Faking it with the Billionaire E-Book

Willow Fox

• Herausgeber: Slow Burn Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

When you're a star athlete and hire a bodyguard to protect your daughter but…
The agency sends you an adorable 5 foot 2 brunette that barely looks capable of protecting herself, let alone anyone else.
Turns out "Ryan" is Emerson Ryan, former FBI. She drop-kicks your butt to the ground to prove her point.
She’s more than capable of protecting Bristol, your little girl…
But you shouldn’t be turned on by her fierceness.
Everyone thinks she’s your daughter’s nanny, including Bristol. Emerson looks the part and goes along with it at your insistence until she's forced to be your daughter's babysitter.
With a professional hockey career on the line, you need Emerson by your side. But questions will arise the moment you hire a "second" nanny for Bristol, and you don't want to worry your daughter about the threat to her safety.
The next best thing?
Hire Emerson as your fake girlfriend. She can protect Bristol, and you get a little extra publicity when the news learns about your new spicy romance.
But how long can you pretend everything is fake when the sparks are real?
This steamy hockey romance book features a grumpy single dad, a sizzling romance with plenty of drama. No cheating. Standalone. HEA.

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2023 by Willow Fox

All rights reserved.

Edited by Marla VanHoy and Melanie Kirk

Proofread by Lily Sperber

Cover Design by GetCovers

Published by Slow Burn Publishing LLC

First Edition

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

About this Book

1. Emerson

2. Kyler

3. Emerson

4. Emerson

5. Kyler

6. Emerson

7. Kyler

8. Emerson

9. Kyler

10. Emerson

11. Kyler

12. Emerson

13. Kyler

14. Emerson

15. Kyler

16. Emerson

17. Kyler

18. Emerson

19. Kyler

20. Emerson

21. Kyler

22. Emerson

23. Kyler

24. Emerson

25. Kyler

Epilogue

Giveaways, Free Books, and More Goodies

About the Author

Also by Willow Fox

ABOUT THIS BOOK

When you're a star athlete and hire a bodyguard to protect your daughter but…

The agency sends you an adorable 5 foot 2 brunette that barely looks capable of protecting herself, let alone anyone else.

Turns out "Ryan" is Emerson Ryan, former FBI. She drop-kicks your butt to the ground to prove her point.

She’s more than capable of protecting Bristol, your little girl…

But you shouldn’t be turned on by her fierceness.

Everyone thinks she’s your daughter’s nanny, including Bristol. Emerson looks the part and goes along with it at your insistence until she's forced to be your daughter's babysitter.

With a professional hockey career on the line, you need Emerson by your side. But questions will arise the moment you hire a "second" nanny for Bristol, and you don't want to worry your daughter about the threat to her safety.

The next best thing?

Hire Emerson as your fake girlfriend. She can protect Bristol, and you get a little extra publicity when the news learns about your new spicy romance.

But how long can you pretend everything is fake when the sparks are real?

This steamy hockey romance book features a grumpy single dad, a sizzling romance with plenty of drama. No cheating. Standalone. HEA.

ONE

EMERSON

Rain pelts the cement, pouring overhead as it splashes down on the broken umbrella. I’ve managed to hold the latch open, but if I move my hand just slightly, it slams shut on me.

That’s about how my week’s been going.

Shitty.

I have a new job lined up, well, new as in it’s for the Eagle Tactical crew. A contract assignment they’ve given me. They need a full-time bodyguard, and none of their crew can handle the workload on the east coast. They’re based out of Breckenridge, Montana, and I’m standing in the deluge in New York City.

It’s not exactly my dream job, but that is no longer an option.

Plus, I need the money.

And by the looks of it, the guy I’ll be protecting has plenty of it.

I took the subway and walked the last mile and a half in the rain up to his front gate. The house is nestled behind the iron décor, offering a false sense of security.

I’m not just taking in the whole of the property but also the details. There’s a surveillance camera at the front entrance and additional cameras aimed at the iron fence along the side. Should anyone choose to climb it, the pointed arrows at the top should deter them.

Assuming there are no blind spots as well. I’ll need to examine the footage, the cameras, and the entire house to make sure everything is working as it should be. The team prepped me on the client, Mr. Kyler Greyson, and his daughter, Bristol.

The Eagle Tactical guys set up the security system years ago when Kyler moved into the property.

He’s well known, practically famous if you’re into sports.

He’s a hockey player.

Me?

I’ve never been to a hockey game and haven’t spent more than a few seconds channel-surfing past one. That’s my idea of a sport.

I press the buzzer as lightning illuminates the sky. Thunder pounds overhead, and the gate unlocks before I have time to speak.

He doesn’t ask me to show my identification or prove who I am over the surveillance system. And while he’s expecting me, given the fact I’m here to protect his family, I’m not happy with how the security within the house is being run.

Quickly, I step in through the gate and hurry across the cobblestone driveway to the front of the house. It hardly should be classified as a house, considering its grandiose size. It makes a mansion look like a shack.

I shut my umbrella while under the front porch and leave it outside, not wanting to make a mess upon entering.

The front door swings open, and a gentleman in dark jeans and a white t-shirt stares back at me. He’s got a thick head of dark hair that I refrain from running my fingers through.

One glance, and I recognize him.

How could I not after doing my own bit of research before meeting him? I needed to know what kind of person would want to stalk him or his kid.

It’s strange, but I guess being in the limelight does that. People think they know you because they’ve been to your game or watched you on television.

He probably has dozens of women lining up to be the next Mrs. Greyson, begging for his affection and attention.

“Hi,” I say. It’s not the most proper and professional introduction, but the cold rain seems to have stolen the words right out of my mouth. I wipe my feet, my heels not the least bit saved from the rain or mud puddles I splashed through on my way here.

“You’re wet.” His dark gaze stares right through me.

I shiver.

He isn’t wrong.

But it’s not the fact I’m soaked from the rain that sends a tingle through my core.

He stares at me as though I were naked, seeing right through me, pinning me with those dark eyes and long thick lashes. He’s every girl’s wet dream.

“I hadn’t noticed,” I say with a smirk.

“Can I help you?” he asks, glancing me up and down. He folds his arms across his chest, allowing me inside but blocking me from entering beyond the front entrance.

“I’m the new bodyguard,” I say. I suck in a sharp breath. “Did no one inform you that I was coming? I’m Emerson Ryan.” I hold out my hand to introduce myself. “I’ve been hired by Eagle Tactical to protect Mr. Greyson’s daughter, Bristol.”

He scoffs and steps back as if I’ve burned him. “The hell you are. There’s no way you’re capable of protecting my daughter. I was told that Mr. Ryan would be here to protect Bristol.”

“Ms. Ryan,” I correct him. “And I’m plenty capable of protecting your daughter.”

His gaze moves over my body, lingering a little too long on my breasts.

I sweep my foot out and knock him onto his ass, staring down at him on the wooden floorboards. “See, plenty capable. You don’t have to worry. I trained at Quantico.”

I offer him my hand to stand, but he doesn’t take it. He dusts his jeans off, although he seems fine, except for his ego getting a bit bruised.

I remove my wet coat and find myself an empty space to hang it by the door, making myself at home.

“Why don’t you work for the FBI anymore?” He turns and walks away from the front entrance. “Are you coming?” he asks flippantly, waiting for me to fall in line with him.

I hurry to catch up to him. He’s nearly a foot taller than I am, and his strides are huge. It’s no wonder he’s an athlete. The man is built for it.

“I resigned from the FBI,” I say. I don’t want to delve any further into that topic.

“Resigned or were fired?” He spins around to face me as we stand in the hallway a little too close.

I feel that sizzle between us and do everything I can to push that feeling away. Bury it. He doesn’t get to hold my heart.

“I’m waiting,” he snaps.

I refuse to cower to him, even if he stands a foot above me. I stare up at him, unwavering. “I quit after my boss was sexually harassing me.” There’s more to the story, but it’s not a path down memory lane that I want to travel.

“You didn’t take it up the chain of command?” His brow tightens, and his bottom lip frowns. There’s a softness to his features, a warmth that he exudes when he shows concern. Although, I’m not sure if it’s for me or the fact he’s disappointed.

“I did, and it was his word against mine,” I say, shifting uncomfortably. “Since I’ll be spending time with your daughter, I don’t imagine that will be an issue.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Kyler says.

“Of course.” I force a smile. The tension between us makes the room feel several degrees warmer. Or maybe it’s the fact that his gaze hasn’t left mine, and I’m not used to having such attention cast on me.

It won’t last. He’s one-hundred percent off-limits.

And I swore I wouldn’t get involved with a married man.

I glance down at Kyler’s left hand. There’s no wedding ring.

Not that it should matter. He’s still the client. My boss. And nothing can happen between us, nor should it. As far as I’m concerned, I’d be happy never dating again. Men, sex. It’s all highly overrated.

And if that isn’t reason enough, he has to be a playboy. The man is a star athlete on an NHL team. He can have any girl he wants. What makes me think he’d even look twice at me?

“Good,” I say, and clear my throat when he’s standing a little too close and staring too long at me.

“I’m still not convinced you’re the best person for the job,” he says, leaning against the wall.

Is he waiting for me to convince him?

“Give me two weeks,” I say.

“I’ll give you one.”

TWO

KYLER

It’s hard not to stare at the new bodyguard the Eagle Tactical team sent me. They assured me that Ryan Emerson is the best they have and great with kids.

What I didn’t expect was that Ryan was her last name and to come face-to-face with a tiny young brunette who doesn’t seem capable of looking after herself, let alone my daughter.

But she knocked my ass to the floor. I give her props for that, but I still have my doubts. Sure, she worked for the FBI, but she could have been a paper pusher all day where it was safe, and she never needed to use her skills.

By week’s end, she’ll be gone. There’s no way she’ll survive Bristol, my daughter, and the threats against my family.

And they’re not idle threats, either.

If I don’t do exactly as instructed, they’ve promised to come after my daughter and kill her.

The only problem, I don’t know who they are.

I could quit the league, leave hockey, and become a stay-at-home father. But that wouldn’t exactly solve the problem.

Whoever these men are who are threatening my family, they won’t stop if I walk away from the NHL. And I’m not about to quit my job. I live and breathe hockey. It would be like stealing away the last bit of oxygen that I need for survival.

And if that’s not bad enough, the Italian Mafia is inches from my doorstep. But I’ve kept that from the security team I contacted. All they know is that there is a credible threat against my family and my daughter.

That’s all they need to know right now.

Keeping them in the dark is protecting Bristol. I’m following their demands, doing what they require of me. And no one, not even my younger brother, knows about the real threat.

“Can I meet Bristol?” Emerson asks, already familiar with the assignment: my daughter.

“She’s asleep in bed.” It’s well after nine o’clock, and if she doesn’t get enough sleep, she’s incredibly moody, just like her mother used to be. “You’ll meet her tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll take you upstairs and show you to your room. If you’re not tired, you’re welcome to come back downstairs, and we can continue our conversation.”

The brunette sucks in a sharp breath. “I think I’ll retire to bed,” she says.

It’s probably best, although I do well to hide my disappointment.

Beside the front entrance is her small suitcase. I can’t imagine that it holds a week’s worth of clothes. “Is that everything you brought?” I ask, lifting the handle. It’s heavier than it looks. It’s no match for me, but I imagine Emerson would struggle with it up the stairs.

“I can carry my luggage,” Emerson says.

“You can, but I’ve got it,” I say. I lead her up the stairwell and offer her the guestroom next door to my daughter. I’m just across the hallway, although I keep that little tidbit to myself.

The house may be enormous, but I don’t need her sleeping on the opposite wing when she’s hired to look after and protect Bristol.

I open the door and flip on the light, letting her look around while I place the suitcase on the floor beside the bed. “There’s a private bath through that door and a walk-in closet attached.”

Unlike most women who fawn over the size of the estate and the sleeping arrangements, she hasn’t said much of anything. Although most of those women share my bed, they’re not given a room to themselves.

“Is it not to your liking?” I ask. It’s not as though I’m expecting a compliment, but she doesn’t look impressed.

“Everything seems fine. Would you mind if I looked at the security footage and cameras? I’d like to have a look around so that I become familiar with the property before going to bed.”

Her question strikes me off-guard.

She’s all business. And while she should be, it’s also late, not business hours. However, a live-in bodyguard doesn’t necessarily work a nine-to-five job. Technically, she doesn’t start until tomorrow, but I insisted when I spoke with Declan that there was no need for her to get a hotel for the night.

Did she just fly in from Montana, or is she a local?

I rub the back of my head, glancing her over. It’s hard not to watch her and focus on the way her hips sway as she walks. It’s been too long since I’ve bedded a woman. Having a six-year-old daughter makes it difficult. Oh, and there’s the celebrity status too.

That’s not to say I haven’t had my share of women when my daughter has a sleepover at my cousin’s place or my brother’s for the night.

But it’s never more than a one-night stand.

Women tend to want my bank account. They throw themselves at me, but it’s never real. And it doesn’t help that I became a billionaire before I could legally buy alcohol. It’s not a happy story, but it’s mine, whether I like it or not.

It weighs me down when I think about the investment, where the money came from, and what has happened since.

Most billionaires would walk away from sports and retire. Kick their feet up and lounge on a beach somewhere in the South Pacific or wherever suits them.

I’m not like most billionaires.

I enjoy the sport, the thrill of the ice under my skates, and the fans shouting in unison. There’s a rush of adrenaline I get in the arena that I don’t get anywhere else.

And I’ve tried.

Parachuting out of an airplane was fun and exciting, but it didn’t give me the same satisfactory rush. And having a kid also takes precedence. I can’t throw myself out of an airplane. The same could be said about me being a father and my away games, but Bristol stays with my cousin on those days and loves it.

“Sir?”

When I haven’t answered Ms. Ryan quickly enough, she steps toward me. “We don’t have time to waste, Mr. Greyson. If the threat is viable, we need to secure the house, and I want to make sure everything is working properly.”

“It’s viable, all right,” I mutter, brushing past her.

I feel the heat of her gaze on my back as she follows me down the stairs and to the security office. I open the door, gesturing for her to step in first.

The far wall is covered floor-to-ceiling with surveillance screens. They’re high-end and can merge into one giant screen or twenty individual screens which each focus on a camera around the property. There aren’t too many cameras inside the home. One leads up from the basement stairs, and there are cameras at each entrance of the house and garage.

I tower over her petite frame as she stands with her arms folded across her chest, glancing over the equipment. “Show me the controls,” she says.

There’s a long wooden desk with a control board and computer linked to all the cameras. I lead her to the panel and provide her with the password to access the system.

Within seconds, she’s tapping away at the keyboard, zooming in and out with the cameras, glancing at the screens. I’m not sure what she’s looking for or doing, but this isn’t her first time.

I shuffle on my feet, shifting the weight slightly, not wanting to feel like a complete ass for what I said earlier and worse for thinking that she was incapable based solely on her size.

She is small.

She is petite and quite adorable, I realize, the longer I stare at her.

But this is all business. I didn’t bring her into my home to have lurid thoughts about the bodyguard. I grimace.

Just thinking of her as the bodyguard seems comical. I run my hand over the back of my neck and exhale a heavy sigh.

“Something wrong?” Emerson asks. She glances at me over her shoulder.

I shake my head. She already knows I’m not impressed by her size. But if she can protect Bristol, that’s all that matters.

“You seem to have a pretty good idea of how to use the surveillance system,” I say, and clear my throat, trying to distract myself from the fact she’s leaning forward, head slightly tilted to the side, her cheeks red, likely from the chill outside and the rain.

She’s still in her damp clothes, although with her shoes off and the jacket discarded, she’s less soaked. The hem of her pants is wet, and her hair is damp and messy, but it makes her even more irresistible.

Fuck.

My cock twitches in my trousers.

I clear my throat and head out of the security office, leaving her alone. If Declan trusts her, then I should as well. Besides, she’s here to help, not make my life more complicated.

The heat dissipates the farther I am from Emerson. I stalk to the kitchen, open the fridge, and grab a bottle of water. I twist the cap off and turn around, glancing at the entrance of the kitchen. Emerson seems to have followed behind me.

I didn’t hear her leave the security office.

I didn’t even hear her footsteps against the wooden floorboards. I blame it on being distracted. Not that I need to listen for where Emerson goes, but I thought she’d be playing with the surveillance equipment a little while longer.

And I really don’t want her to see the tent I’m pitching. Thankfully, the counter is in the way to combat my embarrassment.

Hockey.

Pucks.

Anything to make me think about something other than what’s under Emerson’s damp clothes. And her nipples have made a grand appearance through her shirt.

But I open my mouth, and I can’t stop myself. My filter tonight seems to be broken. “You’re still wet,” I say.

Her brow furrows, and there’s that sexy little head tilt again.

“It’s just from the rain. I won’t melt.”

“You should dry off. You’re no good to me if you get pneumonia,” I say.

She bites down on her bottom lip, and I can’t tell if she’s holding back or if something else is going on inside her head.

Did Declan send me Emerson as a joke? We go way back and have a history together. He’s well aware of my situation with my daughter. I don’t date anyone because Bristol is my entire universe. I don’t want to bring someone into my life who is going to fuck things up with my kid.

And just being in Emerson’s vicinity lights a fire inside me that I hadn’t realized had been extinguished.

Hockey.

Mouthguards.

Penalty boxes.

Sports references aren’t helping in the slightest. The thought of Emerson at a game, wearing nothing but a jersey, flitters through my mind as she bends over in the penalty box, teasing me.

For fuck’s sake, I need an ice bath. Not even a cold shower will help me come down from this high I have around her.

And we just met.

“Daddy!” Bristol tears down the stairs, her footfalls not the least bit silent.

I glance at the clock. She should be in bed asleep.

There’s little chance that Emerson or I woke her. We’ve been quiet enough that sound isn’t traveling into my daughter’s bedroom upstairs.

She runs into the kitchen, breezing past Emerson, and throws her arms up in the air for me to catch her.

“What are you doing awake?” I ask, lifting her into my arms.

“I had a bad dream,” Bristol says, wrapping her arms around my neck as I cuddle her.

I rub her back, and her head falls against the crook of my neck.

She sniffles. Her cheeks are red, her eyes matching with dried tears that have recently streaked across her face. “Are you my new nanny?” Bristol asks, turning her head just enough to meet Emerson’s gaze.

Emerson opens her mouth, and I stop her before she can explain anything to my six-year-old daughter.

“Yes, she’s here as your nanny,” I say, hoping that Emerson will go along with it. The last thing I want is to scare Bristol. The nightmares have been more frequent over the past few weeks. If I explain to my daughter that there’s a credible threat against our family, she may never sleep again.

I don’t want to put that burden on Bristol. She doesn’t deserve it.

“Oh,” Bristol says and sniffles. She rubs her wet nose against my t-shirt. Thanks, kid. I’m pretty sure my shirt is smeared in boogers.

“Hi, Bristol. I’m Emerson.”

I practically hold my breath, waiting to see if she goes along with it, lying to my kid. It’s for Bristol’s sake. Scaring her isn’t going to do the slightest amount of good. She has enough fears as it is. I don’t want her to be afraid of the dark and never want to be alone.

At least believing Emerson is her nanny might help her acclimate to having someone constantly around to protect her.

Bristol doesn’t say anything, just stares at Emerson for a few seconds before she sniffles again. “Daddy, can I sleep in your bed?”

THREE

EMERSON

His daughter is absolutely adorable. I’ve discovered she’s six, in the first grade, and enrolled at a private school. Not that I’d expect anything less for a man who is wealthy as sin.

I’m not sure of his exact net worth, but Forbes puts him somewhere between millionaire and billionaire.

I did a Google search.

I’m not proud of it.

Call it research.

There are plenty of photographs of him. Not too many of his daughter. He’s done well to shield her from the spotlight.

Not that I haven’t done my fair share of investigating his background to determine how credible the threat on his family is and why I’m tasked with watching Bristol.

Shouldn’t I also be protecting Kyler Greyson?

And sure, I can protect Kyler when he’s at home, but I can’t protect him while he’s on the ice. But at least the arena has guards and security, a full staff trained to protect the players.

I sip my mug of coffee, the caramel macchiato creamer making it taste not the least bit bitter. Dessert in a cup for breakfast. Plus, it helps keep my ass alert in the morning, a necessity when taking Bristol to school.

The kid is in the first grade of an eclectic private school. It’s top-notch, super chic, and will probably help her carve the path to get into Harvard or some other Ivy League college one day.

I’m sure that’s why he’s sending his daughter there, for the best education and the brightest future. Rich parents tend to dote on their kids, giving them everything they can to encourage them that they can be anything they want.

It’s not my place to break it to her that the world is cruel and unjust.

“Emmie,” Bristol says as I sit beside her in the backseat of the sedan. Kyler has a private driver, Mitchell, who takes us everywhere. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t trust my driving, which he’s never seen, or he’s just so rich he has money to throw away for a chauffeur.

She’s given me the nickname Emmie, and I haven’t corrected her. She likes Emmie better than Emerson. Some adults might find it off-putting or disrespectful, but I take it as a win.

I need Bristol to trust me so that I can adequately do my job and protect her. Although, I’m not keen on the fact Kyler chose to lie to his daughter about why I was hired.

When the driver pulls up to Bristol’s school, I step out with her, waiting for her to grab her backpack from the backseat. “You’re coming in with me?” She stares up at me with wide, unsuspecting eyes.

An ordinary nanny would drop her off and pick her up.

“I need to speak with the headmaster,” I say, patting her shoulder as she slings her backpack on. It’s practically bigger than she is, but it doesn’t appear too heavy or bulky.

She gives me a wave goodbye and races off to be with her friends as they hurry inside the school. The kids are all dressed in blue and gray school uniforms. She blends in, which is both good and bad.

From the outside, everything appears normal. Mundane. Did Kyler inform the headmaster that I would be coming? How much does he know about the threat to the Greyson family?

The chauffeur waits for me outside the front entrance and shuts the vehicle door as I head inside the school. Immediately, I’m greeted by one of the teachers or staff members of some sort.

“Can I help you?” the woman asks. She’s wearing a lanyard around her neck with an identification tag. I should be relieved that they’re quite on top of security, but there are no metal detectors or any other type of surveillance system that I can see. No cameras. No high-tech equipment.

“Yes, I’m Emerson Ryan. I’d like to speak with the headmaster.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asks, glancing me up and down. Her brow tightens, and she looks at her watch.

She probably has to be in class soon with her students. A bell chimes and the kids start to hurry inside their respective classrooms.

“I don’t,” I say. “Mr. Kyler Greyson assured me I wouldn’t need an appointment.”

Her eyes widen, and the woman nods. “Oh, I see. This is about Bristol and Liam.”

“Yes,” I say, although I’m not sure what transpired between the two students. Kyler has kept me in the dark, but it is only my first week on the job. The background that we dug up when trying to focus on potential threats was on Kyler. No one looked into Bristol directly. After all, she’s six.

“Come with me,” the woman says as she ushers me down the hall, through the hustle and bustle as the students head into class and the second bell rings. She’s quick and light on her feet, and her strides make me have to jog to keep up.

The main office door is wide open, and she leads me inside to the front desk. “They’ll be able to help you here,” she says before hurrying to her classroom.

I can only imagine the chaos of leaving a roomful of elementary-aged children alone, more specifically, first graders. I’m assuming that woman was one of Bristol’s teachers. Why else would she have known who Bristol was and about some type of skirmish between Bristol and Liam?

Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. For all I know, the two could have been caught kissing on the playground.

Although, I doubt it.

I introduce myself to the woman behind the desk, and she has me take a seat and wait for the headmaster to be available.

A few minutes pass, and I shift uncomfortably, not liking the idea of Bristol being on her own. Although if it’s a kid she has to deal with, that’s far less concerning to me than a real threat—the kind that involves violence and men with guns.

Eventually, I’m brought into the headmaster’s office, and I introduce myself.

“Hi, I’m Emerson Ryan,” I begin, and the gentleman cuts me off before I can continue.

“I know who you are,” he says, gesturing for me to have a seat. “You’re here on behalf of Kyler Greyson. He couldn’t be bothered to show up or return our calls regarding his daughter.”

I exhale a heavy breath. “He is incredibly busy, as I’m sure you can understand. Given his public image, status, and wealth, I’ve been brought in to protect his daughter.”

“Protect her?” He laughs sourly and rubs his forehead. He removes his spectacles and leans back at his desk. He’s an older man with a protruding belly that sticks out from his desk as he does so.

“Is that what he told you? That his daughter needs protecting from Liam Moretti?”

“Moretti,” I repeat, the name clicking on my tongue, “as in the Moretti crime family?” Any sane person would have probably not asked that question aloud, but I’ve been known to push when it’s not always appropriate.

Having worked for the FBI for even a short time, I have plenty of knowledge of the crime families in and around New York City. We had a team tasked with taking down the Russian Bratva. They weren’t successful at the time I left the bureau, but it wasn’t my unit. And I haven’t followed up to find out if they ever did take down Mikhail Barinov or his men.

The headmaster clears his throat, pushes his chair back, and stands. He briskly walks to the door and shuts it before turning around to face me.

“The walls have ears, Ms. Ryan,” he says. “It would be wise for you to remember that.”

I bite down on my tongue, opting not to divulge that I previously worked for the FBI. The hairs on my arms stand on end around the headmaster. There’s something about him that’s not quite right.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s well aware he has students enrolled in his school who have parents who are involved in organized crime. I try not to overanalyze the situation like I typically would as a federal agent. The fact that the guy is taking money, whether it be from a donation or school fees, the money is dirty.

But that’s not my job to worry about or uncover.

I’m here solely to protect Bristol.

“I’ve been hired by Mr. Greyson to protect his daughter, Bristol,” I say. “Mr. Greyson has reason to believe his daughter may be in danger.”

He exhales a nervous laugh.

Sweat glistens on his forehead.

“Is that really necessary?” He reaches into his pocket for his handkerchief and dabs his forehead.

What is he hiding?

“You tell me,” I say, refusing to let my gaze waver. “Break it down for me. What happened between Bristol and Liam on school grounds?”

He nods and shuffles back to his desk. Finding the leather chair, he sits, his stare constantly moving around the room. He’s anxious, but I can’t tell if it’s out of guilt or fear. What do the Morettis have on him?

“The two children are in the same class together. Liam sits behind Bristol and thought it would be fun to lift her chair with his feet. It was just a little harmless flirting.” The headmaster waves his hand dismissively. “She took things too far.”

“What did Bristol do?”

“She punched him.”

I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from saying something I shouldn’t. I have a plethora of questions, but I have the sneaking suspicion that there is more to the story that the headmaster is leaving out.

“I will speak with Bristol,” I say, “and with Mr. Greyson when I bring her home this evening. When did this incident occur?”

“Friday.”

I’d already had the job with Kyler Greyson lined up well before last Friday, which means the incident with the Moretti family either goes further back or something else is the threat to Bristol and Kyler.

* * *

After I finish discussing the situation regarding the children, I make it clear I need to see the security measures that are put in place. It was obvious that I was able to easily walk up and into the school.

Whether the Moretti family is the threat or not, I need to know that Bristol is safe in her classroom.

Convinced that Bristol isn’t in any immediate danger, I return to the town car, and the gentleman opens the back door for me. “Mr. Greyson has asked you to meet him at the ice hockey arena.”

The stadium hires its own private security, so I’m a bit taken aback by his request for me to meet him at the venue.

“Did he say what it was about?” I ask, hoping to gather at least some information before arriving.

Mitchell isn’t particularly forthcoming. He merely shakes his head and shuts my car door before he steps around to the front of the vehicle.

I glance at my phone. There are no messages from Kyler or any of the Eagle Tactical team. Declan assigned me the job, but he hasn’t called or texted. Not that I expect him to check in and see how things are going. I’m plenty capable of handling the assignment.

I shove my phone into my purse. My stomach tenses, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m leaving Bristol behind at school, where I know she’s as safe as she can be, or the fact that something just doesn’t feel right.

What is Kyler hiding? It has to be something. There’s no reason that his life would otherwise be in danger, or rather, his daughter’s.

I need to know what the actual threat is and whether it’s credible. How can I be expected to do my job in the dark?

The ice hockey arena is on the opposite side of town. We’re ushered in through a side entrance, and Kyler stalks out of the building on our approach.

He yanks open the back door for me just as the town car comes to a halt.

“You’re late,” Kyler says, like it’s my fault for driving too slow.

There was traffic, and I had to make sure Bristol was safe before leaving her at school. “You neglected to mention we had an appointment,” I say, stepping out of the vehicle.

He slams the door shut behind me. His dark gaze rakes over my body for a little too long. His jaw is tight. He’s tense. I imagine he never gets any time off between work and being a single father.

“Did you bother checking your phone?” he asks and holds out his hand, palm up.

I just stare at him blankly.

“Your phone,” he states, shaking his head, waiting for me to get on the same page as him.

We’re on two different planets at this point.

I grab the cell phone that he provided me with and show it to him.

Meanwhile, the driver pulls the vehicle away from the curb, leaving me alone with Kyler. Well, not completely alone. We are standing outside the arena, which towers above us.

Kyler snatches the phone from my fingers and shoves it in my face to unlock it. “Real classy,” I mutter under my breath.

He doesn’t comment on it and flips through until he finds the calendar app that he clearly felt it necessary to show me, right now, outside, by the curb. Apparently, it couldn’t wait.

He’s that type. The one who has to have things done immediately and won’t put his feet up for two minutes to relax. He’s probably the type A, where if it isn’t done his way, he’ll go back over and do it again.

This should be fun.

I bite down on my bottom lip as he shows me the appointment for meeting him at the arena. I glance at my watch. “I’m three minutes late,” I say. “And you failed to mention the scuffle between Bristol and Liam at school. I got to hear about it from the headmaster.” I don’t mention the brief introduction with the teacher, who happened to know about it as well. I have the sneaking suspicion he wants me to get right to the point.

“Kids,” he says and gives a mere shrug. “Bristol was defending herself. I don’t see the problem.”

“Violence isn’t a problem?”

“She told him to stop. He didn’t. So she did the next best thing.”

“And you don’t think that would be telling a teacher?” I ask.

“I didn’t raise a tattletale.” His gaze is locked on mine, unwavering.

The heat between us sizzles, and I exhale sharply and take a step back. It’s too hot. Too much and too fast.

Kyler is intense.