Years of dementia changed it all. Lack of insurance and Calista’s refusal to give her mother anything but the best, the funds had dwindled to less than five grand. If it weren’t for the house and the fund being in Calista’s name, Medicaid wouldn’t have paid for the little it did. The rest of the burden fell on Calista’s shoulders.
“Cali!”
She spun at the sound of her name to see Laverne huffing and puffing down the pathway, her short legs could only move so fast. Her seven-month-old granddaughter, Allie, bounced on her ample hip as if the child were riding a pony.
“I was halfway out the door when Allie shit all over herself. It leaked out the diaper, went up her back. Gross. I had to give her a bath before we could leave.”
The story wasn’t necessary. Calista was simply grateful Laverne was here. She took the baby from her grandmother allowing Laverne to catch her breath. For one who’d recently wallowed in shit, Allie smelled like Baby Magic. Calista couldn’t resist burying her nose in Allie’s neck and inhaling. The little bundle of energy squealed, delighted at the contact. She was such a good baby. “How’s Jentry liking her new job?”
“What’s to like? She’s a clerk in a warehouse. It’s a job.”
Which was better than her asshole boyfriend trying to pimp her out. A gun to the temple followed by a nice pistol whipping took care of that. Too bad Calista found out the details of her cousin’s life after Jentry was pregnant. Oh well, a baby is a blessing, and Jentry had enough family to help.
“Are they kicking Aunt Mavis out?” Laverne followed Calista on the pathway.
“Not if I can help it.” There wasn’t anywhere as nice to place her mother.
“But what if they do?” Laverne insisted.
Older by ten years, Calista’s first cousin was the glass half full instead of half empty type. She’d give you her time, her energy, her last dime, and ask for nothing more than a hug in return. Since the dementia diagnosis, Laverne had been there every step of the way. Calista couldn’t do it without her. All the traveling, late nights, working straight for days without a break, Laverne was the go-to person when Calista couldn’t be there. In a family where all the elders, except for Calista’s mother, were deceased, her cousin was the go-to person for everyone.
“I can’t play the what-if game. See that man in the gazebo?” Calista pointed to the couple with their backs to her as they gazed out toward the tennis courts, probably reliving the events of last night. The woman was stooped over, back bowed with age. The man was taller, erect, his hand resting in the center of his wife’s back.
“I’m going to kiss his ass for as long as it takes for him to forgive my mother.”
Laverne nodded once. “Sounds like a plan.” She took Allie back. “I’ll use the baby to distract the wife so you can suck his dick too.”
Calista reared back as if slapped. “What?”
“Ass kissing may not be enough. Aunt Mavis can hit. She spanked me a few times and put the fear of Jesus in me.” Laverne did have a point. She took the lead, leaving Calista to catch up.
The couple sat together, holding hands, the wife with her head on her husband’s shoulder. Calista hated to interrupt, steal precious time from them. “Excuse me, Mr. And Mrs. Wilson. I’m Calista Coleman, daughter of Mavis Coleman. This is my cousin, Laverne Playne. May we have a moment of your time?” She stepped into the gazebo and waited for them to turn and face her. One look at the man and she understood what set her mother off.
He wasn’t a complete match, but the height, the beard, the prominent forehead, and dignified bearing reminded Calista of one person.
On cue, Allie cooed, drawing the attention of the wife. “What a beautiful baby.” Laverne winked at Calista and started talking about Allie with Mrs. Wilson.
Calista cleared her throat. “On behalf of my mother, please accept my sincere apology. She has dementia and isn’t responsible for her actions. I know that’s a hollow consolation to you when you’ve been attacked, but I can assure you it won’t happen again. Twenty-four-hour care will be provided here for her. She will never be alone again.” All she could do was pray they accepted the apology and didn’t sue for money she didn’t have.
In the end, Mr. Wilson shook her hand and expressed his understanding. His father had gone soft in the brain before he died in his eighties. He even praised his quick Marine reflexes in dodging the punch, which Calista was happy to indulge.
Finally, something broke her way, she thought as she climbed back into her car and pulled out her phone to call Harden. Now, all she needed was one more thing to break her way and for that she wouldn’t have Laverne or Allie to ease the way. She’d only have at plate full of raw crow to choke down without a chaser.
Chapter 11
Calista, dressed in her usual black on black attire, low-heeled shoes, one gun at her waist, the other in a holster under her arm, stepped into the penthouse elevator at six fifty-five. Mentally prepared and physically rested, she was ready to resume her duties.
The elevator slowed to a stop, dinged, and opened to a hallway with only one door since the entire floor was one apartment. The door opened. The guy on the other side was an overly large, clean-shaven, bald bodybuilder on steroids type. Someone had been busy hiring new staff. He gave her an impersonal once over, his gaze lingering on the bulge at her side. “Ms. Coleman, Mr. Morgan is expecting you. Follow me.”
She had a large hint what this was about, and frankly, at eighty grand a year, she needed the job.
She swept past him into the foyer of the penthouse. A few weeks ago, her first impression upon seeing the penthouse was, “Oh Great! He’s into minimalism,” which meant uncomfortable chairs and a sterile environment. That impression hadn’t changed. Everything was black, white, and silver. The only color came from the abstract art on the walls. Her color palette ran toward warm earth tones and her décor preference was cushions, soft and comfy, the lived-in look.
The place was enormous, rooms large enough to fit a three-bedroom house in Queens four times over, with panoramic views of the city, the gridlock, and the plebs scurrying to their nine-to-five. The industrial kitchen had the new chef busily chopping away at something on a cutting board. There was even an infinity pool with a glass bottom she passed beneath. How many rooms were in the place? She wondered that first day. How many rooms can one man, single with no children, occupy? Musing was pointless. The rich found ways to spend their money. She was here to get her share, legally, of course, with honest employment.
She didn’t spend the entire time away worrying about her financial situation. She couldn’t help worry about Julius. Was he still bedridden? Any setbacks? Had he and the pretty nurse hit it off? A growl edged the back of her throat, though none of it was any of her business. She was here for the paycheck and nothing more.
The bodyguard paused for a glass door to swish open. They stepped into a state-of-the-art gym with a view of the city any owner would be proud to boast. Seven legs machines, six chest machines, a couple of treadmills, a Stairmaster, rowing machine, two stationary bikes, more than a few arm machines, and a rack of free weights. Plus, a punching bag and speed bag in a section of the room. In the center, a bare blue matted area.
This is unexpected. Though, if he was in the gym and not in bed hooked up to an array of machines, it had to be a good sign.
She found him on the treadmill, shirtless, dressed in a pair of sweatpants, his pace steady, though not fast. The woman dressed in a pair of scrubs standing next to the treadmill wasn’t the same nurse she’d left with his care two days ago. What happened to Nurse Pretty?
“That’s great, Mr. Morgan. We can stop if you’re tired.”
“Say that one more time and you’re fired,” he said, hands gripping the rails, one foot in front of the other. The muscles on his back flexed around the bandages around the wounds on his lower back and upper shoulder.
Expression neutral, she met his steady gaze with one of her own. He was a handsome bastard, no denying, with
a broad forehead, sharp cheekbones, and full lips his beard couldn’t hide. His nose was slightly crooked due to a barroom brawl in college and a mop of dirty wheat colored hair he preferred slicked back, out of his face, judging by the few pictures of him found in the penthouse and in Forbes.
Those piercing eyes combined with that blond hair, the man was a lethal combination to the female population. “Mr. Morgan.” Strange to call him that when she called him Julius in her mind. More like shouted it as his imaginary cock stroked her deep.
He studied her as she studied him, his gaze traveling from the top of her head to her shoes. As always, she’d dressed carefully—simple black shirt with no cleavage, black pants and jacket, plain silver necklace, small silver hoops in her ears, black watch on her wrist, minimal makeup. She was fortunate not to need much.
What did he think of her? This top and bottom heavy, thirty-year-old African American female. His face gave nothing away, though his eyes seemed warm and inviting. So, she waited, determined to be as cool and calm as the man in front of her.
“Apologies for interrupting your workout. I wanted to let you know I was here.”
The treadmill slowed to a stop. He wobbled a bit and both Calista and the nurse reached for him at the same time, but he steadied on his own. He took a moment to catch his breath, then made his way to a nearby chair, clearly brought into the room solely for this purpose.
He sat, panted until he caught his breath, and mopped the sweat from his brow, neck, and chest, all while she waited under his silent appraisal. “How was your two-week vacation, Ms. Coleman.”
“Thank you for asking. It was uneventful.”
“You asked Harden to replace you.”
At least he didn’t pussyfoot around. Let’s shoot and bury the elephant in the corner and get on with life. “That I did.”
“Then why are you here?”
She could lie, though none came readily to mind. It would be wise to appease his ego and spew some fluff about how much she enjoyed working with him, which was more like the truth.
Or she could go with option two and fuck it all. “I need a job.”
“Couldn’t you find another one?”
“Tough market.”
He snorted. “Plus, Harden would pigeonhole you.”
At least someone admitted it. “It’s not worth going against something he wants.” People ended up dead, and though he respected her, she’d never push her luck with him.
Resignation settled on his face, probably because he knew she’d spoken the truth. “Do you want this job, Ms. Coleman?”
His tone made it seem like it wasn’t a done deal. His tone made it seem like he expected begging. She had the name of a realtor on speed dial because if she didn’t have this job, there was a good chance she wouldn’t find another anytime soon. The one percent was an intimate circle. A wrong word in the right ear and blackball would be her middle name. Regardless of all that, “Yes.” Fuck! She had raw crow stuck in her teeth. “I do want this job. You need a bodyguard and I’m that person.”
A calculated smirk stretched his lips. His head tilted, bringing his face into the fraction of sunlight filtering through the cloudy New York skies and warming his cold eyes. What color were they? Copper she’d thought but now decided they landed somewhere between copper and brown. No. Burnish, she decided as the warmth vanished from his eyes.
“You understand that you won’t be working for Harden. I’ll be your employer.”
Here it comes, the load of shit about to be dumped on me. “Yes. I understand perfectly.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard. I’ve just hired four permanent men as my bodyguards.”
“Then why the hell am I here?” Professionalism went out the window. She didn’t have time for this bullshit! She had bills to pay and now a job to find. Maybe Harden hadn’t filled the position at his club yet.
Julius leaned in and suddenly he was too close for comfort. The heat of him slapped her, along with his musky, sweaty scent that should’ve repulsed her, yet didn’t. She retreated, had to else drool would coat her chin, and she’d hate herself for it. She didn’t retreat, not from anything. Not the type to turn lemon into lemonade, she preferred to bulldoze the lemons in her life and leave them rotting in a field.
“You’re here because you need a job and I have one opening.”
She folded her arms to keep from hitting him. “For what? Dishwasher?” Her vision went red.
“No,” he said, sounding offended. “Personal assistant.”
He had to be kidding. By the deadpan glare in his eyes, he wasn’t. That’s it. She was done. A quick pivot and she was halfway to the exit. He could kiss her ass. Personal assistant. Fuck that.
“Salary starts at one sixty plus benefits.”
Calista practically skidded to a halt. Door braced in her hand, one foot over the threshold, she froze. One sixty doubled her pay. Not to be a bodyguard and put her life in harm’s way, but to be a personal assistant. Damn, she was in the wrong profession.
She glanced over her shoulder. Arms folded, he hadn’t moved from his spot, as if he knew he had her and, damn, he did. That paycheck, double what she currently made. Her mother could sleep in her own bed again, under her own roof. She could bring her mother home. Her final days would be spent in comfort.
Calista left the door and returned. “You have a personal assistant already.” Meckler didn’t seem like one to need aid.
He moved to the treadmill. “I’m a billionaire. I’m allowed more than one.”
Something was off and she knew precisely what it was. “Why?” What was the catch? Because there was one. If it walked like a duck, if it swam like a fish, barked like a dog…etc., etc. In other words, don’t second-guess the obvious.
“For what I’m willing to pay, I ask the questions. Not the other way around.” Julius started the treadmill, leaving her waiting, as if the conversation was over.
It wasn’t.
Chapter 12
Sweat dripping, muscles cramping, lungs wanting to climb out of his chest and bitch slap him, thirty minutes later, Julius finally hit the cool down button on the treadmill.
He shouldn’t complain when it was a slight improvement since he forced his uncooperative body into compliance weeks ahead of the standard recuperation the doctor ordered. It hadn’t been pleasant, yet it had to be done. It had felt good to be upright and moving again, even if he was hunched over like an old man.
Currently, he hurt, though refused to let it show. Time in the sauna sweating out the soreness would help, even though the nurse said he shouldn’t. After the interview he’d head for the sweat box. Five minutes wouldn’t kill him but would definitely help his sore muscles that felt like he’d taken a baseball to every inch of his body.
He picked up a towel off a nearby bench and mopped up. Next to him, Calista waited. The entire time she waited without saying a word as he completed his workout. He could tell she was pissed. Forget neutral expression. She fumed. Her eyes threw enough daggers he should have a chalk outline around his body.
He moved around her and crossed to the exit. Now, it was his turn to glance over his shoulder and pin her with a cold stare. “Coming?” He held the door open and reluctantly, she strode past him, then waited. She followed. He led.
Not for long because she pulled next to him, their strides in sync with each other. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her in something other than scrubs and she looked damn fine. Not the black on black funeral colors, but the way the pants hugged her ass. An ass he could bounce a quarter off of and catch it in mid-air. And the pants weren’t even tight. But an ass like that couldn’t be hidden beneath layers of clothing. The jacket wasn’t tailored because he could tell she was armed, and that shit was sexy. Very sexy. She walked with purpose, no sway in her hips, no allure for the opposite sex, which turned him on even more. All business, she had no clue the smokin’ package she presented. Which, again, turned him on.
Hiring her should’ve been a no
n-starter, given the way blood filled his cock. He had a hard rule: No sex with employees. No flirting with employees. No touching employees. The last thing he needed was a sexual harassment suit.
So, what the fuck was he doing hiring her as an assistant he didn’t need. He’d guess pride. She walked out his door weeks ago, dismissing him. Then Harden told him she wanted to quit. That was the catalyst that got his ass out of bed. He pulled off the lead and made his way to the gym where his replacement for Brielle found him an hour later, clinging to the rails of the treadmill.
Not often a man in his position got dismissed. Did something to the ego. Maybe someday he’d thank her for getting him off his ass.
Doubtful.
The smell of bacon wafting from the living room balcony caused Julius’ mouth to water and his stomach to growl. She beat him to the sliding door and stepped aside for him to step through as his newly hired chef flipped the spinach omelet. “Smells good, James.”
“Thank you, sir.” The chef had set out a nice spread of pancakes, crisp bacon, plus a tray of croissants and bagels, and carafes of assorted juices.
Julius held out the chair opposite his for Calista to sit. Her gaze shifted between the chair and himself. He waited and was rewarded with a loud growl from her stomach neither he nor James missed.
Calista unbuttoned her jacket, adjusted the gun on her hip, and folded that body into the chair.
“What may I get you, ma’am? I can prepare anything.” James waited patiently for her order.
“I’m not here for the food,” she said, voice low.
Julius nodded at his chef. “Well, I am.” James plated the omelet and served him. Julius added the bacon and poured himself a cup of black coffee. He was exhausted. A fine tremor shook the hand holding the coffee pot. He placed it back on the table before the tremor became noticeable and traveled up his arm.
Plain Jane and the Billionaire (Plain Jane Series) Page 7
