Page 1 of Faking it with the Billionaire
ONE
EMERSON
Rain pelts the cement,pouring overhead as it splashes down on the broken umbrella. I’ve managed to hold the latch open, but if I move my hand just slightly, it slams shut on me.
That’s about how my week’s been going.
Shitty.
I have a new job lined up, well, new as in it’s for the Eagle Tactical crew. A contract assignment they’ve given me. They need a full-time bodyguard, and none of their crew can handle the workload on the east coast. They’re based out of Breckenridge, Montana, and I’m standing in the deluge in New York City.
It’s not exactly my dream job, but that is no longer an option.
Plus, I need the money.
And by the looks of it, the guy I’ll be protecting has plenty of it.
I took the subway and walked the last mile and a half in the rain up to his front gate. The house is nestled behind the iron décor, offering a false sense of security.
I’m not just taking in the whole of the property but also the details. There’s a surveillance camera at the front entrance and additional cameras aimed at the iron fence along the side. Should anyone choose to climb it, the pointed arrows at the top should deter them.
Assuming there are no blind spots as well. I’ll need to examine the footage, the cameras, and the entire house to make sure everything is working as it should be. The team prepped me on the client, Mr. Kyler Greyson, and his daughter, Bristol.
The Eagle Tactical guys set up the security system years ago when Kyler moved into the property.
He’s well known, practically famous if you’re into sports.
He’s a hockey player.
Me?
I’ve never been to a hockey game and haven’t spent more than a few seconds channel-surfing past one. That’s my idea of a sport.
I press the buzzer as lightning illuminates the sky. Thunder pounds overhead, and the gate unlocks before I have time to speak.
He doesn’t ask me to show my identification or prove who I am over the surveillance system. And while he’s expecting me, given the fact I’m here to protect his family, I’m not happy with how the security within the house is being run.
Quickly, I step in through the gate and hurry across the cobblestone driveway to the front of the house. It hardly should be classified as a house, considering its grandiose size. It makes a mansion look like a shack.
I shut my umbrella while under the front porch and leave it outside, not wanting to make a mess upon entering.
The front door swings open, and a gentleman in dark jeans and a white t-shirt stares back at me. He’s got a thick head of dark hair that I refrain from running my fingers through.
One glance, and I recognize him.
How could I not after doing my own bit of research before meeting him? I needed to know what kind of person would want to stalk him or his kid.
It’s strange, but I guess being in the limelight does that. People think they know you because they’ve been to your game or watched you on television.
He probably has dozens of women lining up to be the next Mrs. Greyson, begging for his affection and attention.
“Hi,” I say. It’s not the most proper and professional introduction, but the cold rain seems to have stolen the words right out of my mouth. I wipe my feet, my heels not the least bit saved from the rain or mud puddles I splashed through on my way here.
“You’re wet.” His dark gaze stares right through me.
I shiver.
He isn’t wrong.
