The Professional Page 7

  “Your wish is my command,” I said, giving a slight bow.

  She walked to her doorway, but then stopped and turned to me. “Are you this unprofessional with your other clients?” The question wasn’t hostile. It was asked with genuine interest, like she couldn’t believe that I was actually employable.

  “I am professional,” I said, putting my hands in my pockets and leaning back on my heels.

  She scoffed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d never worked for a rich person in your life, let alone as a bodyguard.”

  I smiled.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asked, suspicious.

  “You called yourself a rich person,” I said.

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said quickly.

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “I meant that if you were hired to protect my mother you would have been fired before we even left the house earlier.”

  I shrugged. “OK, maybe I’m a little unprofessional, but I do a damn good job. Never lost a single client on my watch.” That, at least, was true.

  I hoped she’d go into the room. The questioning was getting a little too specific and, after Scott, I just wanted a moment to rest.

  She didn’t comply with my mental wish. Instead she asked, “Who did you work for before my mother?”

  I racked my brain trying to remember my resume. “Sarah Summers,” I said when the name finally came to me. “You know, the pop singer?”

  Cora shot me a look that was hard to interpret. “Were you close?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Not really. Just one of a few guys watching her door and beating back the press.”

  “But she would remember you?” Cora pressed further.

  This was getting into dangerous territory. It wouldn’t be a stretch for Cora to know Summers or one of her friends personally. That would be a hell of a way to lose the Crown - going down on a stupid coincidence. “I doubt it,” I said. “People like that have a rotating circle of security. I’m sure we all become pretty faceless after a while.”

  “I’d be surprised if she forgot yours,” Cora muttered.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, grinning.

  “Nothing. Forget it,” she said.

  She went inside her room and shut the door. I sat down on the sofa and looked around at the simple decorations. On the side table, there was a framed picture of her surrounded by smiling Indian children that hung off her arms, one hanging off her back with his arms clasped around her neck. She grinned down at them, ignoring the camera and looking happier than I’d seen her all day.

  The couch was old, but comfortable, worn in. A bookshelf held dozens of dogeared paperbacks and more pictures. One was of her and Diana in Rome. The other was of a young girl with dark hair and dark blue eyes sitting in the lap of a handsome man close to my own age. Her father, I thought, looking at the two of them. It’s hard to lose a parent young. I would know.

  I sat back down on the sofa and closed my eyes. As I dozed, I listened to Cora moving about her room and my last thought before drifting off was that maybe Cora wasn’t quite so much a princess after all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cora

  I woke up to the pale light of early dawn, unsure why I felt so annoyed.

  Then I remembered my conversation with Jackie the previous afternoon.

  I’d stormed into the office and demanded - no, ordered, her to fire Flynn. She’d looked up from her laptop with an air of one being interrupted from much more important work. I told her that he was insubordinate, invasive, and unprofessional. As I talked, she steepled her fingers on the desk and looked at me coolly. I got the impression, mid-rant, that she would most definitely not be helping me with my Alex Flynn problem, but I didn’t care. Despite her invasion of my grandmother’s office, this wasn’t her house and I wasn’t her subordinate. She worked for me - for my family anyway - and if she didn’t want to help me, I’d have her fired too.

  I didn’t include the last bit in my tirade against Flynn, but I held it in my mind and it gave me comfort. Unfortunately, Jackie didn’t seem particularly aware that her job was held in my hands. In fact, I didn’t think I imagined the spark of pleasure in her eyes when she informed me that despite his “flaws”, Flynn was really the best of the best, that she trusted my life in his hands, and that she wondered if my adherence to having a bodyguard didn’t play a part in my objection to him.

  “He fell asleep on the floor outside my friend’s door!” I said, dumbfounded. “Is that really the best you could find?”

  Jackie didn’t respond, but her face said it all. She didn’t believe me.

  I was at a loss for words - that Jackie really believed I would come to her and lie just because I didn’t want security! But then I realized exactly what’d happened: my mother had warned her this would happen. Of course she’d think I was some bratty princess if her knowledge of me came entirely from my mother.

  I’d left angry, but determined. Flynn wouldn’t be as easy to dispose of as I thought, but that didn’t mean impossible. Jackie was a tool of my mother’s, so that just meant I had to go right to the source.

  Later that night, I’d sat on my bed and considered calling Mother. It was early morning in Athea and knowing her, she’d be awake already, getting started on the day’s work. But it was still today for me in New York and I’d already had the pleasure of one conversation with her today. I didn’t think I had the energy for another. So I’d gone to bed, vowing I’d call her in the morning.

  I sat up in bed and looked out the window, trying to banish thoughts of Flynn and Jackie and Mother from my mind. This was my favorite time of day in the city, when the sun hadn’t yet fully risen and the streets were quiet and as empty as you could hope for in Midtown.

  Usually I ran on sunny mornings like this one, but if that meant I’d have to go with Flynn…

  I got out of bed and went to the door, listening at the crack. I didn’t hear any noise or movement. Hopefully Flynn was still sleeping. He probably didn’t expect a spoiled princess to get up at the crack of dawn. Why the hell did he work for the wealthy if he seemed to hold such a disdain for them? How had he managed to get jobs in the past? There was something funny about Flynn and my questions were starting to pile up.

  One thing was certain: I was going to Sarah Summers’ party on Thursday and asking about Alex Flynn’s past employment with her.

  I dressed quickly in running clothes, pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and slipped out of my room, closing the door carefully to avoid any loud noise. I forwent the elevator and its noisy grate in favor of the stairs and trotted down four flights to the ground floor, feeling giddy at my victory over Flynn.

  I pulled open the door of the mudroom and stopped in my tracks at the sight of Flynn in sweatpants and a skin-tight athletic shirt, lacing up a pair of trainers.

  “Oh, come on!” I said aloud, unable to help myself.

  He grinned up at me and tightened the knot. “Sorry, Princess,” he said.

  “How the hell could you possibly have gotten down here in time?” I asked. I knew I should be angry, but I felt slightly impressed. Maybe Flynn did have some tricks up his sleeve after all.

  “A true professional never betrays his secrets,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “I think that’s only for magicians,” I said.

  He ignored the jab. “Ready for me to smoke you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You wish.” I grabbed my running shoes and laced up. “I just hope you can keep up.”

  He grinned. “Please. I’d bet I take one stride for every two of yours.”

  And at his height, I didn’t doubt it. For some reason, I didn’t get prickly at his words where I would have yesterday. Maybe because his tone was more of light-hearted teasing than his previous arrogance. More likely because I would talk to Mother today and he’d be gone by the evening. Why not play along until then? Flynn didn’t know he was a dead man walking.

 
So all I said was, “We’ll see.”

  He walked ahead of me out of the mudroom and, at the side door, pulled it open and stepped to the side, letting me go first. I eyed him suspiciously, but didn’t comment. If he thought playing the gentleman would make me go easier on him, he was wrong.

  We passed Dan, Scott’s relief in the security booth. He was an older, pudgy man with a newspaper permanently glued to his hands. I didn’t think I’d ever seen his face as it was always blocked by the page.

  “Suddenly I have a lot more respect for Scott,” Flynn said out of the corner of his mouth as we walked down the alley.

  I shook my head. “My security is useless.”

  “No kidding,” he said. “I could just walk in off the street and into the house and he’d never know I was there. What’s the point in even having him sit there?”

  “There’s no point other than for my mother to keep an eye on me,” I said bitterly. Which you would know all about.

  “She could do that with a security camera,” he said. “Or just insert a tracking chip under your skin.”

  I snorted a laugh. “Please don’t give her any ideas.”

  Once on the sidewalk, I started jogging uptown, toward the Park. It was only a block away, and the perfect place to run. Flynn kept pace with me. I would never have admitted it to him or anyone, but his presence was a little comforting. I always ran with mace, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t a little nervous running in the park alone on quiet mornings. Typically, I kept to busy paths or even just to Fifth Avenue until I got to the Reservoir, which always had runners no matter the time of day. With six foot three inch, muscular Alex Flynn by my side, I entered the trees and didn’t give a damn where my feet wanted to take me. Maybe having a bodyguard wasn’t quite so useless after all.

  We jogged in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the beautiful morning. I was a little surprised I wasn’t hearing any jabs from him, but maybe, underneath all that bravado, he realized he was skating on thin ice after yesterday and it would only take one wrong word to plunge into the icy depths of unemployment.

  After a while of silence, the questions I had from earlier started to tumble through my mind. Eventually, I couldn’t help myself and voiced one. “Why did you take this job if you’re so disdainful against royalty?” I asked as we made our way through the trees. “Or really anyone with money? Seems like you’d avoid it, escort armored trucks or something.”

  He didn’t answer, and I thought he either didn’t hear me or was ignoring the question. But after a little bit, he said, “I’m more disdainful of starving.”

  “So this is just a way for you to pay the bills?” I asked.

  “What would it be otherwise?” he asked.

  “You don’t get a thrill at being around all the glitz and glamor? The paparazzi and parties and fans? On your other jobs, I mean. I get this one isn’t particularly enticing.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” he said, and I looked over to see him staring at me, still keeping my pace. I snapped my head forward, feeling myself reddening and hating my cheeks for betraying me. Diana’s knowing smile popped into my head, and I slapped her away.

  “But no,” he continued, “to answer your question.” He paused, thinking, the beat of our shoes against the pavement filling the void. “It’s never really been about the stuff,” he said. “Sure, the life comes with some benefits, but for me its always been about the rush, the danger. The possibility of excitement even when there is none. I got hooked young and never could really let it go.”

  “Does that mean you’re a risk-taker? Seems a little unprofessional.”

  He laughed and when it wasn’t mocking me, I was surprised to hear that it was as smooth as his voice, flooding out of his throat like liquid gold. “No, of course not. Risk-taking implies not being in control. I’m always in control and that allows me to enjoy the chaos.”

  “You’ve never lost control before?” I asked, finding that hard to believe.

  He didn’t answer and as the silence stretched longer, I glanced over again to see his face hardened, as if fighting off a bad taste in his mouth.

  “Sorry,” I said. It was the first time I’d seen the charming smile fade from his face. Without it, he looked intense, dangerous. Less like a layabout and more like someone I’d imagine being able to fight off an attacker or pull me to safety from a burning building. I wasn’t going to lie - it was a little sexy.

  The moment passed though and he shook his head. “Sometimes more so than I’d like to, but I’ve always made it out alright in the end. And the same goes for my clients,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “What’re your thoughts on all of this?” he asked, clearly changing the subject.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your family coming here. Seems a little like an invasion from the way Jackie’s working.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, she’s got a whole war room set up, huh? You’d think she’d have an office of her own somewhere to occupy.” I frowned as I thought about the question. “I don’t know,” I said. “I like my brother, but he probably won’t be coming. Gran’s okay, but she’s old-school, a little distant.”

  “And dear Mother?” he asked.

  “Let’s just say the surveillance state didn’t start when I moved out of the country,” I said. “I’m mostly used to it,” I said, trying to brush it off. “Parents, right? Yours like that?”

  He gave a short, humorless chuckle. “Nah, Dad took off sometime in the second trimester. Mom died when I was in middle school.”

  Oh. “I’m sorry,” I said, both for his experience and for asking.

  He shrugged. “Don’t be. She was sick for a while. It happens.” His tone lightened. “And besides, I did just fine without ‘em. Take what you’re given, right?”

  I didn’t respond, suddenly a lot more aware of how that stupid fucking manor looked to the average person.

  “My Dad died when I was eleven,” I offered.

  Our eyes met again mid-stride, the shared bond of losing a parent too young. I realized right then that we’d just had an entirely normal conversation and somehow Flynn wasn’t quite the asshole I’d pictured him to be.

  He stopped running and I did too. We’d come out at the Reservoir. I hadn’t realized just how long we’d been jogging.

  We stood together at the edge of the path, neither saying anything. I felt my eyes drawn toward him again and, when I looked, he returned my gaze. There was a stillness in the air. The birds stopped singing. Even the wind seemed to halt. I wasn’t quite sure what I was feeling only that I was nervous and excited at the same time. His green eyes, impossibly tense, froze me in my place. I didn’t think I could look away even if I wanted to. Then his eyes crinkled at the corners, a smile lifting his lips to a grin.

  “Race you,” he said and started running, the tension broken into shards at my feet.

  “Wait! No fair!” I said, but kicked it into high gear. Running was my release, even back in Athea. I hit the pavement four times a week. I ran the New York City Marathon every year. I could beat Alex Flynn, especially the way he was weighed down by all that muscle.

  He was ahead of me at first, but I caught up and we whizzed down the pavement, neck and neck. I ran as fast as I could, sprinting past joggers and speed walkers at a breakneck pace, a little too fast to be safe. I didn’t even know what we were racing to as we ran side by side, sweat starting to prickle at my brow and back, his breath coming in great gasps like pistons powering a powerful machine.

  We rounded a bend, and I felt a surge of power just as his legs were starting to fail. He fell back, just an inch, as I surged forward. I was going to win! Ha! Suck it, Flynn!

  I didn’t see what I hit, all I could tell was that I was falling and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I pulled my hands back and landed on my shoulder, hard. I felt the flesh scrape, the prickle of blood blossoming as I fought to orient myself.

  “Leash your dog, lady!” I heard Flynn shout and then he was next to me o
n the ground.

  “Anything broken?” he asked quickly.

  “I… I don’t think so,” I panted. My arm hurt badly, but I’d absorbed most of the impact across my body. All that was really injured was my pride. Any remaining pride left me completely when Flynn reached down and gathered me into his arms.

  “Urg, don’t pick me up,” I protested. “I’m fine.”

  “I need to get you out of the path so you’re not run over,” he said gruffly and carried me to a patch of grass right against the road, setting me down gently.

  “What hurts?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just my arm.” I tried to sit up, but he put one hand on my non-injured side and stopped me.

  “Let me look at it,” he said. His eyes were concerned, his touch gentle. His sweat-drenched hair fell messy over his forehead and he absentmindedly slicked it back against his head. Damn it, even panting and sweaty he still looked like a carved statue. When it became obvious that he was serious about looking, I sighed and let him examine the arm, feeling it for breaks. His hands were warm against my skin. Long, strong fingers felt carefully up the length of my arm. When he was sure I was fine, he let me sit up.

  “We need to get a cab back,” he said. “So you don’t bleed anymore.”

  “We can take the subway,” I said, dismissively.

  “No,” he said flatly. “The subway’s disgusting. You don’t want to get gangrene and lose your arm. How would I explain that to your mother?”

  The thought of Mother coming to New York to find her daughter an amputee combined with the pain and adrenaline made me giggle, then full-on laugh, and then Flynn was laughing with me. We sat on the grass next to the Reservoir and laughed a little too hard at not a great joke, the emotion coming more from exhaustion and adrenaline than anything.