The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(7)

“We have building security at work,” I said.

“That didn’t stop some jackass from trying to snatch your handbag,” Daisy said.

“I still maintain that was an isolated incident, and they’re taking precautions so it doesn’t happen again.”

“You’re not always at work,” Luna said.

“We all know Bluewater’s safe,” I said. The Bluewater enclave—where the four of us lived—was our baby. We’d developed twenty-five hundred acres of swampland into a thriving micro-community. It was one of my proudest achievements, and there was nothing like being neighbors with your best friends. It made life a little less lonely.

Not entirely without loneliness, if I was being honest. But better.

“Well, I still maintain you need personal security,” Emily said.

“I love you guys, but I don’t need a bodyguard. I can handle things myself.”

They gave each other undisguised yeah right glances. But I could tell by the way they shifted in their seats and picked up their cocktails that the discussion was tabled. For now, at least.

I did appreciate my friends’ concern. But I already had enough on my plate without adding another complication, especially an unnecessary one.

And I ignored the little voice in my head that whispered tantalizing thoughts about having someone in my life I could rely on. About trusting someone else enough to let go—letting them shoulder some of the burden. I’d tried that and look where it had gotten me.

Yes, I was alone. But I was accustomed to it. It was what I knew.

And I wasn’t sure if I could trust someone deeply enough to let them in.





3





Jude





I was a few minutes late to meet Derek at the boxing gym, thanks to Miami’s shitty drivers. Sometimes I questioned my choice to drive a motorcycle. I was an experienced driver—hell, I was better on a bike than most stunt drivers—but that didn’t account for other people being idiots.

Derek was already here, wrapping tape around his knuckles. An industrial-sized fan hummed in the background and a few guys were lifting over by the squat racks. I dropped my backpack next to the roped-off boxing ring.

“Afternoon,” Derek said in his mild British accent.

My instincts prickled, which was weird. I glanced around the gym, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I didn’t sense danger, exactly. Derek’s face was impassive, his attention on taping his hands. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was up to something.

Then again, maybe he was.

“Afternoon,” I said, keeping my voice neutral, like I didn’t suspect anything. Not that I had reason to suspect Derek of anything, but my instincts were rarely wrong.

We gloved up and got in the ring without any conversation. That was normal enough. Bounced around and warmed up our shoulders. Life after forty meant both of us had to take better care of our joints.

I’d known Derek Price for a long time. We’d crossed paths when I was still an intelligence operative—he hadn’t known that at the time—and I’d looked him up when I moved to Miami. Now he was a corporate fixer, specializing in public relations and image management, especially during and after scandals. I did some work for him once in a while, particularly when he needed someone on the ground.

With our joints and limbs sufficiently warmed up, we got to sparring. Jabs, right hooks, upper cuts. Boxing with Derek was mostly a way to work up a sweat. We knew each other’s moves too well to surprise each other very often. And it wasn’t like either of us was going for a knockout.

“Did you finish up with that last job?” he asked.

“The stalker? Yeah. He won’t fuck with her again.”

He swung and I ducked. “Good. What’s next? You have something on deck?”

“No. I told you, that was the last one.”

His grin irritated me, so I swung harder.

He blocked with his gloves in front of his face. “Sure it was.”

“I’m serious, man. I’m retired.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Ellis.” He launched a solid right hook and I shifted my feet, twisting my torso so he’d miss.

“I’m not kidding. I’m done with all that shit. I just want to live a quiet, ordinary life.”

Derek scoffed. “You’ve been saying that for five years and I still don’t believe you.”

“And I still don’t care.”

“What are you going to do? Play golf?”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I swung but he sidestepped.

“You don’t even like golf.”

“I’m getting better.”

He rolled his eyes and threw a left hook. “That’s not what I said, and no you’re not.”

I glowered at him from behind my gloves. He was right, I sucked at golf. And it was boring. But I was going to learn to like it, because golf was ordinary and I needed a fucking hobby.

“I don’t know why you won’t admit that you like the work you do,” he said. “Come on man, you help people. What’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with helping people. That’s not the point.” I stopped and lowered my arms. “Do you know how hard it is to get out?”