Page 35 of Guarding the Billionaire

“You want coffee?” he asked. “There is fresh pot. Your mate buys nice high quality coffee beans. Very good.”

I smirked. Boris and his brothers were terrible food snobs for three guys who grew up in the woods of Belarus and spent most of their lives working first for the Belarusian military and then as secret operatives for the CIA.

“Thank you. Any problems last night?” I asked.

“No, it is very quiet. Angie is coming soon for relief, but first I must show you this that I found.”

I sat on the chair next to him and he angled his laptop next to me. I frowned as I looked at a reddit post railing against spoiled society princesses who had everything handed to them on a silver platter.

“I don’t understand.”

“This is discussion thread for a news article about the death of your mate’s parents,” he said. “Userdisgruntled589seems to have anger for your mate.”

“I’m sure a lot of people do, Boris. Billionaires aren’t exactly popular right now. And people who don’t know how hard Flora works probably assume that she’s just some spoiled nepo baby who got her job because of her last name.”

“Nep-po baby?” Boriss sounded out the word. “What is this?”

“A person who gets a job by nepotism.” At his blank look I explained, “It’s when your parents are rich and famous and you only have a job because of them, not because of your own merits.”

“Ah, yes I see.” Boris shot me a look. “I do some search ondisgruntled589and find his ISP is in Seattle. More research and I find that this account is for a Jacob Shapiro.”

“Shapiro? Why do I know that name?”

“I check, he is son of lawyer, the one who hires us to protect his goddaughter Flora.”

My eyes widened. “Holy crap, Henry has a kid? No one ever mentioned that.”

“There is more,” he said. “I run background check. Jacob is often in trouble with the police. He has several arrests for fighting and assault, but none are convictions. His father’s law firm has gotten him, how you say…scott freeevery time.”

“So we have a hothead son who’s not a fan of Flora? My God Boris, that’s the first lead we’ve had since we took this case. Good job!”

I wrapped my arm around him and pulled him in for a hug. “I owe you a nice bottle of vodka.”

“Make it expensive.”

Flora

Iwoke up with my nightgown tangled around the top of my breasts and my bottom half totally naked. It took only a second for me to remember what happened last night. The conversation I had with Teresa about mating. Me asking her to stay with me and snuggle. Her offering to take the edge of my restlessness. And me falling asleep right after one of the most powerful orgasms of my life.

I hadn’t even stayed awake long enough to get Teresa off. That was definitely bad form. Since she was no longer in my bed when I woke up, I guess that part would have to wait.

Despite sleeping later than I usually did, I was still dragging when I woke up. I took a long hot shower and threw on some yoga pants, a tee shirt, and a hoodie, too exhausted to worryabout how I looked right now. Besides, this was how I would usually dress for a Sunday at home – if I was totally alone that is.

My mother had taught me at an early age that appearances were everything. As one of Seattle’s wealthiest families, and scions of the beauty industry, how we looked mattered. You never knew when some eager photographer was waiting to catch you looking like crap.

I liked to look nice, but I wasn’t as strict as my mother had been. Even for a day relaxing at home Mom would have a full face of make-up, not a hair out of place, even her casual outfits carefully pressed and stylish. I’d learned when I was away at college the value of loungewear, much to my mother’s horror.

When I got downstairs Teresa was at the kitchen table with Boris, both of them tapping away at their laptops keyboards.

“Good morning,” I said.

Teresa gave me an intense look that made me blush. Boris’s gaze swung between us and he looked amused, although he didn’t say anything.

“I make coffee,” Boris said in his accented voice. “You tell me make myself at home, so I make myself at home. You have good coffee.”

“No problem,” I said, pouring myself a cup and coming to the table. “You two look like you were doing something intense.”

Teresa gave me a long look. “Why didn’t you tell me about Jacob Shapiro?”

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