I flicked the switch on as I shut my door behind me and flooded my apartment with light. It had seen better days, in my opinion. A couple of my jackets were strewn over the back of the couch, and there were a few beer bottles sitting on the coffee table, but I kept the wooden floors and tiny counter space as clean as my schedule let me. I couldn’t bring myself to care about any of that just then, though. All I needed to know was that the bed through the door at the far end of the cozy apartment was calling to me, and I felt like I could be about ten seconds from crashing onto it and letting all my worries melt away for a good eight to ten hours.

Or twelve. Twelve sounded pretty good right about then.

I pulled my boots off as I made my way through my apartment, and my shirt followed. Morning light filtered through my window, but I pulled the blackout curtains shut. It wasn’t even close to noon, but I’d had enough morning to last me a week.

I ran a private security firm. That was nice enough to be able to tell people. It made people think I was running around the country protecting politicians and running security for some of the richest people in the world. I certainly didn’t mind people thinking that, but the reality was day after day of the kind of jobs I spent all last night doing.

Despite every muscle in my body urging me to hit the bed, I sat down at my desk and opened my laptop to pull up the details from the job I executed last night. My client was a middle-aged woman in Manhattan, a stay-at-home wife whose husband worked long hours that had recently gotten much longer. The poor thing had been a nervous wreck when she contacted me, and the way she talked about their love life gave me an idea of what kind of man I was going to be dealing with.

She asked me to find out what he was doing with his long working nights. It broke my heart to see someone that genuinely concerned about her spouse. She never asked me point blank to find out if he was cheating on her, but the question was there, just under the surface. I figured she was afraid of the answer.

The results couldn’t have been less surprising – to me, anyway. The client’s husband and a pretty young intern left their office separately and met up again at a bar not far from the office. After a few long hours of watching people stagger out over the course of the night, the husband and the intern headed out, leaning against each other, giggling like high schoolers. I followed their cab back to her apartment, and ordinarily that would have been more than enough, but as luck would have it, she had an apartment with a window that was all too easy to see from where I parked my car.

It was like they weren’t even trying to hide it. I felt embarrassed for the intern, frankly. She probably didn’t even know he was married.

I got the photos I needed, though. There was no easy way to send these kinds of results to my clients. They were never what they wanted to hear. But this was what life was like for me. I dealt with the worst kinds of people the city had to offer, giving news that I knew was going to destroy relationships and following it up with an invoice that would keep the lights in my apartment on.

But as I wrote the report I was going to send to my client, I looked for silver linings, like I always did. Maybe she’d get that divorce and move on to find someone who’d treat her right. Or maybe she’d stick with him and tell herself she could fix him. I gave my head a shake, running my hand over my face and looking thoughtfully at the mug of stale coffee sitting on the desk, tempted to take a swig of it.

Sure, this job was making me jaded. But as if that wasn’t enough, my car had to go and blow a tire while I was driving home through Manhattan. The last thing I thought I needed was the leisurely morning joggers giving me weird looks. It wasn’t everyday they got to see a restored convertible ‘63 Pontiac Catalina on the side of the road getting worked on, so I couldn’t blame them for checking it out. I was proud of my car, and I didn’t hide that. But damn, chatting up strangers was the last thing I wanted on a morning like this.

Surveillance all night, a broken heart, a blown-out tire, and nosy locals. It wasn’t exactly what I expected when I retired from the NYPD, but I couldn’t say I was surprised, either. People were people, and that wasn’t a pretty picture, the longer I looked at it.

I was just about to hit Send on my report when my phone buzzed, and I glanced at it, raising an eyebrow at the name.

“Susan…?” I murmured.

She was a friend of my ex-wife’s from college, and I hadn’t heard from her in a long time. Seeing her name on the phone was surprising, to say the least. I picked it up and answered it.

“Hey.”

“I’d have thought you’d be asleep right about now,” Susan said bluntly.

Even when I was still married to Joan, Susan and I had never been very close, but I always liked her. She had a kind of no-nonsense, straightforward personality that I could appreciate.

“Lucky you,” I said, realizing how thick and tired my voice sounded. “If you’d caught me about five minutes from now, I would be.”

“Well, I’ve got something that might wake you up,” she said. “How’s your schedule looking right now?”

That did wake me up. I knew Susan was the CSO for some big company, and I didn’t know much more than that, but that was all I needed to know. I glanced at my calendar tab on my laptop. I had a few appointments to meet with potential clients this week, all of which would probably turn into jobs like the one last night.

“I might have some time,” I said. “If this is a work call, I’ll make it happen. What are you looking for?”

“Personal security,” she said simply.

That took me by surprise.

“You don’t strike me as the type who needs a bodyguard,” I said, rubbing my jaw.

“Not me,” she clarified. “This is something I need to outsource to someone I know I can trust, and I know how you work.”

“Keeping tabs on me?” I asked as I stood up and took that swig of the stale coffee.

“On any promising security companies in the area, yes,” she said. “I’ll be blunt; these are special circumstances. I’m about to send you an email with the basics, but if you’re interested, I’d like you to come down to the office ASAP and talk about it.”

To say all this was surprising would be an understatement. I had no desire to mention that to Susan-- like me, she knew the value of keeping work life and personal life separate. Still, it was awkward to pretend I didn’t have history with one of her closest friends.

“Send it over. I’ve got my laptop in front of me.”

A moment later, an email appeared in my inbox. I read over it. It looked like babysitting some rich dynastic heir who was about my age. Jamie Davenport. The name wasn’t familiar. But when my eyes caught sight of the salary listed, I stared in disbelief.

“Is…”

“Yes, the salary figure is correct,” Susan said patiently. “Let me be clear. This is a 24/7 gig, starting immediately, and I take this very seriously. I feel the pay should reflect that.”

That was also an understatement. The figure I was looking at seemed appropriate for escorting a high-profile politician into a war zone. There had to be something she wasn’t telling me. This was too good to be true.

The guy I’d be playing bodyguard for was probably some insufferable ass. I started to wonder how many other private guards Susan had contacted, and I got a mental image of dozens of guys like me who couldn’t stomach a man like that. But even as that worry crossed my mind, I started to think about what I could do with the kind of money her email listed.

I thought about my sister-in-law, Carla, and the three kids she was struggling to support. I could fund all of their educational pursuits and send them on a cruise for as long as they wanted to get away from humanity. I’d been trying to help them out as much as possible since my brother died overseas. My mind raced with the possibilities.

“When would you want to meet?” I finally asked.

“One hour from now,” she says. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Davenport in person before you make a decision.”

Yeah, he’s definitely a spoiled jerk that I won’t want to spend ten minutes with.

“I’ll be there,” I said.

Sleep could wait for this kind of money.

One hour, one shower, and three cups of coffee later, I pulled up to the private parking garage at the address Susan gave me.

I had to admit, it was impressive. The towering office was gleaming with immaculate glass, and it had a kind of smooth veneer to it that I could tell would look good on camera. I could see why the money on the salary I was quoted was no problem.

I headed up to security at the entrance, which consisted of a couple of paunchy older men who gave me a once-over as I approached. Expecting to be patted down and given the usual routine, I got out my ID and phone.

“Can I help you?” one of them asked.

“Damon Hunt,” I said, approaching the checkpoint. “I’m here for –”

“Right, right, Ms. Stratta said to expect you. Come on in,” he said, and he gestured for me to come right on in, not even going through the metal detector.

I looked apprehensively at the two of them as I walked by. They didn’t check my ID or even give me a quick search, and as I walked by them, they weren’t even paying attention to me. One gave Susan a call to let her know I was there, while the other just texted on his phone.

Unbelievable. I can see why she’s outsourcing for this job.

I strode into the pristine lobby, admiring the lavish marble floors and natural lighting that worked so well with the minimalist architecture it was almost surreal. Soon, I heard the sound of footsteps coming my way, and I saw Susan come around a corner, dressed in a sharp black suit with the usual intensity in her eyes.

“Thanks for meeting on short notice,” she said as we shook hands. “I hope security didn’t give you trouble.”

“Actually,” I said as we headed for the elevators, “if you were hiring me for staffing, I’d be talking to you about retraining them. I just breezed through without so much as an ID check.”

Her face tightened for a moment, but she took a deep breath as the elevator doors closed behind us.

“Well, we have a lot of bases to cover, as you’ll see.”

After a short elevator ride to the top floor, we crossed a short hallway to the CEO’s office. Susan used a fingerprint pad to open the door, followed by a security key, and we stepped inside.

I’d been in ritzy offices before, but never one quite like this one. It was divided into two rough sections. We stepped over wooden floors into a seating area that looked more like a lounge than an office, with dimmer light and comfortable black leather couches around a mahogany coffee table. A few art pieces hung on the wall between small waterfalls that provided some background noise. Beyond that was the second section, which was a glass-walled office that gave the CEO a view of both the front half and a stunning view of Manhattan from the full-scale windows in front of the desk, where a man was sitting with his back to us.

At the sound of our entrance, he half glanced over his shoulder, then stood up and pressed a button on his desk that dimmed the windows until almost no light came through. The artificial lights brightened as he turned to approach us, and as soon as he saw me, his face lit up at the same time that my jaw dropped.

It was the jogger from this morning.

“Susan,” he said brightly, approaching us but keeping his eyes on me. “I figured you’d find someone competent, but I didn’t think you’d find me a familiar face.”

“I…” Susan said, furrowing her brow and glancing between me and Jamie, only slightly more confused than I was. “I think I’m missing something, but, Mr. Davenport, this is Damon Hunt, of Hunt Security Solutions. Mr. Hunt, meet Jamie Davenport.”

“We’ve already met, more or less,” Jamie said as he shook my hand.

He had a dazzling smile on his face, and I couldn’t help but feel struck by the look of the man standing before me. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with short, immaculately groomed blond hair and a clean-shaven face. His hand was soft, but his grip was firm, and I could tell that the muscle behind it was respectable, even if it wasn’t quite like my own. I didn’t know why he didn’t seem so striking before. Maybe it was my frustration over the car. Or maybe it was the way the light caught in his emerald-green eyes, or the subtle cologne I caught a hint of.

“Crossed paths while he was jogging this morning,” I explained to Susan briefly.

“I like that car of yours,” he said, taking a moment to look me up and down. “Restore it yourself?”

“Yeah,” I said gruffly, hardly able to believe this was happening. “It’s my baby.”

“I like a man who can dedicate himself to something like that,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind Susan forwarded me your profile, and I did a little digging. I understand you’re retired from the police force, is that right? You climbed through the ranks a lot faster than most. Mind if I ask why you retired?”

I was taken aback by the sudden question, but this was about as close to a job interview as it could get, so I brushed it off and decided to roll with it.

“Got promoted to a desk job,” I said simply. “It wasn’t for me. I’m more of a hands-on kind of guy.”

“With a car like that, I can tell,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Please, let’s have a seat and get more comfortable. No need to stand around,” he said suddenly, gesturing to the couches.

I took a seat on the couch opposite Jamie, while Susan sat to the side, typing on a tablet and occasionally peering between both of us.

“Now then,” he said as he rubbed his hands together once we were settled. “Is there a Mrs. Hunt?”

Susan and I both visibly tensed up at the personal question, but I was even more surprised to feel my heart do a flip. Why the fuck did he care if I was single? More importantly, why the hell was my heart racing?

“There… no, not anymore,” I said after a pause.

“Anymore? So, you’re divorced?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Any children?”

“No, I worked long hours, and we separated before… I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with how well I can do my job, exactly?”

Jamie’s eyes widened as if he was only just then realizing why his questions might have been inappropriate, and he laughed.

“I didn’t mean to pry, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t a family man, Mr. Hunt. This position would have you with me at all times, and I wouldn’t want to be dragging someone away from any significant others.”

That was surprisingly thoughtful of him. I figured that was just an act, though. Billionaires like this guy saw people only as walking dollar values, nothing more. He probably figured that if I liked him, I’d work harder for him. And that was fine, as far as I was concerned, but I wasn’t going to believe for a second it was anything more than PR on a smaller scale.

“Then no. My wife and I divorced smoothly a while back, so I can’t say I have any obligations to anyone right now,” I said.

I wouldn’t have entertained a 24/7 position if I did. I learned that lesson the hard way with Joan, and I wasn’t keen on learning it a second time. I couldn’t help but notice the smile on his lips fade just a hint at the word wife, but he brightened again a moment later.

“Good, good,” he said as Susan handed him the tablet, letting him look a few things over. “Well then, I was here all ready to run a full interview, but your CV paints a pretty clear picture of you. You don’t have anything tying you down, and Susan here has given you a glowing recommendation. And this might not be professional,” he added, making my heart thump hard against my chest again, “but first impressions mean a lot to me.”

That sounded odd, considering I’d gruffly brushed off his offer to help me out on the side of the road only a few hours earlier.

“You’re straightforward, you don’t take crap, you work with your hands, and you’re focused,” he said, smiling. “I’m ready to offer you the position right here and now, if you’re interested. I assume Susan has already shown you the details.”

“I have,” Susan said, “but I hardly gave him time to look them over. Damon, you’re here because we have reason to believe there’s an active threat to Mr. Davenport’s well-being.”

“‘Threat’ meaning someone literally tried to pull me into a windowless van earlier this morning,” he said with a coy smile, and I raised my eyebrows.

“That’s one way to explain it, yes,” Susan said tersely. “You would be escorting Mr. Davenport at all times, as well as helping me oversee his personal security detail. If ‘hands-on’ is what you’re looking for, this is about as hands-on as it gets.”

This was happening so fast it was almost dizzying. Earlier today, I was kneeling on asphalt, changing a busted tire while wondering what kinds of scum I’d be spying on later this week. Hours later, I was being offered enough money to buy my apartment just to babysit a CEO who doesn’t know personal boundaries. I was half tempted to pinch myself because this could either be a dream or a nightmare, depending on how I looked at it.

Either way, I already knew my answer.

“You’ve got your man,” I said with a gruff smile, and Jamie’s smile split into a grin before we stood up and shook hands.

“Fantastic,” he gushed. “Susan, can you –”

“Yes,” she said, nodding to me. “Come on, let’s get you a badge and start looking over the security systems. We don’t have any time to waste.”