The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(16)

She watched me move around the kitchen without saying anything, her expression bewildered. I did a quick sweep, looking for ingredients. I was no gourmet chef, but I knew my way around a decent meal. And I liked keeping Cameron off-balance.

I found fresh chicken breasts in the large double-door refrigerator, along with a container of already-prepped vegetables. She had spices in a cupboard. I set everything on the counter, dug around for a cutting board and set of knives, and got to work.

“Is meal-prep in your usual lineup of services?” She opened a cupboard and took out a wine glass, then raised her eyebrows, her hand hovering near a second one.

“None for me, and not usually,” I said. “I just figured I could do Nicholas a solid.”

“Getting in good with the chef is always a smart move. And I’m not helpless, by the way. I do know how to cook for myself.”

“No one said you didn’t.” I started slicing the chicken.

She produced a bottle of red wine and went to work opening it, then poured herself a glass. I kept my attention on the food, but I could feel her watching me. That intense green-eyed gaze of hers was scrutinizing my every move. Sizing me up. It didn’t bother me. I liked that she was being cautious, even though her close friend had hired me.

“Well, have you seen enough?” She took a sip of her wine. “Am I safe in my own home?”

“What’s out there?” I gestured toward the doors.

She glanced outside. “Three guest houses. Nicholas and Inda live in one. The other two are empty. There’s a terrace overlooking the bay and an outdoor pool. And lots of plants. My gardener likes to pretend we live in a jungle.”

“How many people have unfettered access to your home?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Inda and Nicholas, obviously. Also my gardener, Bert. He doesn’t really have a schedule, just comes and goes as he pleases.”

My brow furrowed.

“I’ve known Bert since I was a kid. He used to work with my grandad. He loves gardening, and this gets him out of his wife’s hair.”

“Is that it?”

“I have a cleaning service. And Brandy has the entry code. My friends do, too. Emily you know, plus Luna and Daisy.”

From what I could see, she was reasonably safe here. But that danger instinct was still making the back of my neck itch. I found a skillet and some oil and got the chicken cooking on the large gas stove.

She slid onto a stool at the island and got out her phone. Her eyes darted up to me every so often as she scrolled through messages or texts and sipped her wine. I wondered what she was thinking. The woman had an excellent poker face. She could have been mulling over the potential details of our contract, already willing to hire me. Or planning to dig in her heels and refuse, maybe to stick it to her friend for going behind her back in the first place.

Of course, she could have been thinking about work. She had an aerospace empire to run.

I finished the impromptu stir fry and plated us each a portion. I slid hers in front of her and she set her phone aside.

“I will admit that smells amazing.”

I took the stool next to her and handed her a fork. “Thank you.”

“All right, Ellis. Do I have to wait for the PowerPoint presentation, or can you lay it on me over dinner?”

I met her eyes, my fork dangling from my hand. “You need me.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. Your security staff at Spencer headquarters seem good. But they have an entire building to cover. And I assume you don’t spend all your business hours in your office. You leave for lunches, meetings, that sort of thing?”

“I do. Quite frequently.”

“So you don’t have security coverage in those situations. It looks like your people do a decent job of keeping you out of the gossip rags, or maybe you don’t do anything scandalous enough to draw attention.” I might have imagined it, but I thought I saw her eye twitch. “But you still have a very high profile. There are hundreds of reasons you could be targeted.”

She took a bite, her eyes never leaving me.

“In my opinion, your home security is adequate.” I wanted to tell her it wasn’t—that she needed someone here twenty-four/seven—but I didn’t have anything to back that up. Just that persistent neck tingle, and I knew that wasn’t enough. “Outside Bluewater, however, I do recommend full-time personal security.”

“You actually think I need a bodyguard.”

“Look, I don’t have an ulterior motive. If you say no, I get to go home tonight and not set an alarm for tomorrow. I’m just being honest. You had an incident that warrants tightening security around you, at least for the time being. You can hire me, or hire someone else. But you won’t find anyone better than me.”

“And you can fill in for my horny chef in a pinch.” She pointed to her plate with her fork.

I smiled. “Next time the meal costs extra.”

“Naturally.”

She went back to her dinner and we ate in silence for a few moments. It was odd. Cameron Whitbury was basically a stranger. Yet I was surprisingly comfortable sitting here in her enormous kitchen, sharing a meal with one of the wealthiest women in the country.

But I’d learned a long time ago that regardless of someone’s title or the size of their bank account, they were still just a person.