Jaxon - Bad Boys of New York Book #1

by Mackenzy Fox

  My mom was the love of his life and I know it’s hard for him without her, it always has been. Nobody holds a candle to her and they probably never will.

  My father’s office is his pride and joy. It’s a beautiful room overlooking the city skyline, tastefully decorated and sleek like the rest of the apartment; there is no trace of a woman ever having lived here which seems quite deliberate with its masculine décor and over the top artwork.

  I can’t help but feel just a tiny bit nervous. I mean, Jack Westbrook is going to be standing just a few mere yards away from me, and furthermore, he’s going to be spending a lot of time around me. I try to digest that for a second.

  I wonder if he’s still overweight, but I can’t imagine my father hiring someone who wouldn’t be in the most tip-top shape, and he’s an ex-green beret so he’d have to be on the ball. I try to picture it but I come up blank.

  He said Jaxon is the best, and to be the best, I’m sure you’d have to be fairly fit and agile. Still, all that aside, I have this murky feeling in my stomach… the kind of feeling that is alerting me to the danger lying ahead in the next room.

  I hold my head high as I steel myself for a potential battle.

  I have nothing to be ashamed of now—high school was just a thing of the past. I’ve done so many good things in the last ten years. Setting up Hope Floats downtown, a charity I am very passionate about that helps women who have suffered from physical and sexual abuse, it’s a temporary shelter and we help to find employment opportunities and secure low-cost housing. It is the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.

  I know I’m just reasoning with myself about all the things I’ve done good since my time as a horrible human being all those years ago, and that is by far my biggest accomplishment aside from setting up my own successful company.

  I proceed down the hallway and when I reach my father’s office door, it’s slightly ajar, I hear voices inside and instead of knocking, I decide to have a little eavesdrop while they don’t know I’m there.

  “…Can be quite difficult, you know how girls are these days, they want their independence, they want to rebel against authority and run around New York City like they’re invincible and not take proper precautions for their own safety. That will be the biggest hurdle, she’s used to her own freedom and calling the shots, she won’t like any of this at first but it’s for her own good.”

  Oh. My. God.

  My own flesh and blood bitching about me like I’m some five-year-old child!

  I’m curious about what Mr. Westbrook has to say, so I lean closer to the door to listen in.

  “That won’t be a problem, sir.” I hear a rumbly, deep voice reply. My interest piques. “I’m used to difficult clients, I’m sure this will be a walk in the park after what I’m used to dealing with in the service, I’m sure I can handle one little girl.”

  Of all the nerve!

  I’m used to difficult clients?

  What the heck?

  I’m sure I can handle one little girl?

  They’re both going to get a clout if they keep it up.

  My father, inconceivably, laughs like that’s the best thing he’s ever heard. Of course, he’s always had a soft spot for the waifs and strays. He always liked Jack back then, said he had character and strength. I think he felt sorry for him more than anything.

  “Trust me when I say she has her mother’s spirit.”

  I hear the ice in my father’s drink clink around as he laughs into it nostalgically.

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Jack has the nerve to say, as if he’d know. “Makes the job all the more interesting if not a challenge, long as we’re on the same page and she lets me do my job then I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

  I’m unsure whether to be insulted or flattered; the jury’s still out on that as I keep my ear pressed close to the open doorway.

  “Well, like most women, she’ll have you screaming like you’re having a body wax,” my loving father goes on good-naturedly as my eyes go wide.

  What in the actual hell?

  “But she’s to listen and do as you say when out and about, I realize you’ll be discreet, Jax, but I need to know where she is at all times until all of this mess settles down.”

  What mess?

  My eyes are so wide with disbelief and the anger hammering in my ears that I don’t hear someone clear their throat behind me. I jump about ten feet in the air and turn to see Louis holding a round tray with a scotch and a tall glass of water.

  “Jesus, Mother Mary, and Joseph,” I say as I hold my hand to my chest, my heart may just go ahead and leap out of my body at this very moment.

  “Were you joining your father?” he asks, pretending that he isn’t aware that I’ve just been caught red-handed.

  “Yes,” I reply, shaking off my embarrassment. “Of course.”

  “After you,” he says, gesturing to enter before him.

  I crash through the door, my heel getting stuck on the stupid rug, as my father and the infamous Jack Westbrook both look up towards the door in unison at the sudden commotion.

  I’m stunned into place as Jack and I lock eyes.

  Louis turns to me. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you?” he asks, replacing my father’s empty glass and placing the water down on a marble coaster in front of my new bodyguard.

  “No, thank you, Louis,” I reply, dismissing him. The sooner I get this over with, the better.

  I don’t know who I’m looking at, but it isn’t who I expected.

  I look from my father to the hulk of a man standing to his right. He looks like some Adonis of the Gods.

  That’s Jaxon Westbrook?

  I’m met with the same pair of dark blue eyes that I remember now so well. But that’s where the resemblance ends. No longer fat, pimply, or weirdly dressed with awkward hair, Jaxon has turned into a six-foot-four, muscled, chiseled, dark-haired hunk. With a start, I realize he has had a serious transformation and I’m talking epic proportions.

  He has a dark five o’clock shadow along his jaw and face that’s so sexy, if I had the desk to grip onto right now, I would. It’s panty-stealing hot. He’s dressed in smart black pants and a white collared shirt with the top few buttons undone. Simple but classy.

  He’s the most good-looking goddamn freak of a man I’ve ever laid eyes on and I am momentarily speechless. This can’t be him.

  “Trust you to make a grand entrance.” My father frowns at my clumsiness, unaware of the impending panic surging through my body.

  “Sorry, I tripped,” I mumble, ignoring the bemused look on Jack’s face as I do my best to keep my eyes north of the border. Fuck me, he’s hot.

  Dad rolls his eyes then turns to his left.

  “You remember Jaxon from high school, honey.”

  The bemused look turns into a smirk, a knowing smirk, but his eyes remain intense and locked onto mine. In quick succession, I feel my pulse race and blood rush to my ears all at the same time.

  I know he knows.

  I know he remembers.

  Holy shit, I’m fucked.

  “Yeah, hey, Jax… umm… nice to see you again.”

  I curse myself. I don’t fumble. I make coffee nervous. I do not act like a freaking idiot around anybody, but the look on his face is sending me into a tailspin, one that has me going this way and that like a goddamn washing machine on spin cycle and I’m not sure I like it. In fact, I know I don’t.

  “Morgan, how could I forget?” he says, raising one eyebrow in question and I contemplate jumping out of the window to save myself from my humiliation.

  “It’s been a long time,” I reply, my throat hoarse.

  He then does the unthinkable, he moves toward me, holding his arm out as if to inconceivably shake my hand. I stare at it like a dummy then realize I’m being an idiot and put my hand in his.

  He’s not wearing a wedding ring.

  We shake and his hand is huge, crushing mine in all s
ense of the word. He smells like a dream too, like he just stepped out of the latest YSL for men ad campaign. I wonder what he’s doing wasting his time with this shit when he could be making megabucks on a catwalk somewhere. I wonder how the hell he looks so good and lost all that weight and turned into a full-blown hottie. It’s remarkable.

  My father smiles on happily like he’s just won the Saturday night jackpot. I don’t know why he’s so damned pleased with himself.

  I want to ask Jaxon how he is, what’s he been doing, and if I ruined his life all those years ago when I was a stuck-up bitch. Instead, I release his hand and hold my head up high.

  “While it’s lovely to get reacquainted again,” I say, drawing out the sarcasm just a little bit as I look at my father. “I haven’t really been given a debrief on exactly what is going on with all of these new changes.”

  I watch as my father takes another sip of his drink, assessing me in that judgmental way he does so well.

  Jaxon just stares at me, not saying a word. He seems like the broody type. No longer the kid who hides in the back of class going unnoticed. Oh no, Jaxon Westbrook is front and center and it’s obvious he wants the world to know.

  “That’s why you’re here, honey,” my father says, sitting down in the leather chair behind his desk. “To get reacquainted and discuss what’s going to work out best for you both while Jaxon is on board.”

  Of course, I can’t splutter out that I already heard all the stuff they were quite rudely saying about me behind my back. My own flesh and blood to boot, just charming.

  “Great,” I sigh, flopping down into the chair opposite with dramatic flair. “Can’t wait.”

  Sarcasm just drips from my every pore as my father frowns. I look to Jaxon, and while he doesn’t smile, his eyes dance mischievously, and not in a good way… oh no, in an I’m going to ruin your life in whichever way I can and look good while doing it kind of way. Like he’s seen it all before, the big jerk.

  Of course, I must be just imagining it because he’s here to protect me, not to make my life hell, right?

  And so, I sit and wait while the two main men in front of me plan on dictating my life from here on in, like I even have a say in the matter. We all know I don’t.

  One thing is for sure, I’m not going to make life easy, not for my father and sure as hell not for Jaxon Westbrook.

  They can both go to hell.

  3

  Jaxon

  I can’t help but feel a little bit smug.

  Morgan James looks like a deer caught in headlights, serves her right. Her greedy eyes rake my body and every inch of my face as if to check that it’s really me.

  Yep, sweetheart, ta-da. I’m back.

  That awkward, fat, nerdy, comic-book loving kid who got the shit beat out of him every day; it’s still me, I just wear a different mask now.

  I wonder what’s running through her pretty little mind, not that it really matters but revenge is sweet. Seeing that look on her face is just so satisfying; it’s made my struggles all seem worth it.

  I guess she’s probably wondering how. How the hell did I manage to transform from what I was to who I am. Let me say, it was quite a journey.

  I got past puberty for one and then that awkward stage that lasted the whole of high school; I got fit, went to the gym a lot, and had surgery to remove the excess skin from my body once I lost all the weight. I joined the military and the rest is history.

  My face is all mine. I got some style, smarts, and just a little bit of attitude while I was at it, along with some backbone. What you see now is almost ten years of hard work and just as much pain and dedication. I put my body through hell and my mind followed a close second. Multiple surgeries are never easy and they take their toll on every part of your being.

  If only she knew that inside, it’s still me.

  I still am that gawky, overweight kid with no friends, except now I don’t have a need to please people. I don’t have the need to want to be liked and I don’t give a flying fuck what people think about me. That’s what’s changed the most. Of course, I wouldn’t expect someone privileged like Morgan James to understand that simple logic, she’s been brought up with a silver spoon in her mouth, so why would she? She’s never done a day’s hard work in her life or had to struggle with anything, that’s how it is with rich kids. The only reason I wasn’t a brat like them was my father had earned his money, he’d actually worked for it and was never given a dime or inherited a thing, there’s a big difference. He also taught me the value of a good hard day’s work; nothing in my household came free.

  I watch with silent satisfaction as she opens her mouth then closes it again, swallowing hard. It’s alright, I like it. I get this reaction a lot. It never gets old.

  I just never expected it from her.

  Of course, I want to blurt out several snide remarks that’ll make her wither up like a prune, but I quickly check myself and remember I’m meant to give a crap about this broad, which is another reason I should never have accepted this gig in the first place, but the money… I’d be an idiot to turn that down.

  My best friend, Chase, reminded me all the shit I could do with three million dollars, and it sounds ridiculous, but I’ve never been hugely driven by money. I’m driven by passion. I can’t do something unless my heart is truly in it, which is why I struggled for at least five valuable minutes with this until Chase shook me into submission.

  Of course, I give a crap to some degree, I don’t want her to get hurt, but boy oh boy this is going to be a roller coaster ride.

  For one, you’re supposed to actually like the person you’re protecting. I know it’s not like a pre-requisite, but it helps. Secondly, I’ve got a lot of pent-up anger and emotion about my torture through my academic years and looking at her now brings all of that to the surface. It brings a lot of unwanted memories that I don’t wish to revisit. I should have known this would be a mistake but a cynical part of me can’t help it, I have to see it through. Then there’s the ass-whooping Chase would try to give me if I quit on day one.

  I have to point out though; she’s a fox, she’s even better with age, sweet looking but more filled out, curvy and totally delectable.

  Her long creamy blonde hair is pinned half back off her face to one side while the long waves cascade down her back. Her green eyes—while confused—still have the power to beguile me, they always did. She has perfect skin, miraculously, she isn’t Botoxed to the nines like most girls her age, they start young these days. She looks fairly naturally preserved with simple makeup and soft rose-colored lips. It brings me back to all my childhood wet dreams but now she’s even better as a grown woman.

  She stands there in patent pumps, a smart grey business skirt that sits above the knee, and an off-white blouse that’s tucked in at the waist, her bust is a good two handfuls but I don’t linger there long for my own sanity. She looks a million dollars. She’s got gold jewelry dripping from her fingers and diamonds from her ears; it’s simple and elegant but reeks money and class.

  Typical rich bitch.

  Typical Morgan James.

  I contain my amusement at her discomfort as she flops into the chair on the opposite side of the desk with her three-thousand-dollar purse at her feet. The minute she opens her mouth, I’m transported back to the ‘good old days’ and all I hear is white noise.

  You’re supposed to care!

  Three million dollars, three million dollars, three fucking million dollars.

  John’s saying something about not giving me any grief which I want to laugh out loud at. Judging by her pouty appearance and sudden rant about her life not being her own, it seems we’re off to the nice rocky start I expected. I like the difficult ones, while they may seem harder to control initially, I find that I get them in the end. It just takes perseverance and it seems I’m going to need it in bucket loads with this little firecracker.

  I can’t wait to poke around in her apartment, of course, I will insist on it. She lives acros
s town in some swanky new apartment block in Tribeca. Can’t wait to check that out.

  Happy to take Daddy’s money for living expenses but insists on her own independence, oh the irony.

  “…things we need to iron out,” John is saying as I pull the top of my pants above the knee so I can sit down next to her in the other chair. I reach for the glass of water and down half of it in one gulp. I don’t need to look in my periphery to know she’s watching my throat.

  I like that I affect her. I don’t know if it’s with complete annoyance or distaste in general, or if she wants to bone me, but if her body language is anything to go by, I’d say she’s less than impressed at my intrusion.

  I divert my eyes as she looks at her father across the desk at whatever it was she just asked him to clarify. Must pay better attention.

  “I told you on the phone; a few weeks initially, then we’ll see how things are looking after that. Jaxon is contracted for an initial trial period and after that’s up, we’ll reassess,” John replies, I notice he doesn’t mention anything about the six months he’s had me agree to and paid in advance for.

  Morgan James’ life is ruined… boo hoo, poor you that you have a father willing to pay me a king’s ransom to protect your scrawny ass while you moan and complain about how unfair life is. Honestly, first world problems.

  “But, Dad, don’t you think you’re being just a tad bit over the top?” she whines. “Full-time detail is absurd.”

  John shakes his head firmly. “I really don’t see what the issue is, he’ll be stationed in interval shifts with Ryan, but mostly, it will be during the day when you’re out and about. You can still go about your daily life like they’re not even there.”

  She gapes incredulously. “Even weekends?”

  I can’t help myself. “Bad guys are still out on weekends, sweetheart,” I interject, making sweetheart sound as sickly sweet as I can. “It’s not like they clock off at five o’clock on a Friday afternoon and go to the beach for the weekend to suntan and drink Margaritas, only to be back on the clock first thing Monday morning.”