The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(22)

She smiled. “Good. Sorry if I was harsh with you.”

“You weren’t. Thanks for the sandwich. And the information. It helps me do my job.”

“Sure. Did the calendar syncing work?”

I tapped my phone. “All set. And full disclosure, I put a tracking app on her phone. And yes, she knows it’s there.”

“Smart. Well, let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will do. Glad to be on Team Cameron.”

Her wide smile made a little ding go off in my head, like a signal on a game show that a player had scored a point. Ally acquired.

She went to her desk, and I started adding information to my growing file on Cameron Whitbury. I’d look into Reese Howard Aviation—corporate espionage was always a possibility—but my gut was telling me that wasn’t it. This felt personal.

Which was why her ex-boyfriend was one of the people at the top of my list. As was Noelle Olson.

Now I needed to show Cameron—and Brandy—that their tentative trust in me wasn’t misplaced, and track down who was fucking with the boss lady. Preferably before they did it again.





9





Cameron





Having Jude as a bodyguard was a lot like being followed around by a brick wall. If the brick wall smelled intensely masculine and seemed to possess the ability to melt into the background like a chameleon. How a man his size could move with so much grace and dexterity, and make people forget he was there, I had no idea.

I also had no idea how he smelled so good. It was very distracting. I’d almost asked Brandy if she’d noticed it too, but stopped myself. The last thing I needed was Brandy joining my girlfriends in predicting how long it would take before I slept with Jude.

Or more specifically, before I let him fuck me senseless on my desk, as Daisy had so eloquently put it.

I blamed her—and Luna and Emily—for putting the idea in my head. If they hadn’t been teasing me about Jude, I wouldn’t have found myself staring past my screen, imagining that very thing.

“Cameron?” Brandy leaned in through my partially open door.

Hoping she hadn’t said my name more than once, I clicked my mouse a few times, as if there were something other than a totally unprofessional sex fantasy occupying my attention. “Yes?”

“Do you need anything before I head home?”

I glanced at the time. It was almost six. Where had the day gone? “No, I don’t think so. Have a great weekend.”

“Thanks.” She looked over her shoulder, then back at me. “So do you get to bring Mr. Incredible with you everywhere this weekend?”

“Apparently if I want to leave my house, I have to.”

“It won’t be that bad.”

My eyes darted to Jude. He’d been here all week and true to his word, he’d been remarkably unobtrusive. I didn’t even see him all the time when I was in the office. Often he was at his desk, but sometimes I’d glance up to find it empty. I assumed he stayed in the building, but at least he didn’t stand guard over me every second of the day.

When I went offsite, he came with me. He insisted on walking ahead of me into restaurants, and he’d even checked underneath the table before my lunch meeting yesterday. I was pretty sure he did things like that to screw with me. His expression hardly changed, but there was a hint of fuckery in his eyes.

I kind of liked it.

But I was still chafing at the idea of needing a chaperone on my personal time.

“It adds a layer of complication,” I said.

“Do you actually have plans this weekend?”

“What do you mean, actually? My schedule is always packed. You know this. You’re usually the one packing it.”

She shrugged. “I meant personal plans. Not for work.”

I wanted to argue with her—particularly with what she was implying—but I couldn’t. I was busy, even on weekends. But that typically meant some combination of working at home, coming into the office, and attending events that were for networking, not personal enjoyment. Other than my monthly brunch and occasional wine nights in with my girlfriends, I rarely did anything that wasn’t work-related. Not lately, at least.

“Still,” I said, rolling my eyes at my own non-argument. “Now I have to coordinate my schedule with his.”

“I’m sure that’s very challenging when he has full access to your calendar.”

“Do I need to fire you again?”

“Now would be a good time,” she said, “since I’m on my way home anyway. You know, if I were you, I’d just move him in with me. You have plenty of space. Can you imagine coming downstairs in the morning and finding him in nothing but pajama pants making coffee?”

“That’s very specific. And you’re very married.”

“That’s why I said if I were you. Besides, I’m married, not dead. I can still enjoy the view.”

“I take it you’ve been enjoying the view all week.”

“Job perks,” she said, her voice cheerful. “Plus, I like him. He’s funny.”

“Funny?” That seemed like a stretch. He was quick with a comeback, but I wasn’t sure I’d have called him funny. “I think you mean stoically unflappable. He’s a brick wall.”