Page 30 of Saul

The gates opened right on time and the black Mercedes limo rolled out but taking that prick out wasn’t why I was there. We wanted to make sure he left.

My priority was the four guards and their dogs, and yes that meant the caliber I had was overkill, but if the worst happened and the idiot came back in the bulletproof limo, I was ready for him. The mission was to get the Little out of the house without any loss of life, apart from the butler. The butler was as much a cruel bastard as his sick employer.

And the so-called Daddy would be dealt with later.

I’d seen the photos and wanted to get my hands around his throat. Maybe peel the skin off his dick…slowly.

One of the team members I was working with was supposed to have a way with dogs and could somehow make them go in the opposite direction. I had no idea how that would work, but while I was happy to take out sick fucks, I balked at injuring animals. I was with the team from Florida and to be honest, when Chrishad the balls to call me on Monday and offer me the job, I’d gone without a backwards glance.

I’d spent all the previous week calling myself all kinds of fool for leaving. I’d worried about Calvin being on his own all Sunday night and flying home alone until, in desperation, I’d texted Ricky at the ass-crack of dawn, and he’d answered and saidOperation Daddywas in hand. I had no idea what that meant, but I knew Ricky adored Calvin, so it made me feel a little better.

I watched our guys breach the house undisturbed.

“Target located.” I recognized the voice in my ear as a team member called Maddox and breathed out easily, waiting for movement. “Moving out now.”

The plan was to exit through the side door, and I saw two shadows moving with what was presumably the target wrapped in a blanket and being carried by one of them as they ran for the gate. The dogs and handlers were still out of sight, but then I saw the butler step out of the door.

And this guy wasn’t some crusty octogenarian. He was ex-special forces, dishonorably discharged, and somehow had ended up in security and was charged with guarding the target. And by “guard” I meant torment. I saw him lift his arm and sight the still-running men with a handgun.

And I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt as I pulled the trigger.

The dogs were okay, though.

I melted away as if I’d never been. We knew because of the condition the Little was in, when the guy returned, he wouldn’t be calling the cops. I dodged three calls from Chris over the next week, and then I surrendered and listened to one of his many voicemails. He had another job for me and by the time I’d listened, I wanted to ram the phone down his throat.

Ricky had posted one of the wedding pics of me holding Calvin on social media, naming his new businessRent-A-Daddy. Apparently, it was officially his baby, and my chest hurt as Istared at the pic. My head was lowered, and Calvin’s was buried in my neck so you couldn’t see our faces, but apparently the Rent-A-Daddy business had exploded after that, and I’d received twenty-seven requests for Daddy-Duty.

I was about to call him back and say exactly what I thought of him until he sent me a contract. The money was incredible, but the real kicker was Ricky’s business partner. It wasn’t Chris, as I had been expecting, but C. Jennings.Calvin.

I was so screwed.

Chapter fifteen

Saul

Ihad no intention of being anyone’s Daddy, or should I sayanyone else’sDaddy, but by Wednesday of the following week I was getting a little stir-crazy. The Florida team—I had found out—was a bunch of ex-Marines like me but who happened to be billionaires at the same time. The head guy—Gideon—offered me a job, which I knew I should have accepted but the one thing that was still stopping me getting the hell out of the area was Calvin.

I certainly didn’t have anything else keeping me here. I’d brushed Chris off when I’d come back from Florida, and he’d clearly decided to leave me to Ricky.

I’d had another email from Ricky this morning, practically begging me to escort a new client to an environmental awards dinner.

And at the bottom of the email was the hashtagOperation Daddy, which I assumed had something to do with Calvin, but I didn’t see how. The client, Emily Christian, had picked me out from a list of bodyguard possibilities, and Ricky was convinced she was a Little. I was told I had to be discreet.No shit.I doubted she’d want any pics of her with a binkie.

But could I do it? All I’d wanted was to be Calvin’s Daddy and look how that had turned out. Maybe it was because I was crap at it. Maybe if I’d known what I was doing, Calvin would be right here in my arms.

Which got me thinking. I was pretty sure there was no such thing as Daddy training, but what if there was? Chris was still on my shit list, but what if I asked him to take me to his club? Assuming he still went to one, that was. So as a suitable distraction I spent an hour coming up with Daddy/Little workarounds when it couldn’t be obvious, like with this job. With a huge sigh, because I needed to get out of my head, I texted Ricky and told him to send me the file, but I wasn’t committing to anything until I’d read it. She could be a spoiled bitch who just wanted a Daddy as an accessory.

But, since all I was doing was moping around wondering if Calvin was ever going to call me, I figured it didn’t hurt to read the file.

I was wrong, well, about Emily anyway. Thanks to Ricky’s notes, I learned Emily Christian was a genius. Her IQ put her in something like the top two percent of the population, but her crippling social anxiety made everything impossible exceptburying herself in research in her inadequate home lab. She’d made huge strides toward some formula that, if successful, could use geoengineering to combat global warming. A team at Harvard was working on the same thing and had begged her to come use their facilities to prove it. But she couldn’t.

In an effort to help, her dad had come up with a controlled socialization plan after years of failed therapy with every expert on the planet.

Apparently, she’d refused to see anyone until she’d seen the picture of me holding Calvin. After reading all that, I felt if I didn’t go it would be like kicking a puppy.

I made sure to arrive early. Some guy in a suit greeted me saying exactly that, but I calmly told him I had plenty of time and now Ms. Christian wouldn’t be in any doubt that I wouldn’t show or would be late. She could get herself ready in peace. I clocked the quick nod of respect, and barely waited five minutes until Clive Christian hurried into the room, fumbling with his tie. “Sorry. Have you been offered a drink? Damn tie,” he muttered, his hands shaking. “Oh, I’m Clive Christian, by the way.” He reached out a hand and, in his hurry, he nearly tripped. But we shook hands, and I wondered if any of Emily’s therapists had ever considered separating the two of them.

I introduced myself and watched him for a good five minutes before I interrupted. “Sir, are you to accompany us tonight?”

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