Page 6 of Fool’s Gold

CHAPTERTHREE

Matt’s phonerang at 6:30 a.m. As it happened, he was awake. He’d gotten up early to work out in the bare-bones home gym he’d hastily installed after the scandal broke, as his presence in a public gym had become disruptive. Funnily enough, confrontations with angry survivors didn’t make other gym patrons enthusiastic about sharing the treadmill.

Being awake didn’t mean he was fit for human conversation. He was out of breath thanks to a bit more of a run on the elliptical than he’d intended, and he was sore from taking his frustrations out on the heavy bag.

But seeing Agent Morales’s number on his screen made him pick up the phone anyway. Anything could have happened. Another bomb. Someone running over the protestors at headquarters in their car. Someone taking potshots at employees on their way into the office.Anything.

“Agent Morales? What’s happened now?”

Morales yawned. “Hm? Nothing bad. Not yet, anyway. The day is still young. I’ve got your bodyguard, and we’re on our way to you. Be decent. Our ETA is fifteen minutes.”

Morales hung up.

Matt cursed and rushed to his bathroom. He didn’t have much time to clean up, but that was fine. He wasn’t the fussy sort anyway. As long as he didn’t smell like a goat, he was okay. He scrubbed down as fast as he could and got dressed, then rushed to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

He finished just in time for the elevator doors to open. He recognized Agent Morales right away. He was on the young side for a federal agent, with light-brown skin and a mop of glossy dark curls. His suit didn’t look quite right on him, but Matt wouldn’t dream of criticizing him for it. He knew his own suit didn’t fit the bill for him either.

He knew Jamal Kingston too. He was one of the security professionals from Five Star. Tall, lanky, and dark-skinned, he’d gone from strictly bodyguard work to running security for a major Hollywood studio. He tended to keep his distance from Matt, and that was okay.

The man between them could only be Matt’s bodyguard, the guy he had to pretend was his boyfriend. He was certainly handsome. His milk-chocolate-colored hair was a little more closely cropped than Matt would have chosen for him, a little more military than anything else, but one look at his pale-blue eyes, and Matt forgot all about his hair. Hair could grow, after all. He stood roughly six feet tall, and his tailored cream-colored suit showed he was more than just physically fit.

Of course he is, jackass. He’s a bodyguard.

He forced himself to step forward and offer his hand. “Hi. I’m Matt Taggart.”

One corner of the bodyguard’s mouth curled, not in a grin but a sneer. “I know exactly who you are. The whole world knows exactly who you are.”

Kingston shrugged.

Morales scrunched up his face and side-eyed the bodyguard a little bit, but then shrugged also. “Let’s have a seat, and we can go over how all of this works.”

Matt breathed in for four, and out for eight. Of course the bodyguard hated him. Why wouldn’t he? Matt was the face of a pretty despicable company. Matt would hate himself if he didn’t know better.

He gestured toward the dining room space. It was the most conference-room-like part of his apartment, and it wouldn’t contaminate the family table with this sordid business.

As if the thought summoned her, Norah shuffled out of her room with her walker. She glowered at the three men moving toward seats, and then started making breakfast. “Matthew, you should have told me we were having guests.”

Matt bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Gram. I didn’t know until twenty minutes ago. I’m sorry we woke you up.”

She gave the other men another baleful glare. “Agent Morales. I’m surprised at you. Your manners are usually much better than this. And, Mr. Kingston—you’re usually such a gentleman. I’m sure whatever is happening can’t be serious enough to require you to show up at a lady’s home before seven o’clock in the morning.”

Matt held his breath for a second, and then he grabbed coffee mugs from the cabinet. Norah would not be denied.

“Anyone take milk or sugar with their coffee?” He had to force himself to sound cheerful for his grandmother’s sake.

Kingston jumped to his feet. “Ma’am, you don’t need to tire yourself out making breakfast.”

“I make breakfast every morning, Mr. Kingston. Three extra people doesn’t make much difference. Had I known you were coming, I’d have gotten up earlier is all. I hope you like eggs. They’re Matthew’s favorite. I never can get him to eat bacon though. Keeps spouting some nonsense about heart disease. I’m ninety-four years old, and I eat bacon every day. If it was going to harm me, it would have done it a long time ago.”

She cracked eggs into a bowl as she spoke, whisking them efficiently with milk and a seasoning mix she kept on hand. Kingston grabbed her giant skillet and melted the butter for her, and Morales moved in to cut fruit and cook the bacon.

The new guy watched, wide-eyed.

Matt set the table and poured him some coffee. He put milk and sugar out so people could serve themselves.

Matt and Kingston distributed plates, while Morales guided Norah to her seat at the head of the table. Matt eyed the kitchen table with a pang.

Morning breakfast had been just them, at the family touchstone, since he’d been six. It hadn’t occurred to him how much he depended on it until he had to change.

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