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Hayden
The ringing of my phone had become a source of endless annoyance for me. Had I ever dealt with so many calls?
No, because I usually worked in the field.
Now I had to hear petty complaints and deal with clients and employees all from the suffocating walls of my office. We’d set this one up in the house, since I hated the idea of having to leave to do paperwork. I still had the main office of the company located elsewhere, but the drive to get there felt pointless, so I avoided it whenever possible.
The phone rangagain,and I managed to give it a glare that would have scared off any smart human before picking it up. I didn’t bother to even look at the caller before answering. “Hayden.”
“You sound grumpy,” my office manager, Laurie, said. “That means you’re probably reviewing the upcoming schedule, doesn’t it?”
I wanted to deny it, but my gaze found the open spreadsheet on my monitor, lines of colors filling different sections as I worked to find the proper person for the proper job. “Why are people so damn difficult?” I muttered as I stared at the mess.
Figuring out who could do which job, who worked well with who, who hated who, it was all so much drama.
“It’s part of the job,” Laurie said without giving me a speck of pity. Then again, that was why I’d hired her, because she could handle a bunch of difficult men without batting an eyelash. Hell, she could probably go toe-to-toe with the likes of Nem.
“Part of the job is also doing your damned job. I wish more of our employees would do that instead of deciding they don’t like Alex, or Nicole chews too loudly, or whatever other bull has them complaining. This would be so much easier if they all just did as they were told.”
Laurie chuckled, a clicking in the background suggesting she worked on her computer at the same time. “You’ll get it done—you always do.”
“This job used to be easier,” I said. “I didn’t have to do all this.”
“Because you were out in the field. If you don’t like this, then go back to taking jobs yourself.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? Clients arealwaysasking for you personally. Do you have any idea how many hours you pay me just so I can apologize to clients and explain that you no longer take jobs yourself?” She snorted softly, then added on, “you could probably buy a yacht with all that money.”
“That tells me I overpay you.”
“You sure? Because when I went to see old Mrs. Yorli, she was wearing a negligee because she thought you’d come yourself. Do you have any idea how fake boobs look on an eighty-year-old? Because it’s not good.”
Before I could stop myself, my brain thought about that very thing and I shuddered. “Expect a nice bonus this Christmas,” I said.
She laughed, the clicking stopping as though she’d given her full attention to our conversation all of a sudden. “I know you took a step back these last five years, but you’re actually involved now. Why don’t you take any more jobs yourself? Are you just getting too old?”
“Forget that bonus,” I muttered softly. “No, I’m not getting too old. My joints aren’t what they were ten years ago, sure, but they do the job just fine.”
“So why? You were always so devoted, so quick to put your all into it. That’s why so many clients ask for you, why they come to us, because they trustyou.You always made sure they not only were safe, but that they felt safe. That’s the thing too many bodyguards forget. They think the body is all that matters and they make clients nervous or uncomfortable. You always knew just how to make them feel secure, though.”
I thought back to the years I’d spent putting myself in danger to protect others, and I smiled. They were good memories, things I was proud to have done. “Maybe we should add some extra training to help our bodyguards develop those skills.”
She sighed—loudly.“So is that your way of telling me you won’t take any more jobs?”
“Pretty much.”
“At least tell me why.”
“You know why.”
“Yes, Kenz is very pretty and far too young and good for you, but how is that any reason? We have lots of married bodyguards working.”
I looked over at the picture on my desk, the one that showed Kenz smiling brightly as she’d snapped a selfie of the two of us. My face was stiff and uncomfortable—selfies weren’t something I’d done much of—but Kenz had still loved the picture. When I’d seen it, I had gone ahead and had it printed then put into a frame. Whenever she came into my office, I always put it face down because I doubted I could survive the embarrassment of her seeing it.
When Vance had spotted it, he’d laughed and told me that printed-out pictures were for old people.
Old.I scoffed at the word that was at the same time both true yet hated.
