Singe (Guardian Protection #1)

“Good to know,” I mumbled.

The door opened and I followed Devon out into an open breezeway. The cool wind whipped past us, rendering the fifty-dollar product the chick at the salon had to talked me into buying and the twenty minutes I’d spent trying to make my chin-length, sandy-brown hair appear professional useless. I did my best to tuck it behind my ears as he led me toward the only door in the breezeway.

“Leo will issue you your own security card. There’s an intercom at the elevator and the front door if you ever forget it though.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Word of advice. Don’t fucking forget it. Chances are whoever is in the security room will leave you hanging as entertainment. And the colder it is or the harder it’s snowing, the longer you’ll wait.” He once again waved his card in front of a sensor beside the door and then pushed it open.

As the scent of vanilla and bacon rushed out, Devon growled his approval and walked inside, holding the door wide for me to enter behind him.

Inside, I got my first glance of Guardian Protection Agency. It was a far cry from the sterile business environment of my last job. Actually, it didn’t look like an office at all. Dark hardwood floors covered the expansive area. No walls divided the rooms, but overstuffed leather couches, complete with matching leather ottomans and a big screen TV, had been arranged to section off a living room. Behind it, a long, rectangular table surrounded by at least twelve chairs served to create a dining room. And, on the far right, an island with a black marble countertop and six barstools separated the dining room from the kitchen. But not just a regular kitchen you would expect to find in an office break room. I was no chef, but it didn’t take an expert to recognize that the stainless-steel appliances were all top of the line.

“Shut the door. You’re letting out the warm—” a woman started only to stop when her eyes landed on me. A huge smile broke across her face. “You must be Jude,” she said, tugging a baby-blue apron that matched her eyes over her head. She smoothed down her long, blond hair and her fitted, black dress while heading in my direction. “I’m Sarah James. Leo’s wife.”

“Jude Levitt. Nice to meet you.” I took her hand, and her returned shake was surprisingly firm.

“Christ, you’re a tall one,” she stated.

She was pretty damn tall herself, but at six-five, I towered over her.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

Devon coughed loudly to cover an unmistakable laugh.

“Ma’am?” she questioned in horror.

I quickly amended. “I mean…yeah.”

She shot me a blinding, white smile and patted me on the chest. “Better.” Spinning on a toe, she headed back to the kitchen. “Let me tell the rest of the guys breakfast is ready and I’ll get you some coffee.” Then she turned around and yelled to an empty room, “Breakfast is ready!”

As if she’d rung the cowbell at feeding time, men began flooding in. Some offered me chin lifts, others gave me a pat on the back, and a few grunted, “What’s up?” as they passed. It seemed a table full of food was more interesting than the new guy.

Devon shoved me on the shoulder when I didn’t fall in line behind the rest of the men. “Come on. Grab a plate. And drop the ma’am shit. Take it from me: Her biscuits and gravy are hell to eat off the floor.”

I chuckled and, out of habit, rubbed my hand under my hair and over the scars on the back of my head. “Noted.”

“So, I hear you moved here from LA?” he asked.

I followed him to the end of the newly formed serving line. “Yeah. I was at PPS until they closed up shop last month. Luckily, my name got passed over to Leo.”

“No luck involved. Word is you’re good.”

I shrugged.

With a past like mine, I’d learned to follow protocol to a T. I couldn’t afford to have any more fuck-ups haunting me. I was barely surviving with the one I had.

So, damn right I was good. However, so was Leo James. His agency was known throughout the country for his team of misfits and his unconventional take on personal security—which basically meant he got shit done for his clients and wasn’t above turning a blind eye to how it happened as long as, at the end, it was done. In my research, I’d found that turnover was virtually nonexistent for Leo, and clients eagerly sat on waitlists for over a year in order to work with his firm. It’d been a miracle I’d gotten the job at all.

When Patterson’s Personal Security shut down, it left over fifty of California’s best scrambling for a position. Despite the fact that I’d been highly successful in my three-plus years working in personal security, I hadn’t figured I’d had a shot in hell at Guardian Protection’s only opening. Yet I’d been hired without so much as an interview. One day, I had been unemployed; the next, a new-hire packet had landed in my mailbox.

Needless to say, I’d taken the job.

“Word is right,” I confirmed.

He nodded, picking up two floral plates and then passing one my way. “You’ll love it here. Leo’s good people. Though I should warn you. The bullshit here isn’t much better than the bullshit out in LA.”

“Were you out there too?” I asked curiously.

The flinch was almost imperceptible, but he wasn’t quick enough to hide it. “Yeah. Just some private security. No one special. Anyway…where are you living?”

No one special my ass. As much as I wanted to press, I didn’t need anyone returning the favor and prying into my past.

I shuffled forward with the line. “Currently? A hotel.”

He sucked in a low whistle. “That’s gotta suck. Let me know if you need help finding a place. I’d be happy to ask around for you.”

“That’d be great. I’m paying a small fortune to keep my shit in a storage unit.”

He chuckled. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re gonna be paying a small fortune to keep your shit in your apartment when you get a place here.”

I sighed. From what I’d seen on the market so far, he was not wrong.

“You got a family?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Divorced.”

“Ouch. Well, a one-bedroom shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Two bedrooms,” I corrected.

He arched an eyebrow. “Kids?”

How did I answer that? April and I had never had any kids. Thank the Lord for that miracle, considering she’d started trying without my knowledge before we had even gotten married. But I’d Jerry McGuire’d that woman so fucking hard. She’d had an eight-year-old when we first met, and truth be told, I fell in love with that little girl long before I did her mother. Despite the fact that we only stayed married for two years, Valerie was very much mine.

“Something like that,” I mumbled evasively.

“Gotcha,” Devon whispered, taking the hint and turning around to end the inquisition.

When we reached the food, I took just enough not to seem rude and then made my way over to the seats, where Sarah had placed two cups of coffee. Devon settled beside me with a plate tall enough to rival Everest.