Page 56 of Dirty Billionaire

I knew at a certain point in my SEAL career that I could do more out of uniform, but I respect the navy and thank the universe for the opportunity to serve.

Expecting this to be a short conversation and to hand him over to Ryder, I take a sip of my drink and then wipe my mouth. “How can I help you, Mr. Cartwright?”

“Blaze, please.”

“Blaze.”

Jesus, get to the fucking point.

I have a satellite call with the Middle East in twenty minutes and wanted to get in a full workout. That isn’t happening now, so I’ll have to fit in some more reps later tonight.

I might not be in the service anymore, but some days my job can be just as dangerous. Even more so without the backing of the government.

There are pros and cons.

Staying in shape and keeping my fitness at optimal levels keep me alive.

“My daughter’s life is in danger, and I need you to protect her,” he answers.

Fuck no.I’m not a trust fund baby bodyguard.

Jesus fucking Christ, I’m offended.

Did he read my bio? I’m a goddamn Navy SEAL. Not a mall cop. No offense to mall cops. Someone has to do that shit.

Not me.

And I don’t look after spoiled rich kids.

I’m about to launch into my well-practiced spiel and transfer him to Ryder’s voicemail when he adds, “I’ll pay you triple. It’s just until they get this guy put back in prison.”

I lift my brows slowly.

He’s got my attention. Not because of the money—although the potential for referrals from Cartwright is huge—but I’m curious about who the escaped convict is. Usually, he would be on the BHS radar, and I’ve not heard a thing.

That’s both a concern—because why the fuck don’t we know—and I wonder who and why it’s been covered up.

And why.

“Keep talking,” I say as I change my Google search to find Blaze’s daughter.

“Eleven years ago, when Sonic Rebel was at the height of its success, my daughter Cassy was eighteen. The media took an interest in her and so did Isaac Miller.”

I stare at my screen as Blaze continues talking.

Christ.

I can see why she turned heads.

A young Cassy Cartright stares at me through my laptop screen, and she’s fucking gorgeous. Not just your usual Hollywood gorgeous. She’s naturally beautiful and lean, with long dark wavy hair and startling green eyes surrounded by thick long lashes.

I’m no stranger to beautiful women. Being six four and built like a brick shithouse I draw them to me like magnets. But beauty aside, there’s something about her stopping me from looking away.

Like the Mona fucking Lisa, I can’t put my finger on it.

Is she smirking? Cheeky?

No.

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