Jaxon - Bad Boys of New York Book #1

by Mackenzy Fox

  “Is he going with you?” she sounds incredulous.

  “Yes, I have to show my new bodyguard my apartment.” My eyes flick to him again as I drag the words out, then I divert my gaze to the window and my heart accelerates as I see him looking at me in the reflection. His eyes are so blue, even in the dead of night. I don’t know what I see there but time seems to stop.

  “At this time of night?” she questions. “That seems a little odd.”

  I swallow hard and hold my head high. “Yes, my father thinks it’s a good idea since he’s rented the apartment next door for my new security, you know, in case I need a bedtime story.”

  I give him a little smirk of my own and look away, turning my gaze back to the front, it’s then I see Marcy is frowning at me.

  Who is she to judge? And anyways, if she knew the half of it, she’d be agreeing with me hands down.

  “I literally have no words. He’s rented the apartment for the hottie next door?” Dixie cries. “Your old man’s lost it in the most delicious of ways; do you think he’ll adopt me?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Just think he can make booty calls whenever you want, very convenient, this could have its advantages.”

  “Ha-ha,” I say. “Hilarious.”

  Dixie laughs, then sobers up. “When’s the soonest I can come over?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “You might want to take a raincheck on that until I get my new set of ground rules read to me,” I taunt. “It’s kind of like the first amendment but in reverse.”

  I see Jaxon crack his neck in my periphery. Serves him right, he’s part of this.

  She laughs again. “I have no idea what you’re going on about but you are so wild. He knows we’re talking about him, doesn’t he?”

  Of course he does, Jaxon Westbrook is a freak of nature, he probably has supersonic hearing too.

  “Of course, call it a sixth sense.”

  “I so need deets,” she squeals. “I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in as long as I can remember.”

  “Glad I’m keeping it real for you but you probably need to get out more.”

  “Seriously, call me later.” She completely ignores my snark, as usual.

  “You know I will.”

  “Maybe we could Insta stalk him?” she suggests helpfully.

  Sometimes I need to remind myself that Dixie is not sixteen. In fact, she’s twice that and a bit more, not that you would think so how her brain acts. She keeps me young that’s all I can say.

  “Trust me when I say that won’t be necessary.” No need to add that my getting along with him or caring one iota is impossible.

  I hang up and shift in my seat, crossing my leg over my knee in the opposite direction to Jaxon. We spend the rest of the journey in complete and utter silence. His ground rules can go to hell.

  5

  Jaxon

  My lips twitch at her talking about me to her friend. I wonder if she’s still friends with Carly, she was one of the ring leaders in Morgan’s group who hated me the most.

  Wouldn’t it be ironic if we ran into each other now?

  I boned Carly a while back. Revenge was sweet; she had no idea who I was until after the deed. Of course, it filled me with disgust because I wasn’t very attracted to her; she was so classless, we did it in a bathroom stall. She couldn’t take her greedy little eyes and hands off me. It’s not like I sought her out, it just kind of happened.

  I smile at the memory of awe/horror on Carly’s shocked face afterwards. I never imagined she’d be screaming my name but scream she did, several times. I was a little reckless in my youth; I’d never do that now, not with her. So much has changed since my raging hormones calmed down, I was a late bloomer after all.

  Then again, I never professed to be any kind of Mr. Prince Charming either.

  Marcy pulls up at a trendy building in Tribeca.

  “Would you like me to wait, Mr. Westbrook?”

  Of course, we met earlier and Marcy seems very nice, good at her job, alert, and professional. I like her.

  “Please, call me Jaxon,” I reply. “And I’m fine, I’ll be staying here tonight.”

  A puzzled look comes across her face as her eyes flick to Morgan in the rear vision mirror.

  “In his own apartment,” Morgan clarifies rather haughtily. “As if this isn’t bad or weird enough, Marcy, Dad has arranged the entire suite next door for my new security team to be on hand at all times—day and night.”

  She gives Morgan a sympathetic smile. “You know it’s for the best.”

  She doesn’t answer. Her head snaps around to face me. “Are we going in or are we going to sit out here all night?”

  I nod to the driver’s seat. “Goodnight, Marcy,” I say as I reach for the door handle.

  “Goodnight, Jaxon, goodnight, Morgan, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Morgan mutters a platitude and follows me out. I shut the door and tap the hood. Morgan fishes out her door card, everything is electronic here, so that’s good. I glance up and see a camera at the front entrance of the building, also good. As we get into the foyer, the doorman greets us and by the time we make it to the elevator, I’ve spotted four more hidden cameras.

  Morgan punches the button as we wait in silence. When the doors ping open, we move inside and she hits her floor. It’s 51 floors up, the top level.

  “When did your father amp up the security here?” I ask out of curiosity.

  She crosses her arms over her chest, still annoyed with me. “About a year ago.”

  “How many people have a key to your apartment?”

  She turns to stare at me. “Just me.”

  I stare back at her. “No friends, boyfriends, annoying relatives?”

  She huffs out loud. “My best friend, Dixie, has a key for emergencies,” she states, trying to make it sound casual.

  Dixie? What in the hell kind of name is that? Maybe that’s the friend she was talking to on the phone.

  I wonder if she does have a boyfriend, she doesn’t seem like the casual kind of girl but nothing shocks me anymore.

  “Anybody else?”

  “No.”

  “Boyfriend or an ex?” I don’t need to be a genius to know these questions infuriate her.

  She sighs loudly like I’m the most annoying thing in the universe. “My ex never had a key, and not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not seeing anyone right now, is that it with Spanish inquisition?”

  That explains that then. Frustration at its finest.

  “I’ll need a list of all your casual acquaintances,” I go on. That should get her going. I’m like a dog with a bone when I get started.

  “I beg your pardon?” She turns to look at me with contempt.

  It alarms me how much I like that pouty look she’s giving me. If she were anybody else, I’d kiss that look right off her face and leave her breathless and wanting in the elevator. Hell, I’d probably push the emergency stop and have my way with her if she were up for it. It’s been a long time since I did anything that reckless in public and in an elevator.

  But not with her. Not Morgan James. I’m hired and sworn to protect her, not get into her pants, not that she’d let me because all I seem good at is pushing her buttons. It’s like I have a knack for it, it comes so naturally.

  I keep my face stoic, giving nothing away.

  “Did I say something wrong?” I muse innocently.

  She looks like she’s about to spit fire from out of her eyeballs.

  “I don’t have casual acquaintances, not that it would be any of your business either.”

  I smirk. “I meant workwise… colleagues, clients, etcetera.”

  She shakes her head. “No, you didn’t.”

  “This is going to be difficult if you take everything I say offensively.”

  “Well then stop asking me invasive questions,” she spits. “And are we supposed to be doing this?” She waves a hand between us.

  I bite my lip
to refrain from laughing. Oh, sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it. This is me on a good day.

  “Doing what?” I raise a questioning eyebrow. I’ve no idea what she’s babbling about now. “If you expect me to walk, then keep dreaming, it’s a long way up by the stairs.”

  My sarcasm knows no bounds.

  “I meant having chit-chats and un-meaningful banter instead of discussing your ground rules, after all, that’s the only reason I’m letting you up here.”

  Here we go again, Miss High and Mighty. I knew she was gonna be a goddamn pain in my ass, but seriously.

  “Chit-chat is optional and un-meaningful banter can be at an absolute minimum,” I reply levelly. “But for your information, not that you care, I’m trying to establish a pattern here so I can do my job as effectively as possible, and I can only do that by getting to know you and your habits as well as your comings and goings. That way, I can do my job to the best of my ability, it really is quite simple but if you want to make it harder than it needs to be, go right ahead.”

  She’s so cute when she’s mad. A flash of her underneath me while I pump her hard and fast comes to mind, that would shut her up, though I do not want to get a wood confined in this elevator but it’s too late, my twitching appendage betrays me.

  I should not be thinking this and not just because she’s stuck-up and annoying and off-limits, but because it’s all horribly wrong. But it’s not like I don’t notice how damn fine she is to look at, she takes care of herself, she smells sweet even though she’s been at work all day, and her racks got my eyes heading south like a fucking deviant every time she’s not looking.

  I like touching, and not being able to has me clenching my jaw, not that I’d want to touch her, I’d rather have my eyes gauged out with a hot poker.

  “Getting to know me,” she says sarcastically, she’s really good at that too, an expert at insults. “Maybe you’d do your job a lot more effectively if you just kept quiet.”

  Ouch.

  The doors fling open and I expect her to flounce out in a huff, so I’m surprised when she waits for me to go first. There’s hope for us yet, but like everything that’s proving to be true about her, it’s gonna be short-lived. I move out in front as I check the hall, then she follows behind me.

  This is much, much swankier than any apartment building I’ve ever been in, I mean, my digs are nice in the meatpacking district and I paid a lot for my apartment, but it’s got nothing on this place.

  Even the paint still smells fresh. Everything is coated with opulence and elegance.

  I touch my breast pocket and feel the card for the adjoining apartment I’m meant to temporarily move into and I hope like hell it’s got a king-sized bed, not that I’ll bring anyone up here on work time, but I like a lot of room and I need a good comfy mattress in order to sleep. I’m not the best sleeper as it is, especially in unfamiliar surroundings.

  I grin behind her back at the thought of how under her skin it must feel me being here and now taking up residence right next to her. She must hate it. And unlike me, she seems incapable of holding back how she really feels. She just blurts it all out, not that that’s a bad thing but I’m sure her mouth has gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion.

  She swipes herself in and doesn’t hold the door for me, so I shove my shoe into the door jamb before it closes and push through behind her. Bitch.

  I step into the most dazzling apartment I may have ever seen. It has shiny white marble floors that gleam, even though it’s dark inside. As Morgan begins to move through the apartment, the sensor lights come on panel by panel.

  I whistle low through my teeth; this must have cost a mint. Or rather, cost Daddy a mint.

  “How long have you lived here?” I ask as she dumps her purse on the breakfast bar and proceeds to slip her high heels off, leaving them where they fall.

  Her apartment is so neat and tidy, it’s like nobody lives here, unlike mine. She probably has a maid, chief bottle washer, and a chef planted around here somewhere. I resist the urge to ask her where they’re hiding.

  There’s a huge, large wrap around couch, also in white, and a massive chandelier dangling from the ceiling. It’s the most extravagant, over the top thing I’ve ever seen but not in the least bit surprising. I cannot imagine who would pay good money for that monstrosity but it probably cost more than my car.

  “About eighteen months,” she says after a moment. I turn as she begins making some weird-ass noises, I realize after a second she’s summoning her cat. “Here, Jezzy. Here, kitty, kitty.”

  Well, I never struck her as being an animal lover, but having a cat says it all really. They are probably quite well-suited—cold, calculating, rub you up the wrong way, and will hiss and spit on you the minute your back is turned. Yeah, like definitely attracts like.

  I watch as a fluffy, white, elegant-looking cat with caramel-colored paws comes trotting down the hallway from, I assume, its comfy resting place or maybe it has its own boudoir. It is actually pretty cute as far as cats go.

  “I love cats.” I lie while bending down, holding my hand out and summoning her to come to me.

  Morgan turns to look at me and rolls her eyes. “Jezebel hates people. In fact, she’ll probably claw your eyes out if you get too close and she’s been known to bite people she doesn’t like.”

  I frown, unsure if I should keep trying to get my eyes clawed out or not, but before I can stand, the infamous Jezebel strolls up to me like lady of the manor and rubs her body and tail up and along my bent leg and then does it again the other way. If I’m not mistaken, she purrs loudly as she’s doing it. I refrain from laughing out loud. Ooh, I’m so scared. Ferocious.

  “Nah, I think your cat likes me,” I say, looking up at her furious face. This just keeps getting better, now I’m best friends with her cat.

  “That’s really odd,” she mutters, quickly composing herself. “But then again, she wasn’t feeling all that great this morning, she was off her food, must still be feeling under the weather.”

  I stroke her coat and tell her how pretty she is and ignore Morgan while she stands there in unbridled annoyance.

  “It’s alright, I have a way with women,” I reply quietly, not meeting her gaze.

  I can almost feel her eyes rolling this time. “Is that the animal instinct in you?”

  I smirk. “I’m only an animal in the bedroom, princess, but in the sack I’m less of a pussy cat and more like a lion.”

  I stand with Jezebel now in my arms as Morgan’s mouth hangs open, her eyes scope down to my throat as she visibly swallows, I bet she wants to graze my body too but she won’t let herself. I feel my appendage twitch again, thank God for trousers. If I had jeans on, I’d be in trouble. I have no idea why I’m so turned on by this woman and I shouldn’t be, I despise her just a little bit, but I get some kind of sick satisfaction knowing I’m gnawing at her composure.

  “Is that really appropriate?”

  “What? That your cat likes me better than you?”

  She shakes her head and reaches out to take Jezzy out of my arms childishly. “She does not like you better than me, I meant you making lewd comments, and just for the record, I don’t like pet names, it’s Morgan, thank you very much.” She’s referring to the princess comment no doubt.

  I used to call her MJ in school. I wonder how that would go down now. I decide to test the theory.

  “You don’t go by MJ anymore?” I cock an eyebrow.

  She flushes, our childhood flashes before my eyes—none of it is good—and I realize I probably should put my alter ego back in his box, she ain’t ready for him right now.

  “No, I don’t,” she stammers. “I never liked people shortening people’s names or nicknaming or cutie pie sentiments of endearment; let’s just keep it on a first-name basis.”

  Noted. Cold fish that she is must be obeyed.

  “You’re the boss,” I say as Jezzy shrugs out of her arms and Morgan sets her on the ground where she runs of
f into the kitchen.

  We look up at each other.

  “Alone at last.” I smirk, cocking my head.

  “Are you going to keep making sarcastic remarks the whole time we’re together?”

  Again, she has the ability to make me laugh out loud. I’m a sick fuck.

  “I certainly hope not,” I reply. “But feel free to call me any nicknames you like, I don’t mind.”

  “What like douche bag?”

  “Sure, D.B. for short?”

  “You know, Jack, I kind of like the sound of that… it has a certain ring to it.”

  I grate my teeth at the sound of that name but I don’t let her know that it annoys me; I suspect she may already know and that’s why she’s doing it. I already told her once tonight I go by Jaxon now. I left Jack behind after graduation, he’s just a distant memory and one I’m happy to leave in the past.

  “As you wish.” I challenge, not letting her ruffle my feathers.

  “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asks finally, waggling her hand at me as if she can just shoosh me away like some servant. “Like next door, for example?”

  I shake my head, my shift doesn’t start until the morning but she doesn’t need to know that. “No, I’m on the clock as luck would have it, so if you’d like to show me the rest of the apartment, I’ll be on my way.”

  She huffs some more and I watch as she turns and heads right up a hallway, my eyes are glued to her ass in that short skirt and I adjust myself in my pants while her back is turned.

  I have no fucking idea why I signed up for this shit or why I’ve got a damn wood going on for this woman who I really don’t like but who I’m supposed to die for if it came down to it. I seriously need to get a grip. Maybe it’s not too late to relinquish the terms of my employment?

  Again, I imagine Chase swinging at me, this time, he has a meat cleaver in his hand.

  There’s a small powder room off the main galley, then a couple of nice sized spare bedrooms, an office with magnificent views of the city skyline, and a large Jack and Jill bathroom.

  Then we cross back through the lounge to the other side of the apartment. To the left is a small home theatre with a plush black lounge and two single-seater cinema chairs, then she leads me to my most favorite part of the tour—her bedroom. I imagine it to be some kind of dungeon leading to her domain, maybe a set of gargoyles overhead to scare intruders, but I’m surprised that it’s nothing of the sort. It’s completely feminine and plush with pinks and soft girly tones, not kick-ass at all.