Guarding the Billionaire

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  The guilt never goes away. I pay to keep the wheels rolling, but I’m not here. Not that I’d want to spend a second longer than I have to with Carla, but I miss my baby girl. Not so much a baby anymore.

  Taking a deep breath, I climb out of the Rover and knock on the front door.

  “Daddy!”

  Lilly throws open the door so it bounces on its hinges, and launches herself at me.

  I pick her up, squeezing her tightly until she giggles and squirms.

  “You’re not prickles today, Daddy,” she says, running a finger across my shaved cheek.

  “Nope, not for my Princess. I’m dressed to impress.”

  “Am I Princess Buttercup today?”

  “Every day.”

  She snuggles into my neck, and I close my eyes, enjoying the best feeling in the world. Complete unconditional acceptance: you get that from kids and dogs. And it doesn’t last long with kids so I’m going to enjoy every second of it.

  “Put me down, I need to go to the bathroom. You squeeze too hard.”

  I said it didn’t last long.

  She runs inside and I follow more slowly, then skulk in the hallway. It’s not my home anymore and I don’t assume I’ve got rights to go wherever.

  I study the photographs on the wall. Our wedding picture has long gone, but at least Carla has left up one of me with Lilly. It must kill her to pass that every day—a smile crosses my face as I look at it.

  “Justin.”

  I turn around and see her standing on the stairs, arms folded as her eyes ice over.

  “Carla.”

  “Where are you taking her today?”

  “I thought we’d go to Bridgeport, check out the zoo.”

  She pauses, her lips twisting.

  “Don’t let her have more than one slushy—it gives her a headache. And don’t take her to the snakes again—she had nightmares about them for a week.”

  “Fine.”

  “And don’t let her have too much candy or sugary drinks…”

  “Jeez, Carla!”

  “You’re not the one who has to put up with her getting hyper from a sugar rush at bed time!”

  “Okay, okay! One slushy, no snakes, not too much candy. Got it.”

  She scowls, then hands me a huge bag full of Christ knows what.

  “I think she’s grown out of needing a diaper bag, Carla.”

  “Sunscreen, bottled water, hat, Band-aids if her sandals rub—they’re new, and her cell phone. Don’t let her have it because she keeps losing it.”

  “You bought her a cell phone? You didn’t tell me.”

  “Don’t growl at me, Justin! It’s new. She’s only had it a week, so she’s still getting used to it.”

  “She’s had a number I could call her on for the last week and you didn’t tell me?”

  “You call her on the landline!”

  “And it didn’t occur to you that I might like to text her during the day?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous—she won’t be allowed to have it turned on at school.”

  “Yeah? Well, it’s summer vacation right now.”

  I ignore the implication that me calling my daughter will be a nuisance, and I take the bag from her, pulling out Lilly’s cell phone to program my number. Carla watches, her face blank.

  I’m tempted to hack into the phone account and make my ringtone Green Day’s American Idiot. Carla hates that song. Can’t imagine why.

  I wonder if she’s going to say something else, but she forces her face into a smile when Lilly runs into the room.

  “Have fun, sweetie. Remember to put on sunscreen later, because Daddy might forget to do it.”

  I narrow my eyes at her but she’s not even looking at me. Over the last couple of years it seems to have become ingrained in Carla that I’m totally incapable of taking care of my own daughter. I have no idea why—I’ve never given her any cause for concern.

  We walk out to the car together, Lilly talking away, happy and excited; her mother silent with a face like she’s trodden in dog shit.

  I lift Lilly into the booster seat that I already put in place, and tighten the lap belt and shoulder restraint. I’ve got that shit down.

  I wink at her as I close the door, but when I start to walk around to the driver’s side, Carla stops me.

  “Justin, wait.”

  “What now? I’m on the clock here, Carla.”

  “Don’t be obnoxious. I want to know if you’re carrying.”

  She looks at the expression on my face.

  “Oh God, of course you are. I’ve told you before: I don’t want Lilly surrounded by guns!”

  I try not to let her push my buttons, but it’s hard.

  “It’s my job.”

  “For God’s sake, Justin! You’re not working now!”

  “This isn’t up for debate.”

  I climb in the car and drive away before she can say another word.

  I glance at the rearview mirror and see Lilly’s solemn expression.

  “Are you and Mommy fighting?”

  “What? No, honey. Just … disagreeing. We’re fine.”

  Her lips turn down and my heart cracks a little more.

  “I thought we’d go to the zoo. Would you like that?”

  She nods, still staring out the window.

  “Mommy likes the zoo. I wish she was coming with us.”

  I clench my teeth together because it hurts so bad.

  “We’ll have fun. Promise!”

  I sound super fake.

  After Carla and I separated, I bought a book about being a long-distance dad. The opening line said something like,

  ‘You’re already a good dad. Now you can be a great one because you bought this book’.

  I didn’t read any further.

  I want to be a good father, but it’s like tiptoeing through an IED field: you never know when you’ll make the biggest mistake of your life. I want to keep my baby safe, but the world’s a scary as shit place and I won’t always be there for her, no matter how much I want to be.

  And yes, I am armed, but right now my piece is locked in the Rover’s glove compartment. The car has state of the art security, so I’m not worried exactly. Just slightly uneasy.

  I don’t like crowds. Too many opportunities for things to go wrong. A day at the zoo shouldn’t bring out my anxiety, but it does. I’ve used every behavioral cognitive shit the shrinks taught me to redirect my thoughts away from everything that could go wrong and concentrate on my daughter.

  It’s all going well until she drops her blueberry-flavored slushy in the wallaby enclosure of the petting zoo, and two baby wallabies end up with blue tongues. That shit is too funny, but Princess Lilly cries like her little heart is breaking. So I buy her another slushy, a strawberry one this time. I just know that’s gonna get back to her mom and she’ll think I did it on purpose.

  We walk around, laughing at the antics of the sea otters, cringe at the New Guinea singing dog exhibit (I cringe, Lilly loves it), and spend some time feeding lettuce to the otherworldly Galapagos tortoises.

  Lilly’s hands are sticky and most of that ends up over my t-shirt and khaki shorts, but I don’t care.

  We eat our lunch at a picnic table, and I give Lilly her hat and put sunscreen on her face, arms and legs. I love doing this daddy shit.

  “Mom says you’re going to see Granny Woods next week.” I try to sound like it’s the best thing I ever heard of. “Sounds like fun.”

  “It’s okay. She likes going shopping and she lets me paint my nails different colors.”

  A memory stabs through me. The first time I met Carla she had her fingernails painted ten different colors. I was nineteen and thought that was pretty cool.

  Long time ago.

  “My friend Mandy is going camping with her mom and dad. Can we go camping?”

  “As it happens your old man is a pro at camping. I’ll try to get a few days off and…”

  “Can Mommy come, too?”

  Her
dark eyes stare up at me, accusing, pleading.

  “I don’t think so, Princess. Mommy hates camping.”

  Which is true, but a half-truth all the same.

  Lilly sighs and looks at her half-eaten slice of pizza.

  “Okay.”

  Her voice is soaked in disappointment and quiet acceptance. I hate it. Guilt overwhelms me again.

  Just when I think I’m winning.

  By four o’clock, she’s exhausted and I know our day is ending. Plus it’s going to take me three hours to get to the Farm from here. The traffic out to the Hamptons on a weekend is a real bitch … especially in the summer. Guess that’s why the boss took the helo today.

  Lilly falls asleep in her booster seat, cheeks pink from the sun, rosebud mouth slightly open. Dreams of the innocent. I never sleep that well.

  And at that moment, I wish it was Rachel that we were going home to.

  The thought shocks me.

  I think I’m in trouble.

  I DRIVE INTO the Farm thirty minutes before the first guests are scheduled to arrive. In the weeks since I’ve been here, Mason has upgraded all the security, including the perimeter, installing motion sensors and infrared CCTV.

  As I change into dark slacks, white shirt and a black tie, I glance out of the window and see Van Sant staring up at my room. He can’t see me, but the look on his face is angry.

  Whatever his game is, my presence is a serious irritant.

  The guests start to arrive and it’s my job to watch discreetly, a shadow that most of them ignore.

  I don’t recognize any of them, certainly no one who was here last time, and the boss seems to be keeping the Senator to himself at Wolf Point. I do know a couple of the names from the guest list: two other politicians and their respective wives—one Democrat, one Republican. I’ve no idea which way Anderson votes—probably with whichever sides gives him the best tax breaks. Most of the others look like they’re in business, and I notice that Anderson appears to stay away from anyone in the world of showbiz. Maybe he doesn’t trust them to be discreet.

  I’m creeped out when Landon arrives. He makes a point of ignoring me, but looks over his shoulder at me as he pats Anderson on his ass and gives it a light squeeze. Because Landon is staring at me, he misses seeing the annoyance on the boss’s face, but I don’t.

  I really don’t get their relationship. Why the fuck doesn’t the boss get rid of him and Van Sant?

  Four hours later, I nearly gag when I see Landon, his saggy butt and wizened dick on display for all to see. He gets handsy with a young guy who could be Anderson’s twin brother, and the thought makes me shudder. There’s definitely something unresolved between them.

  But what? Is it really what I’m starting to believe?

  I hope to hell I’m wrong.

  I’m never wrong.

  Chapter 14

  Friends With Benefits

  Rachel and I have spent every week night sharing a bed for the last three weeks, but we still haven’t been on an official date. She only gets time off during the week when the boss is out, which means I’m working. And although I don’t do much on the weekends, she’s at her sister’s, and I’m still needed on those long-ass morning runs that the boss likes, as well as any driving duty, or I’m at the freaking Farm.

  The delay is frustrating. Rachel is not the kind of woman you fuck and forget, and right now she must be thinking that I’ve got a sweet deal going, a friends with benefits kind of gig.

  I want to take her on a date, do things right for once. But it’s not proving easy. I could ask the boss for time off, but I definitely don’t want to owe him another favor. Working for someone and living in their space, it’s a tricky balancing act. It’s actually a lot easier when there’s more hired help, but with just the two of us … yeah, not so simple.

  But then one morning, the boss tells me that he’s meeting Mason that evening, and I’m not needed.

  Excellent. Time to put my well thought out date plan into action.

  Rachel

  JUSTIN TEXTS ME in the middle of the day, every day. I look forward to his messages, although very few are ones that I could share. To say they’re suggestive would be like saying Polar Bears like cold weather.

  One thing I’ve learned about the saturnine Mr. Trainer, he’s a very sexual man.

  Lucky me.

  And I really do mean that. His body is incredible, like an athlete, or one of those boyband singers on the posters that my niece Kimmi plasters across her bedroom. But more than that, he’s not a selfish lover; he’s tender and sweet … and has a lot of stamina. I’ve dropped five pounds in the last three weeks just from our … workouts.

  Even my sister Allison noticed that I’d lost weight. She’s been on a diet for twenty-five years, so on my last visit, she badgered me to know my ‘secret’. I didn’t tell her, of course.

  She’s very protective of me, especially since Brian died, but she can be rather judgmental, too. I just gave her some vague reply about using the gym at Wolf Point. Technically, it’s not a lie.

  I’m not sure what this is with Justin, why a man like him would want someone … well, I may as well say it, so much older than him. He’s 32 and I’ll be 41 on my next birthday. But for now, it’s wonderful. I know it will end one day because these things always do. In my experience, nothing is forever. I’ll enjoy it while I can.

  But today, Justin’s text is completely different.

  McTwisted has given us the evening off.

  I’m taking you out for dinner.

  Dress sexy.

  Clothing optional when we get home.

  We’re going out? On a real date?

  For some reason, I’m shocked. I just assumed that Justin enjoyed having me in the bedroom. No matter how sweet he is, I never thought that he’d want to date me.

  His short text has me re-evaluating everything, and to be honest, it’s sent me into a tizzy. He’s a gorgeous, sexy, hot, ex-Marine, and I’m a middle-aged housewife from Quakertown, PA. I’ve already taken him into my bed, so why on earth does he feel the need to take me out for dinner?

  A small voice in the back of my head whispers, Because he wants more.

  I dismiss it instantly. Dreams like that only end in heartbreak.

  Even so, I dress carefully, choosing my favorite cocktail dress in a modest, knee-length Navy blue.

  It used to be rather tight on me, but now it fits beautifully, even giving me a nice bust-line.

  I wonder what sort of place he’ll take me. For all I know, we’ll have beer and burgers in a sports bar.

  And I realize with a pang that I hardly know anything about the man I take into my bed.

  Except he’s sweet and kind and funny and a generous lover.

  And he carries a gun to work. I hate guns. Always have. I guess you can’t be brought up in a place named Quakertown and be okay with weapons.

  After losing Brian so suddenly, I couldn’t risk it again. I don’t think love is on the cards for me again. I love Brian with all my heart.

  But there’s something about Justin—and it scares me.

  If I was smart, I would guard my heart against the intriguing Mr. Trainer.

  Although I think it might be too late.

  I make great lasagna, but I guess I’m not so smart after all.

  At 7:30PM, I’m fixing my lip gloss and trying not to get too excited or too nervous. I’m failing at both.

  I know Justin is home because I heard the shower running in his room. And I cannot tell you how tempted I was to go and join him. There’s something about thinking of him in the shower, the heat and steam, the cool marble tile. I’m sure shower sex must be an accident waiting to happen, but I always feel safe in Justin’s arms.

  Oh God, I’m turning into such a cliché!

  There’s a light tap on my bedroom door, but Justin doesn’t open it and walk inside; he’s always very respectful of my space when I’m dressing and waits for me to open the door. I appreciate that.

&nbs
p; He looks wonderful. That strong jaw has been shaved for the second time today, and his dark brown hair is still wet and looks black. He’s wearing a crisp blue button down shirt that must be new because I know for sure that I’ve never ironed it. He’s also wearing black dress pants, and his shoes are so shiny, I can see the reflection of my pumps in them.

  Across one arm, he’s draped a suit jacket, but in the other, he’s holding a bunch of yellow and pink roses, tied with a ribbon.

  “Oh! Oh, Justin! They’re beautiful! Thank you so much!”

  He looks a little amused.

  “It’s a date, Rachel. I’m not taking you to McDonalds.”

  Thank goodness for that.

  “Oh, but roses!”

  I doubt that Justin knows the language of flowers, what the colors mean, but I do. Yellow roses mean friendship, joy, and the promise of a new beginning; pink roses mean admiration, gladness, and gentleness.

  I’d love to think the colors were significant, but Justin is a man’s man, so he probably just thought I’d like the combination of pink and yellow. I do.

  I take them from him, feeling the soft brush of his fingers, and breathe in the intoxicating scent. It’s wonderful. They’re wonderful. He’s wonderful.

  And I’m really looking forward to tonight.

  After I’ve put the flowers in a vase, we head to the elevator. Justin is staring at my mouth in a way that makes me uncertain whether or not we’ll make it any further than the underground garage.

  I can’t help licking my lips, because after years of being a widow and alone, his presence, his sexual aura, is overpowering. And even though it’s a warm evening, goosebumps break out on my skin and I shiver.

  He traps me against the wall of the elevator and growls against my neck.

  “You look so fucking hot, and those red lips would look so good wrapped around my cock.”

  And I should also mention that he has a very dirty mouth and he doesn’t care when or where he uses it.

  “Justin!” I gasp, even though no one can hear us or see us.

  “I really want to smudge your lip gloss,” he says, his breath hot on my flushed skin.

  Then he stands up straight and backs away from me.