Page 10 of The Forbidden Bodyguard

I climb out of the yellow cab and stare up at the skyscraper until my neck hurts. Stella Voss’ penthouse is right at the top.

I bet the view is insane.

I spent the rest of the day at the New York BHS office getting inducted into the systems, meeting people, and preparing to hit the ground running tomorrow.

Which is why tonight I’m meeting Stella.

I will replace her current security tomorrow morning.

I truly thought I’d be protecting some boring dignitary or businessman. A twenty-five-year-old author with a trust fund who writes books was not on my bingo card.

She’s not famous for her writing, so is clearly living off her trust fund. The multimillion-dollar penthouse she lives in is paid for with Daddy’s money.

I’ve created a profile in my head about who she is: spoiled, hot, knows it, and is an asshole to deal with.

Hopefully, it’s a short-term assignment.

I glance around the high rises and draw in a breath. Being in New York City is an adjustment. I’ve spent the past fifteen years on naval bases here and around the world.

I’m wary and interested to see if I can make this work.

Mom’s comments that I will hate it and should have stayed in the Navy irked me a bunch.

I need to show her that life can continue without Dad. That we can be happy. That she can move on and maybe remarry.

She’s made him this huge magical figure in her head and tried to do the same for me. If it weren’t for the Navy and dealing with real-life shit, it might have worked.

It did enough.

Wearing the shirt and blazer I landed on because it looks more the part, I tug at my collar and head inside the building.

Lifting my sunglasses, I remind myself that failure is not an option here. I have to make this job work.

Leaving the SEAL team was a huge decision, especially when your father died in action and is known as one of the greats. I don’t know if it’s me or everyone else—or both—who put the expectation on me to compete with his legend.

But I have.

Dad died as a Commander, fighting to defend the United States of America. Stepping away to protect rich folks isn’t exactly heroic.

Yet I knew I couldn’t serve for much longer. I’m thirty-six, my body has been thrashed, and the shit I’ve seen and done is going to take a dozen lifetimes to work through. A lot of my buddies have turned to things like DMT to deal with it. I don’t judge. People need to choose what works for them.

I’ve seen a shrink once or twice and going back to the memories doesn’t seem to help.

What we identified was that I needed to leave and find something I could enjoy while letting my brain and nervous system relax.

As the doc said, I can’t be in fight mode preparing to fight forever. I’ll pay the price, eventually.

I wasn’t prepared to prove her wrong.

Striding through the lobby, I feel like Denzel Washington or Kevin fucking Costner in some bodyguard movie, like I’m playing a part. Still, I’m armed and carrying a satchel with all the tech I need to do the job.

It’s time to meet Ms. Voss.

I announce my arrival at the building security desk.

They’re expecting me.

Gary—I get the name from his badge—directs me to the private elevator, which will take me up to Ms. Voss’ penthouse. When the doors open, I enter the code she shared with BHS, and it’s accepted. As the car starts to move, I widen my stance and clasp my hands in front of me.