His chuckle sounds again, even louder now that it echoes through the halls. “Eleanor would say that, but that’s because I divorced her before I made my first million.”
And he’s made many since as the founder of Alliance, a private security company that provides elite protection services to companies and governments, including our own. The contracts are worth tens of millions each—sometimes more—and rife with global media attention, with claims of everything from corruption to undue aggression against civilians in war-torn countries. Bentley pushes on, though, succeeding by continually sticking with his good intentions. Keeping people safe is a motto he lives and breathes every day, and America is a country he loves. He draws no lines when it comes to doing what needs to be done for the greater good. Things that our own government doesn’t want to get its hands dirty dealing with.
That’s why sometimes he needs me.
We go through another door and pass several staff members in various uniforms who smile and nod but otherwise remain part of the backdrop. “Have you been back to California since—”
“No.”
He nods but he doesn’t press it any further, reaching for the willowy, pale blonde who rounds the corner. She looks exactly like her pictures in the newspapers and magazines, the Finnish wife of an influential U.S. Navy SEAL officer turned businessman, who likes to dress in white to match her hair and throw cocktail parties.
“This is Tuuli.”
Her cheekbones protrude with a bold smile, her deep-set chestnut eyes flashing with interest as they size me up. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. . . .” she probes, her English perfect, trace amounts of her origin detectable. She’s been in California for only four years, when Bentley married and imported her, so I’m guessing she’s had the help of a linguistics trainer.
“White,” Bentley answers for me, not giving me a chance to use my real name. He obviously wants to keep his beautiful wife in the dark where I’m concerned.
If she senses any deception, it doesn’t show. “Well, I hope you’ll be staying with us, Mr. White? I can have a room made up for you.”
“I need to get back to San Francisco tonight. But thank you.” As nice as a few nights watching California put its vines to bed for the winter would be, I have big plans for a hole-in-the-wall motel that accepts cash payments and asks no questions.
Leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek, Bentley murmurs, “I’ll come find you when we’re done.”
She looks at the diamond-encrusted watch that decorates her slender wrist. “Don’t forget that we have that dinner tonight, right?”
“I’ll be in my suit and waiting by the door at six p.m. sharp,” he promises before continuing on, forcing me to trail, Tuuli’s curious gaze on me as I pass. I wonder exactly how much he keeps from her. I wonder if she’d be looking at me like that—and inviting me to sleep under her roof—if she knew the kinds of things I’ve done for her husband.
Maybe. Obscene wealth has a way of making people view the dark side of reality differently.
Bentley leads me into his office—a grandiose room with vaulted ceilings and Persian rugs and even an American flag in the corner—and gestures to a chair with a perfect view through the French doors of a balcony and, beyond that, hundreds of rolling acres of vineyard.
“How do you cope with such poor work conditions?”
He smirks. “Not exactly the Aegean Sea, but it’s a decent view.”
Of course he traced our call.
He settles against a hefty walnut desk in the center of the room, resting his arms on his chest. “How have you been, Sebastian? It’s been a while.”
It has been a while, both since I saw him and since someone has called me by my real name. Sometimes it feels like just yesterday that I was squatting behind blown-out walls with this man—my team’s leader—doing nothing but waiting. To live, to die, we were never sure what the long hours would bring. It was during those times that our friendship grew, that our mutual trust solidified.
A lot has happened since then. Things that cannot be forgotten.