“Don’t worry,” Susan said over her shoulder, glancing at Damon before turning around to look at me in the doorway of my office. “I won’t keep him too long. Just some quick paperwork, a thumbprint scan, a name tag, and all that official rigmarole. I’ll have him registered and back to you in no time.”

I smiled, leaning back against my mahogany desk. “Of course. Take as long as you need. It’s not like I’m going to be in imminent danger just sitting here in my office, anyway. I think I can survive for a little while longer without a bodyguard,” I joked lightly.

Susan, as usual, was virtually impervious to any kind of goofing around. It just didn’t seem to compute properly in her highly compartmentalized and serious mind. She had always been that way. The entire time I’d known her. The closest she ever came to making a joke was on the rare occasion that she employed just the smallest dose of sarcasm. And even that always took me by surprise when it happened.

So, she simply raised an eyebrow and quipped, “Be careful, there. You might want to knock on wood or something, Jamie. I know it’s in your nature to make light of things, and that is how a lot of people deal with uncomfortable facts, but you have to realize that what happened to you this morning was a serious offense. We need to acknowledge the full gravity of the situation so that we can respond to it accordingly. You are a major target, Mr. Davenport, and your name and face are only going to become more well known as time goes on. That can be a good thing in some ways, but it also means that you are a much bigger target now.”

I looked to my new bodyguard, hoping to find even a faint shred of humor there, but unfortunately, he was just as stoic as Susan. The two of them were like marble statues, staring back at me unblinking and utterly without amusement. I almost felt like I was on a field trip to some museum as a schoolboy or something, being forced to keep quiet and not fidget as I toured a hall of immovable stone figures.

I sighed, running my fingers back through my hair. “Right. You’re right. Of course. Well, okay then. You know where to find me when you’re done. I’ll be here,” I said, the smile fading from my face.

Susan gave me a curt nod in response and guided Damon out of the room, closing the door behind her. As soon as I was alone again in my office, I let out a groan of frustration. I was starting to think that this whole bodyguard episode was not going to be enjoyable. Apart from the fact that he was just so serious (and so very straight), I was also wary of having to spend all my waking and sleeping hours in the company of a strong, silent type. I imagined it would feel like having a very well-designed robot staring at me day in and day out. I wondered if there was any kind of human vulnerability underneath that cold, hard facade, just something to make it interesting and help me form some kind of a bond with the guy.

Probably not, I wagered in my head. Not only would I have to contend with the least conversational person I had ever met – even worse than Susan, and that was a difficult standard to beat – but I would have no alone time. Ever. At least for the time being until things settled.

I was accustomed to spending a fair amount of time by myself, just contemplating, tinkering with technology and mechanics, daydreaming about all the ways I could change the world. Ever since I was a little boy sent off to an elite but isolating boarding school, I had learned quickly how to be comfortable and content on my own. I had never been especially close with a lot of people, preferring my own company.

Maybe it started with my parents, who were always very hands-off and seemingly detached from my upbringing except for what bordered on professional mentorship rather than parental guidance. However, I knew they loved me. There was no question about that. But they were content to ship me off to boarding school once I won the scholarship for academic excellence, probably assuming that I would make a bunch of friends there and construct my own support system away from home.

Naturally, they were dead wrong about that. As it turned out, being the lone non-wealthy student there on scholarship did not qualify me to be in the popular kids’ club. In fact, I was looked down upon for my significantly lower socioeconomic status, treated as if I didn’t belong. I could hardly blame them for it. I didn’t feel like I quite belonged, either.

Although I was now thirty-one years old and more than a full decade out of boarding school, I still felt like I was pretty much the same guy I was then. Only now, my ideas had grown wings. My dreams were becoming reality. Not just in the financial sense, although it would be impudent of me to pretend like it wasn’t pleasant being a billionaire. But the money was much less important to me than the impact I could have on the world. The money was a byproduct of my success, but the barometer by which I measured that success had much more to do with how many lives I could improve or even save.

I needed my alone time in order to keep those inventing juices flowing. So, the idea of having a bodyguard – especially one as brusque as Damon – hanging around made me a little uneasy. It was certainly going to be an adjustment.

Not to mention the fact that I was still annoyingly attracted to the guy. It wasn’t a conscious crush, just a magnetic draw that I couldn’t quite shake. I couldn’t help it: he was the ideal man of my fantasies. He was everything I admired about the male form, conveniently packaged up in one handsome specimen. Those blue eyes. That dark hair. The sharp cheekbones. And of course, that incredible, powerful body. How could I not lust after a guy like that?

But, I had to remind myself sharply, he was straight. I’d suspected as much from the very start, but his mention of an ex-wife made that perfectly clear. The last thing I needed right now – or ever – was to pine after a straight guy. I was long past that phase of my life, having come to terms with my sexuality to the point at which I could now fully celebrate it. I was perfectly comfortable in my own skin, in my own preferences, and it didn’t come up all too often in my day-to-day interactions. The people I dealt with most of the time couldn’t have cared less about my sexuality. They were business-minded or science-minded people who were all about results. Cold hard facts and numbers. For the most part, that was fine by me. Fewer distractions that way.

Of course, having Damon around was going to distract me. There was no doubt in my mind about that. I had recognized him as the man I fantasized about on my morning jog within a split second of laying eyes on him, even though he had been dressed in a cheap suit instead of the casual clothes he wore this morning while changing his tire. Obviously, my mind, or at least the more primal part of it, had focused on him. But the most I could hope for was that my little infatuation would fade quickly. After all, we would be spending a lot of time pushed together. Surely after a few solid hours with him, the fascination would wane.

Or so I hoped.

As I drifted away, further lost in thought, my phone rang, causing me to startle. I grabbed for it and answered briskly, relieved to have something else to focus on.

“Hello?” I said, making my way back to my chair.

“Mr. Davenport? It’s Kim. You got a second?” came the sweet voice on the end of the line.

I smiled to myself. It was my public relations agent, who handled the business of curating my public image and reputation for me.

“Sure. Yeah. Go ahead,” I urged her. “What have you got?”

“Okay, so, there’s this charity gala happening next month at an art gallery in the East Village. It’s to raise money for and spread awareness about childhood illnesses in struggling populations. You know, the stuff that’s supposed to have been eradicated by now. Polio. Measles. All that stuff,” she listed off at top speed.

Kim always talked with the speed of an auctioneer and yet the detached air of a valley girl. It was an amusing combination.

“Right, and you want me to attend? Am I on the guest list?” I asked.

“I’m sure you are already, but I’m going to call and make sure. So, you’re in?”

“Yeah, yeah. Mark it on my calendar,” I replied.

“Cool. Got it. That’s all for now. I’ve got a meeting across the city and my driver is late again, so I’m going to hang up and hail a cab before I have a meltdown in Midtown. Bye!”

“Bye,” I said, but she’d already hung up.

I chuckled, shaking my head. One of these days I was going to ask her how many cups of coffee she consumes in a single day. I knew the number had to be absolutely staggering. Before I could even set my phone down, it rang again. The caller ID indicated that it was my personal assistant, a young Italian-American woman named Stella. I picked up instantly.

“Hey Stella, what’s up?” I said, examining my fingernails.

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m just calling to confirm with you that the details for your London trip have been determined. Everything is booked and ready to go. Do you still need a ride to the airport, or have you got a handle on that yourself?” she asked, all business.

“Not sure yet, but I’ll let you know within the next day or so. That cool?” I asked.

“Uh-huh. Of course. And before I forget, what’s the name of that restaurant you wanted a reservation for in London?”

I chuckled. “It’s that place at The Dorchester. Alain-something or other.”

“Alain Ducasse?” she suggested.

“Yes! That’s the one,” I said.

“Got it. I’ll arrange that for you. Anything else?”

“Nope. Not that I know of,” I said.

“Great. I’ll let you get back to work, then. Ciao!” Stella quipped, then hung up.

Over the next hour, I took several other calls, such as my lab guy, Dr. Ashcroft, confirming a successful replication of my nanopores experiment and my tailor, George, calling to inform me that my recent suit purchase had been altered for my measurements and was ready for pickup.

As I texted Stella to have her collect the suit for me, it hit me that I didn’t have the time to pine over a guy who wasn’t even into men anyway. I was so busy, my schedule so stuffed full of obligations and responsibilities and places to be that I hardly had time for myself, much less for someone else. I was in no place to be fawning over anyone, and certainly not dating. So perhaps it was actually a benefit to me that my bodyguard was straight. That would help dissuade me from getting too enamored of him. I knew myself well enough to predict that if I were to ever find a guy truly worthy and viable as a partner, that love affair would inevitably overshadow all other aspects of my life. I was not a half-ass kind of guy. If I was going to do something, whatever it was, I would do it all the way or not at all.

Luckily, this time I could safely say it’d have to be the ‘not at all’ route. I would just have to routinely remind myself that this was a strictly professional dynamic. Easy enough, right? Although, as I delved back into the massive stack of paperwork on my desk, I still couldn’t quite push Damon out of my mind. Even as the conscious part of my brain focused on work, there he was, still lurking in the back of my mind, just as stoic and handsome as ever.

In fact, I was so deep in thought that I was actually startled when Damon pushed open the door to my office and came striding in. I had to do a double take, as though my mind had somehow summoned him just by pure intensity of thought. Without a single word, he took a seat in the corner of my office, leaning back and staring off into space. It was almost comical, the way he so completely avoided eye contact, as if I wasn’t even here. It was odd. At this point in my life, rather because of my wealth or my contributions to the inventing world, most people tended to look at me, talk to me. I was, apparently, not easy to ignore.

That is, unless you were a tough, aloof bodyguard named Damon, apparently.

I decided the best course of action was to take a leaf out of his book and just try my hardest to pretend like he wasn’t sitting right there in the room. I forced myself to look down at the work in front of me, trying to corral my thoughts into something productive. I signed papers, read contracts, and sketched out formulas, yet there was still a loud, clanging bell going off in my head, begging me to look over at Damon. To say something to him. To do literally anything at all to dispel the awkward silence that had settled over the room. Finally, I couldn’t resist the urge any longer.

I cleared my throat and said, “So, have you done a lot of work as a bodyguard?”

Damon hesitated as he looked up at me, almost like he was just now remembering that I was present. He blinked impassively and replied, “Some.”

“Ah. Uh, cool,” I said lamely. “And, um, have you been living in the city for long?”

“A while,” Damon said.

I stared at him for a moment, expecting more. But nope. Apparently, that well was completely dried up. I tried again. “Did you grow up here or--”

“You don’t have to make small talk with me,” he interrupted matter-of-factly. “You are under no obligation to entertain me. Just pretend I’m not even here.”

“Oh,” I murmured, feeling my face start to burn. “Sure.”

It took a Herculean effort to force my eyes back down to the page in front of me. I picked up my pen and started to make some quick calculations, desperately hoping for my brain to latch onto the work at hand so I could tune Damon out. I was successful for approximately two minutes before the urge to break the tension overwhelmed me again.

I looked up and said, in an almost too-chipper tone of voice, “So, how did you end up with a car like that? What is it, a Pontiac something or other? What year? It looks vintage, but it was in perfect condition. You must really have a knack for car stuff.”

Damon slowly looked up at me, those blue eyes locking with mine. My heart skipped a beat as I realized I was rambling. Damon gazed at me, unrelentingly, for what felt like a full minute without saying a word. Then, he quietly stood up and walked over to take the seat right across the desk from me with a sigh. He leaned forward slightly, folding his hands on his lap.

“Alright. I can tell you’re not used to all this, and you want to know a little more about me. We are going to be spending a lot of time together, so I suppose that’s fair enough. So, let’s get it out of your system right away. What I’ll do is let you ask three questions. I will answer those three questions truthfully. Got it?” he offered flatly.

I nodded, surprised at the diplomatic nature of his suggestion. It would have been kind of funny or even a little sexy playing this questions game, if not for the fact that Damon was deadly serious about it. Some part of my mind was a little indignant, thinking it was kind of rude of him. But at the same time, I had to admit I found it hot the way he took control so easily. I thought for a moment before formulating my three queries.

“Alright. Uh, first of all, what’s your history with your past relationships?” I blurted out before thinking.

No, I chastised myself, anything but that. Why did you ask that?

I quickly realized that I needed to clarify what I meant.

“Romantically speaking, I mean,” I added hastily before realizing that I hadn’t made anything clearer. In fact, I had made it worse. I had no right to ask him about his personal relationships. “Not that you owe me an explanation or anything, but –”

“I was married once, years ago, when I was still on the force. I spent too much time on work and not enough time at home with her. Typical sob story. It went downhill from there and we divorced,” Damon answered curtly. “Next question.”

I bit my lip, thinking about it. I kind of wanted to pry more deeply into his divorce, but I was also fully aware of how awkward that would be, especially since Damon and I were still basically strangers. Besides, I had confirmed for the second time now that he had to be straight. What more could I need to know? So, I decided to go a different direction.

“Alright, so you were on the force. You meant the police force, I assume. What happened there? Why aren’t you still a cop?” I asked, tilting my head to one side slightly.

“As you mentioned before, I did rise through the ranks quickly. Too quickly, I found out. My captain got nervous, thought maybe I was gunning for his job. So, he forced me out. A sort of coerced retirement, you might say,” Damon explained.

It was amazing to me how he managed to seem so devoid of emotion, even discussing such a touchy subject. Although, I reminded myself, maybe it wasn’t so touchy for him. Everything about Damon oozed quiet confidence. I got the sense he probably didn’t feel vulnerable very frequently in his day-to-day life.

“You’ve got one more question left,” he prompted me.

“Right. Yes. Sorry,” I said quickly, shaking my head a little. “Well, I’ve already asked two questions about your past, so now I’ll ask this: what are your future plans? Where do you see yourself in, oh, the next five years or so?”

Damon shrugged. “More of the same. Security work and private investigation aren’t the most glamorous of career options, but it’s lucrative enough to keep food on the table and cash in my pocket. It keeps my car – a 1963 Pontiac Catalina, by the way – up and running. Sorry to disappoint you with such a dull answer, but that’s the truth,” he said. “And that’s all I’ve got.”

He started to stand up, presumably to return to his chair in the corner, and I hastily held up a hand to stop him. “Wait, wait! Don’t you want to ask your three questions?” I protested.

He stared at me hard for a moment, and I realized it hadn’t even crossed his mind to want to interrogate me the same way. That fact kind of made my heart sink a little, but it wasn’t his fault. I couldn’t force him to be interested in my life, after all. But after some hesitation, he sat back down in front of me, looking contemplative.

“Sure,” he answered finally. “I’ll ask you the same things. What’s the history of your past relationships, if any?”

I smiled rather sheepishly. “Uh, well, to be perfectly honest, I haven’t had much time for dating. Not for a while. My job is kind of demanding. I guess you could say I’m in a committed relationship with my career.”

Damon nodded. “Great. Moving on. What about this career, then? Have you always been in the same field as you are now?”

“More or less,” I replied, already regretting this three-question activity. I was realizing just how boring and empty my life sounded when I laid out the bare facts. “I’ve always been interested in science and invention. I would still be doing this even if I wasn’t making any money at it. I don’t measure success by the dollar amount. I just want to make people’s lives better. I know how corny that probably sounds.”

“No. It doesn’t,” he said, to my surprise. “It’s very idealistic of you, I think. Anyway, third question: where do you see yourself in the future?”

“I guess my answer is the same as yours. I’ll probably be doing the same thing I do now, except that I hope my newest passion project will take off. If my water purification system gets the green light, it could mean a marked improvement in the health and safety of marginalized populations. That’s important to me. That’s the point of it all,” I added quickly, not wanting to come off sounding egotistical.

Especially considering the fact that Damon, for all his stoicism and toughness, didn’t appear to suffer from the kind of inflated ego I would expect from a guy who looked like he did.

“Good to know. Thank you,” Damon said politely.

He got up and returned to his chair in the corner, immediately zoning out again and ignoring me just like before. Only this time, I had to admit there was a slightly changed air to the room. As though our little mini-interrogation had lessened the tension, somehow. Even though I hardly knew much more about him, it was nice to have the information he did offer up. It made me feel more relaxed and comfortable with his presence, which was a good thing since we were going to be essentially attached at the hip. The remainder of my workday passed by with ease, and by the end of it, I was starting to think that maybe this whole bodyguard thing might not be so terrible, after all.