Jane Harvey-Berrick Guarding the Billionaire

by Harvey-Berrick, Jane

  “Of course I want to, Rachel. It’ll be great. Don’t worry.”

  Famous last words.

  Which is why, on the day before Thanksgiving, we’re heading west along the Brooklyn Queens Expressway to Quakertown. Yep, that’s a real place. I also learn that both Rachel and her sister were brought up as Quakers but have moved away from the faith. Growing up, they didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, but Rachel says they do now for the sake of Allison’s kids.

  “Who’s going to be at this shindig, baby?”

  “Well, Allison, of course. Her husband, Bill; their two girls Megan, who’s fourteen, and Kimmi, who’s eleven. I expect they’ll invite the neighbors, Douglas and Virginia; oh, and Bill’s mom, Celia.”

  No Uncle Fester?

  When we arrive, there’s snow crunching under the Rover’s wheels and the air is freezing. The sister’s house is one of those suburban ranch houses that you see everywhere in small towns: a patch of grass in front and a larger yard at the back.

  I pull up onto the small driveway, and Rachel reaches over and squeezes my thigh.

  “Ready?”

  “Sure, baby. Follow you anywhere.”

  She smiles and gives me a reassuring kiss on the cheek. But I catch her chin, and turn it into a full-out, knock ‘em down and drag ‘em out kiss on the lips. I can neither confirm nor deny the presence of tongues.

  Her skin flushes and she smacks me lightly on the arm before climbing out of the car.

  She’s just about to knock on the door when it flies open and a girl comes running out.

  “Aunty Rachel!”

  I guess this is Kimmi. She’s got light brown hair, braces and a cute little round face. I can see a family resemblance. She’s so happy to see Rachel, it makes the absence of Lilly feel worse.

  “Mom says you have a boyfriend, Aunty Rachel! She said you’d never get a boyfriend, but you did, didn’t you? Maybe I’ll get a boyfriend next.”

  Rachel laughs, but I can tell that it’s slightly strained. What the hell is this? Why wouldn’t someone as gorgeous as Rachel have a man in her life? I’m pissed off before I’ve made it through the front door.

  “Kimmi, this is my friend Justin. Justin, this is Kimmi.”

  “Hi,” she says, shyly.

  “Hi, Kimmi. Nice to meet you.”

  I hold out my hand and we shake formally, then she blushes and giggles. It kinda reminds me of my Princess, and I can’t help smiling back.

  I look up and see a woman who must be Rachel’s sister. I catch her as she’s running her eyes up and down me.

  I stand impassively while Rachel and Allison hug. Then I’m introduced and she shakes my hand, a chilly expression at odds with the way she was checking out my package a minute ago.

  It’s weird seeing some of Rachel’s lovely features on this stranger’s face, but she’s got none of Rachel’s appealing softness.

  For some reason, she’s decided that she doesn’t like me.

  This should be a fun weekend. I just know we’re not going to get along. I feel like I should have a map that says, Here be dragons.

  Kimmi shows us to our room. Well, she shows me; Rachel used to live here and knows the way.

  “This is my room and you’re not allowed in here,” Kimmi states. “Well, I don’t mind, but Megan can’t come in unless I say so. Do you want to see my room?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  I’m expecting it to be an explosion of pink like Lilly’s room, but I can’t see the color of the walls because they’re covered with posters of Rock Boys. It brings back memories and a shudder runs down my spine.

  “Do you like Rock Boys, Justin?” asks Kimmi.

  “I have both their albums.”

  Rachel coughs, although I think she may have been laughing, but Kimmi squeals happily.

  “Oh em gee! They’re a-may-zing, aren’t they? Strolling with Rocks is like THE BEST SONG EV-ER!”

  “I preferred Beach Baby Blues.”

  Kimmi nods her head seriously.

  “That’s my second favorite song ever.” She smiles happily. “Gareth is so cute!”

  I don’t tell her that I know all of those guys since I was in charge of their security detail when they toured SE Asia and Europe. And yes, I still have both their albums, signed. I’m blessed.

  “Your room is down the hall,” Kimmi continues. “Mom wanted to give you separate rooms, but Grandma Greene is staying so there’s no space. Mom said she didn’t want you guys doing it in here. What did she think you were going to be doing?”

  “The crossword,” says Rachel, quickly. “She doesn’t want us getting newsprint on the sheets.”

  “Oh, okay,” says Kimmi, wandering off. “I thought she was talking about sex.”

  Rachel’s mouth drops open and she turns to stare at me, blushing again in a really cute way.

  “Your sister got a problem with you doing it, baby?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

  “I … I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry, Justin.”

  “S’okay, baby. I like breaking the rules.”

  I look around the room that has been Rachel’s part-time home for last five years when she was between jobs. There are family photographs in frames on the dresser and on the walls; recipe books on the bookshelves; and her clothes in the closet with a stack of brown boxes, still taped up.

  “I don’t know how you managed to break the rules in the Marines,” she says.

  “Didn’t get caught, mostly.” I pull her into my arms and kiss her softly. “Wanna break some rules now?”

  “Tell me first how you know so much about Rock Boys? I thought you were just teasing her, but you know all the songs!”

  I shrug.

  “Toured with them.”

  “Wow! She’ll be so impressed!”

  I cringe at the possible interrogation.

  “Better not tell Kimmi. I don’t want to have to lie about the sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.”

  “Oh! Really? Okay, I won’t!”

  She kisses me back passionately, showing me that wild side that I really fucking like. She’s got one hand on my ass and the other up the inside of my t-shirt, and things are getting really interesting when there’s a polite cough.

  I pull back and see a paunchy guy in his late forties smiling at us.

  “Uh, hi! Sorry to, um, interrupt. I’m Bill. A pleasure to meet you, Justin. Hey, Rachey. How you doin’, honey?”

  We shake hands and he gives Rachel a hug.

  There aren’t many men I’d allow to touch my woman, but he gets a pass … just … because he’s family, but mostly because Rachel says he’s a good guy.

  I know from what she’s told me that Bill has some sort of job in computers. I could have done a check from Mason’s database, but that felt like spying on Rachel’s family. I may have peeked: an unpaid parking fine. Living on the wild side, Bill.

  “Welcome to the mad house, Justin. I hope you have got a strong stomach.”

  Yep, gotta lot of practice working for Devon king-of-crazy Anderson.

  “Thanks, Bill. Appreciate you inviting us. Oh, hey, brought you this.”

  I hand him a bottle of Tequila Gold and his face lights up like a freakin’ Christmas tree.

  “Oh, man! Thanks!”

  “And I’ve brought some pies and cakes, too, Bill,” adds Rachel.

  “Rachel, you are a saint … and some of your special stuffing?”

  “Of course, Bill. I couldn’t let you down, could I?”

  “Justin, this woman is a saint.”

  He gives Rachel another hug.

  “Kinda noticed that, Bill.”

  He winks at me.

  “So, did you meet Megan yet? I think she’s in the den watching TV. Either that or sulking in her room,” he mutters under his breath.

  Yeah, this is going to be a fun family get-together.

  “I’ll go get the luggage, baby.”

  While I’m out at the car, Bill comes to help me. Rachel has packed enough food fo
r several platoons of hungry grunts.

  “Um, Justin, don’t take this the wrong way…”

  Oh, fucking what now?

  “But would you mind not mentioning the tequila to Allison? Just between you and me, buddy?”

  His look is borderline desperate, so I nod, keeping my expression immobile. I’m usually such an open book.

  “Sure, no problem, Bill.”

  “I’ll keep it my play room.”

  I nearly choke.

  “I make model airplanes and submarines. I keep them in the garage. Allison calls it my ‘play room’—her little joke.”

  Thank fuck for that. I don’t think I could take seeing any play rooms, meditation rooms, or punishment rooms like the boss has at the Farm—especially not in rural Pennsylvania. They might have antlers on the walls. I’m already scarred for life. And I really don’t want to imagine Allison in bondage gear. Aw hell! Too late. My stomach heaves and I nearly lose my lunch.

  Bill helps me carry Rachel’s boxes of food into the kitchen. When I see what Allison is making for our dinner, I regret not bringing any MREs with me. Yeah, they’re vacuum-packed military rations that have a ten year shelf life, but they look a helluva lot better than the brain-colored sludge that Allison’s cooking. She calls it ‘risotto’; I call it risky on my stomach.

  It’s not until we’re all sitting around the dining table that I finally meet Bill’s mom, Celia, who’s been taking a nap; and the oldest daughter, Megan.

  Celia: It’s not easy for a widow, you know. If I had to rely on my kids to look after me, I’d be on the streets.

  Bill: Now, mother…

  Allison: [snarling] You’re not on the streets, Celia. You’re in our very comfortable guest room.

  Megan: So, you’re, like, a driver?

  Me: Yes.

  Rachel: Well, Justin is also…

  Megan: And you were a soldier?

  Me: A Marine.

  Megan: Isn’t that the same thing?

  Me: Fu— um, no.

  Celia: I know I’m just a burden to you. I can eat dinner in my room.

  Bill: Aw, mom…

  Megan: And you’re, like, a bodyguard?

  Me: Yes.

  Allison: If you’d prefer to eat in your room, Celia…

  Celia: Well, I…

  Kimmi: Aunty Rachel, if Justin is your boyfriend, are you going to, like, sleep with him?

  [Cue: echoing silence and tumbleweed as all eyes turn to Rachel.]

  Allison: Kimmi!

  Bill: Kimmi!

  Kimmi: Mom, you said that Aunty Rachel ought to know better at her age than having a boy-toy, so I was just wondering if…

  Megan: Oh wow! You are in so much trouble!

  Allison: Kimmi! I didn’t…

  Rachel is staring at her plate, mortified. And I am so fucking angry with that bitch of a sister of hers. I reach over and take Rachel’s hand.

  “If anyone’s got a problem with me seeing Rachel, I’d rather they said it to my face,” and I turn to stare at Allison. “Not that it will make any difference whatsoever.”

  “That told her,” mutters Celia in a stage-whisper.

  The rest of the meal passes with tense indigestion, although whether that’s from the fucking awful food or the arctic atmosphere, I couldn’t say. Rachel is quiet, and I know that she’s still upset. Bill tries hard to keep the conversation going, and I really appreciate that.

  “It must be interesting working for Devon Anderson: he’s making quite a name for himself. What’s he like?”

  “Interesting,” I offer.

  “Mr. Anderson is really very sweet,” says Rachel.

  “I believe his company is developing a new operating system, is that right?”

  “We don’t get involved in the business side of things,” replies Rachel.

  See why I love that woman? She’s smart, she’s loyal, she’s kind and so fucking sexy. Did I mention sexy?

  When we finally get to be alone in our room, I pull Rachel into a hug.

  “You okay, baby?”

  “I’m fine. Allison didn’t mean it like that—she just worries about me. Are you, okay? My family can be rather full-on.”

  “Like water off a duck’s back, Rachel. Marines are trained to survive in hostile environments.”

  She laughs softly.

  “What other training did they give you?”

  “Stealth, concealment … in fact, I’d really like to be concealed in you, baby.”

  “Oh, really? Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that, although the stealth will come in handy, too: these walls are very thin.”

  I fucking love a challenge. But to clarify…

  “I’m not allowed to make you scream?”

  Her blush is sexy.

  “Uh, well, no. I guess not.”

  “That’s just mean.”

  Her gaze snaps to mine and she’s trying not to smile.

  “I’m only mean to you because I like you.”

  “That’s messed up.”

  “Would you rather be ignored?”

  “Are those my only two options?”

  She starts to laugh, but we manage to keep the noise down.

  SHORTLY AFTER DAWN, I’m woken by a loud scream and I automatically reach for my gun—which isn’t there. It’s locked in a steel box in the trunk of my car.

  “What the fuck?”

  Rachel lays a hand on my chest, looking scared.

  “I’ll go see what it is.”

  I pull on my jeans commando, moving quietly towards the kitchen, keeping an eye open for anything I can use as a weapon. But by the time I get there, I realize that Bill is the one who needs a weapon, and it’s Allison who’s doing the screaming.

  “I can’t believe you, Bill! I ask you to do one thing! One solitary, single thing—and you even manage to screw that up! All you had to do was take the turkey out of the freezer. But, no! That was too difficult for you!”

  “I’m sorry, honey, I just…”

  “Oh, shut up, Bill! If only you were half the man your mother is!”

  Ouch.

  As I’m not needed, I’m just about to go back to Rachel when Allison turns and sees me. She can’t help herself from staring. She starts with my bare chest, her eyes bugging as she moves to my abs then lower. Okay, so I’m not so sartorially elegant as usual, but come on! Have some fucking class, lady!

  “Heard screaming. But I guess you’re okay in here.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Bill mutters.

  The guy really looks like he wants backup, but I’ve had enough domestic ear-batterings to last me a life time. I give Bill a look that tells him he’s on his own.

  “Okay?” shrieks Allison. “Okay?! No we are not ‘okay’; we are so far from being okay that we’re living in a world where Marge Simpson has won the hair-style of the year award!”

  “I forgot to defrost the turkey,” says Bill, glumly.

  “How can we have a Thanksgiving meal without the turkey?” Allison screeches.

  By this time Rachel is padding into the kitchen wearing just her robe. Knowing that she’s naked under the soft material distracts me from the matters arising to my own personal uprising.

  “Allison, there’s lots of food. I’m sure we’ll manage.”

  “But the turkey,” moans Allison. “It’s a 22-pounder. We’ll never get around to eating all of that if we don’t have it today!”

  “Well, look, it’s early. If we put it in the oven now…”

  “What about the giblets?”

  Bill is looking pretty fucking nervous—guess he’s worried his giblets will be on the menu if this doesn’t work out.

  “Do you know if they were wrapped in paper or plastic?”

  “Paper. I always buy organic.”

  Rachel is calm, as always. Well, unless I’ve had my hands on her, in which case, all bets are off.

  “When the turkey is cooked enough, we’ll use tongs to get them out,” she says, squeezing Allison’
s talons, um, hands.

  I back out of the kitchen and Bill follows me. When talk turns to giblets, it’s time for a man to be invisible.

  I take a quick shower, and for a second I think about not shaving. But Rachel isn’t into stubble because her skin gets burned really easily and she says it’s like having a neon sign advertising what we’ve been up to. Ah, what the hell, I’ll shave before bed tonight.

  I pull my jeans back on and a sweater. Rachel hasn’t returned, so I assume Camp David is still going on in the kitchen.

  Allison’s discordant tones echo through the house. As I pass Celia’s room, she sticks her head out of the door and I nearly have a heart attack. She’s not wearing her wig and she hasn’t got her teeth in. And the appalling thought crosses my mind, Bet she gives one helluva blow job.

  Fuck! I’ve been working for Anderson too long: my mind has been twisted. I’ve got to get another freakin’ job.

  With the image replaying like a horror-movie in my mind, I practically run into the kitchen.

  Rachel gives me a strange look. I must look pretty fucking freaked.

  “Justin, we have a problem—with the turkey.”

  “Yeah, heard the war-cry, baby.”

  Rachel hides a smile as Allison throws me a look that could freeze underwear.

  “A different problem, Justin. The turkey is too big for the oven.”

  Bill looks like he wishes he could be beamed aboard an alien spaceship where anal probes are used randomly.

  “You could chop its legs off, baby.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I turn to Bill.

  “You got an axe? Good for chopping wood?”

  “Why, yes, I do, Justin. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to chop its legs off, Bill. Wanna help?”

  “Don’t make me laugh!” snarls Allison. “Bill with an axe? He needs both his left feet!”

  Jeez, with a wife like that, I’m surprised Bill hasn’t committed homicide or suicide. Maybe he can’t choose.

  I throw a look at Rachel who shrugs and glances sympathetically at Bill.

  I pick up the turkey, which is looking kinda sorry for itself, and carry it into the backyard. Bill follows, mumbling wearily.

  He shows me the axe next to a pile of logs by the porch and I pick it up. The blade is a little blunt but it should do the job.