Damien, drumming his fingers on the table. "This isn't what I ordered."

  "Hmm?" asked the assistant.

  "One latte, one black coffee. You've gotten her order wrong."

  "Oh, sorry," said the assistant.

  Damien took in a slow breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Ingrid could tell there was rage boiling behind them.

  "Not ‘oh, sorry'," he said, his voice now razor-edged. "Apologize, and fix the fucking order."

  Whoa, thought Ingrid. He's not fucking around.

  The assistant froze in his place.

  "Um, it's fine," Ingrid said, not wanting someone to get in trouble on her behalf. "I can drink a latte."

  "That's not the point," said Damien. "I don't excuse incompetence."

  The assistant had a very, very worried look on his face. He turned to Ingrid, hardly able to meet her eyes.

  "Um, so-sorry-I'll-be-right-back," he stammered out before grabbing Ingrid's coffee and rushing out of the room.

  "Now," said Damien. "Where were we?"

  Holy shit, thought Ingrid. This guy doesn't fuck around.

  "We were talking about the NDA."

  "Ah, yes," said Damien, nodding. "The NDA primarily refers to my job. You see, my line of work is…unusual. I work with some of the most powerful men in DC, but I'm not in politics or lobbying or anything like that. I'm a mercenary."

  A what? asked Ingrid internally.

  "A…mercenary?"

  "Yes," said Damien. "My company is called Red Moon Mercenary services. I run it, and have for nearly a decade at this point."

  That…wasn't at all what I was expecting, thought Ingrid.

  "You look surprised," said Damien.

  "I am," said Ingrid.

  Before she could continue, the assistant returned and, with lightning-quick speed, placed a cup of black coffee in front of her before hurrying off.

  "Well," said Ingrid, "when someone says they work in DC, you're expecting something like a politician, or a lobbyist, or, hell, even a journalist. You're not exactly thinking of a mercenary."

  "Someone has to keep the important people in the city safe. And my crew and I do a damn good job at it. You might be surprised to find out just who I've worked for in the past."

  "Really?" asked Ingrid, intrigued.

  "Yes. Let's just say my clients go all the way up the ladder in that city."

  Ingrid didn't need to press further to understand what this meant.

  I guess the NDA makes sense now, she thought.

  "I'm going to get right to it, Ms. Parker," said Damien. "As I said, you come highly recommended. And I need a nanny post-haste. If you're willing, I'd like to take you to DC as soon as possible, bringing you on board on a probationary basis. I reserve the right to dismiss you at any time, and, assuming your performance isn't exceptionally galling, will make sure you have some money to fall back on should you not be a good fit."

  He pulled a notepad out of his briefcase and jotted something down. Once done, he ripped the paper free, folded it in half, and handed it over to Ingrid. She opened it up and saw it was a number. A very, very large number.

  "This would be your salary for one year. Living expenses, health care, all of that would be taken care of, of course. Along with whatever spending money you need when with my daughter."

  Holy shit, thought Ingrid. This is…way, way more than what I was making with Paul. This is more money than I'd know what to do with.

  "Oh, your daughter?" asked Ingrid.

  "Her name's Adeline," said Damien. "She's six. Wonderful girl – the most important person in my life."

  "And…the mother?" asked Ingrid.

  "No longer with us," said Damien. "We can leave it at that for now. But Adeline is an easy girl; a little shy but nothing beyond the pale. I'm sure you'll get along with her just fine."

  The more Ingrid spoke to Damien, the more she realized that, just as she'd heard, he'd likely be the hard part of this job. Though he seemed professional now, the little incident with the coffee made it clear to her that there was something of a temper lurking just below the surface, along with a total impatience for incompetence. But the opportunity was too good for her to pass up.

  "Okay," said Ingrid. "I'm on board if you are. Let's do this."

>   The smallest trace of a smile formed on Damien's gorgeous lips.

  "Perfect. We can leave now."

  "Wait, what?" asked Ingrid. "Now?"

  Damien stood up and buttoned his suit jacket.

  "That's right," he said. "When I said ‘post-haste,' I meant it. Do you have many things in the city?"

  "N-no," said Ingrid. "Just some clothes at my previous client's house. And I need to turn in my keys, and I made kind of a mess making breakfast, a-"

  Damien held up his hand.

  "All of that can be taken care of," he said, his voice clear and stern. "If you're truly finished with your previous client, then there's no reason why we can't simply begin our working relationship now."

  Ingrid thought hard. He was right – things were all done with the Abernathy's, and though she'd be missing out on saying goodbye, with the girls gone to college, there was no reason for her to stick around. Especially since she was only there until she could get a new job lined up.

  "How are we getting to DC?" asked Ingrid.

  "Come with me."

  CHAPTER 2

  Damien walked out of the room with long strides, and Ingrid had to move quickly to keep up. Making their way through the office, she couldn't help but notice the difference walking at Damien's side. Rather than the employees zipping around her as though she were no one at all, each employee stopped and gave Damien a respectful acknowledgment. It was clear he was a very, very important person around here.

  The two of them arrived at a private elevator and, after a brief trip up, they stepped out onto the roof of the office tower. The city was spread all around Ingrid, and her heart skipped at the amazing view of the city. And just ahead was a helicopter, the blades beating loudly.

  "We're taking that?" asked Ingrid.

  "Yes," said Damien. "To the airport, at least."

  Holy shit, thought Ingrid. This is amazing!

  The two of them climbed into the helicopter and were soon airborne. Ingrid's face was nearly pressed against the glass of the craft as they soared over the city toward Newark Airport. Once they landed, she was even more surprised to see that a sleek private jet with a red carpet leading to the stairs awaited them. Ingrid couldn't believe she was already living a life she'd only dreamed of.

  "That's for us?" she asked, pointing to the plane.

  "Best way to get from New York to DC," said Damien, slipping off his sunglasses. "Come on."

  Moments later, the two of them were on the plane, which was just as lovely inside as it was out.

  "Take a seat, " said Damien. "We'll be off in a little bit."

  Ingrid slid into one of the luxurious seats and buckled up. After about ten minutes, the plane was taxied, and soon after that, they took off. As she watched the city become smaller and smaller below, Ingrid shook her head at the strange situation she found herself in. The plane eventually leveled out, and Damien took off his seatbelt and stood up.

  "I'll be on a private call in the back room," he said. "Feel free to have a drink or something to eat."

  Once Damien was gone, Ingrid unbuckled her belt and let herself relax. She realized this had to be the strangest morning she'd ever had in her life.

  After a moment or two, a pretty female employee entered the cabin from the front of the plane and asked Ingrid if she'd like anything.

  "Sure," said Ingrid. "Whatever's good."

  The employee smiled and left, returning about five minutes later with a delicious-looking breakfast of an omelet with toast and a mimosa.

  I could get used to this, thought Ingrid as she took a bite of her food.

  As she ate and drank, however, she began to hear something from the back of the plane, from the private room Damien had gone off to. At first, it sounded like a low, muffled sound, but the more she listened, the more she realized it was Damien.

  And he sounded pissed.

  Curious, Ingrid pushed aside her food and made her way with careful steps to the back of the plane. As she grew closer, she could make out, more clearly, Damien's voice.

  "…fucking kidding me?" he said. "We've got two clients lined up, and you can't fucking coordinate with either of them? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

  Holy shit. He sounds pissed.

  "This is your last fucking warning!" he continued. "I want everything with the Ingrid Fang pack sorted out by fucking tonight, or you're gonna be looking for a new job!"

  Then a crash sounded out and the conversation ceased.

  Ingrid's heart began to pound as she hurried back to her seat. The door opened moments later, and Ingrid did her best to look like she hadn't heard anything.

  "Have I mentioned to you how much I despise incompetence," asked Damien as he slid coolly back into his seat. "Because I truly, truly do."

  "Um, yes, you have," said Ingrid, picking at her food.

  So, she thought, Paul wasn't joking around about my new boss' temper. I'm going to have to be careful about this…to say the least.

  Damien busied himself with work on his laptop during the rest of the brief flight. While they traveled, Ingrid couldn't help but steal glances at Damien; he was so attractive that she just couldn't take her eyes off him. And he was older than she expected a man she found so attractive to be; he had to be in his late-thirties, at the youngest.

  Wait a minute, she thought, what the hell was he talking about with the packs? Is that some kind of weird mercenary thing?

  Something about all of this didn't seem right to her, as though she were being told only half the story about Damien and this new job. But she chalked this up to being paranoid, and put it out of her mind. After all, she'd soon be in her new home, meeting the girl for which she'd now be responsible.

  After a half-hour or so, the plane began its descent. They touched down at Dulles Airport and were soon back on the runway. Ingrid couldn't believe that only a couple of hours ago she was in downtown New York, and now she was here in DC.

  Rich people just live differently, she thought, following after Damien.

  They made their way through the terminal and arrived at a sleek, silver Mercedes which awaited them out front. Damien opened the door for Ingrid, and they were soon inside and off.

  "So," said Ingrid. "When do I meet Adeline?"

  "You meet her as soon as we get home," said Damien. "I normally try to keep her busy during the day when she's not at school, but I figured you two having a little time to get to know each other would be good idea."

  "I agree," said Ingrid, watching the city pass through the car windows. "Anything I should know about her?"

  "Well," said Damien, "she's a little shy, but she should warm up to you in time. She loves cats, especially kittens, so don't be surprised when she talks your ear off about them. Other than that, she's a pretty standard kid, as far as I can tell."

  "And, um, anything else about the job I should know?"

  Ingrid wanted to make sure she wasn't going to do anything that might set off Damien's temper. She already got the impression that standard incompetence wasn't tolerated, but wanted to make sure there weren't any other details about the job she needed to know.

  "Just don't make me tell you things twice," said Damien, his blue eyes sparkling as they caught the noonday sun streaming in through the car windows. "I expect professionalism and competence. The last girl I had on, for example, couldn't remember a damn appointment if her life depended on it. And even more galling, she didn't understand discretion."

  "How do you mean?" asked Ingrid.

  "That NDA wasn't just for show. And it doesn't just cover what I told you in the interview – everything you see or hear, within reason, about my job during your employ is to be kept in the strictest of confidence. And if you're unclear, just ask. Breaking the NDA is a fast way to make sure that you're unemployable as a nanny in any city."

  Ingrid gulped.

  "Noted," she said.

  They soon arrived in the Georgetown area, and the car pulled to a stately, three-story white home with a large, g
reen lawn and a circular driveway that curled up to a grand set of stairs that led to the front doors. It was one of the most gorgeous homes Ingrid had ever seen in her life.

  "This is it?" asked Ingrid.

  "This is it," said Damien.

  The car pulled to a stop in front of the staircase and the two got out. Ingrid's eyes were fixed on the house as she went up the staircase; she couldn't believe what a beautiful home it was.

  Damien opened the front door and the two of them entered. The interior was just as gorgeous as the outside – a spiral staircase that led up to the top two floors dominated the main entrance room, a beautiful living room appointed with antique furniture was to the right, and a modern kitchen was on the left. And at the dining room table in the kitchen was an adorable blonde-haired girl with a coloring book in front of her. The girl's eyes snapped to the two of them as they entered, and Ingrid saw that they were the same brilliant blue as her father's.

  "There she is," said Damien, squatting down and extending his arms.

  "Daddy!" shouted the girl as she ran up to him.

  The two embraced for a moment and Ingrid stood by, feeling just a little awkward.

  "Adey," said Damien, gesturing to Ingrid. "This is Ms. Ingrid Parker; she's going to be your new nanny."

  "Hey!" said Ingrid, kneeling down and getting eye level with the girl. "Nice to meet you! You can call me Ms. Ingrid. What's your name?"

  "Adeline," said the girl, her voice flat and her expression unsure.

  "So nice to meet you, Adeline," said Ingrid. "I can't wait to get to know you!"

  Adeline didn't seem to share the sentiment. Without waiting around, she bolted from the two of them and ran up the stairs. Ingrid felt ashamed right away, as though she'd just been given a test that she didn't pass.

  "She'll warm up to you in time," said Damien. "We've just gone through a few nannies in the last year. I'm thinking she doesn't know who is safe to get close to."

  No kidding, thought Ingrid. Why bother to get to know the nanny when they might be gone in a month?

  But she put these thoughts aside and tried to focus on the job at hand. At that moment, a babysitter emerged from another room. Damien greeted her, gave her some cash, and sent her on her way.