Page 3 of Faking it with the Billionaire
“Give me two weeks,” I say.
“I’ll give you one.”
TWO
KYLER
It’s hard notto stare at the new bodyguard the Eagle Tactical team sent me. They assured me that Ryan Emerson is the best they have and great with kids.
What I didn’t expect was that Ryan was her last name and to come face-to-face with a tiny young brunette who doesn’t seem capable of looking after herself, let alone my daughter.
But she knocked my ass to the floor. I give her props for that, but I still have my doubts. Sure, she worked for the FBI, but she could have been a paper pusher all day where it was safe, and she never needed to use her skills.
By week’s end, she’ll be gone. There’s no way she’ll survive Bristol, my daughter, and the threats against my family.
And they’re not idle threats, either.
If I don’t do exactly as instructed, they’ve promised to come after my daughter and kill her.
The only problem, I don’t know whotheyare.
I could quit the league, leave hockey, and become a stay-at-home father. But that wouldn’t exactly solve the problem.
Whoever these men are who are threatening my family, they won’t stop if I walk away from the NHL. And I’m not about to quit my job. I live and breathe hockey. It would be like stealing away the last bit of oxygen that I need for survival.
And if that’s not bad enough, the Italian Mafia is inches from my doorstep. But I’ve kept that from the security team I contacted. All they know is that there is a credible threat against my family and my daughter.
That’s all they need to know right now.
Keeping them in the dark is protecting Bristol. I’m following their demands, doing what they require of me. And no one, not even my younger brother, knows about the real threat.
“Can I meet Bristol?” Emerson asks, already familiar with the assignment: my daughter.
“She’s asleep in bed.” It’s well after nine o’clock, and if she doesn’t get enough sleep, she’s incredibly moody, just like her mother used to be. “You’ll meet her tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll take you upstairs and show you to your room. If you’re not tired, you’re welcome to come back downstairs, and we can continue our conversation.”
The brunette sucks in a sharp breath. “I think I’ll retire to bed,” she says.
It’s probably best, although I do well to hide my disappointment.
Beside the front entrance is her small suitcase. I can’t imagine that it holds a week’s worth of clothes. “Is that everything you brought?” I ask, lifting the handle. It’s heavier than it looks. It’s no match for me, but I imagine Emerson would struggle with it up the stairs.
“I can carry my luggage,” Emerson says.
“You can, but I’ve got it,” I say. I lead her up the stairwell and offer her the guestroom next door to my daughter. I’m just across the hallway, although I keep that little tidbit to myself.
The house may be enormous, but I don’t need her sleeping on the opposite wing when she’s hired to look after and protect Bristol.
I open the door and flip on the light, letting her look around while I place the suitcase on the floor beside the bed. “There’s a private bath through that door and a walk-in closet attached.”
Unlike most women who fawn over the size of the estate and the sleeping arrangements, she hasn’t said much of anything. Although most of those women share my bed, they’re not given a room to themselves.
“Is it not to your liking?” I ask. It’s not as though I’m expecting a compliment, but she doesn’t look impressed.
“Everything seems fine. Would you mind if I looked at the security footage and cameras? I’d like to have a look around so that I become familiar with the property before going to bed.”
Her question strikes me off-guard.
She’s all business. And while she should be, it’s also late, not business hours. However, a live-in bodyguard doesn’t necessarily work a nine-to-five job. Technically, she doesn’t start until tomorrow, but I insisted when I spoke with Declan that there was no need for her to get a hotel for the night.
