This is such an easy option that I feel terrible even considering it. Jerico’s doing too much for me, and I don’t like how it’s making me feel. I’ve never been one to depend on others for help, outside of asking my brother for a loan… and I’ll not be making that mistake again.
Resting my hand on Jerico’s chest, I say, “Let me think about the job offer.”
It’s obvious he wants to argue and force me into accepting, but he holds his tongue and gives me an accepting nod. My heart almost doubles in on itself when he asks hesitantly, “But you still want to see me? Regardless of whether I have you in the club or not?”
Smiling wide, I give him a resounding, “Yes. That part’s a done deal.”
“Then we’ll figure out everything else later,” Jerico says as he drags me out of The Silo and to his apartment.
CHAPTER 25
Jerico
After pulling the seven-iron from my bag, I reach into my pocket and curl my fingers around the golf ball and tee I’d shoved in there after the last hole. I keep my eyes on the flag of this par-three. There’s barely any wind so this should be an easy shot to the green.
One foot planted, the other one rises slightly as I bend down to push the tee into the ground with the golf ball already on top of it. I step behind the tee and take a few practice swings.
“Fifty bucks says you don’t hit the green,” Kynan says as I move in closer.
“You’re on,” I say without looking at him. I’ve been on fire today, my confidence in my game at an all-time high. Maybe it’s because Trista let me tie her to my bed last night or maybe it’s just because I’m currently kicking Kynan’s ass, but I know I’ll hit the green.
Easiest money ever.
I position myself, rocking left and right a few times to get stabilized. My head turns to look at the green once more, down to the ball, back to the green, and finally back to the ball. I swing. When I make contact, I know it’s a good shot. My eyes lock on the ball as it sails down the fairway but only for a moment. I’m so confident I don’t watch it land but rather reach down to pick up my tee. When I stand back up, Kynan’s muttering a curse and pulling his wallet out to hand me fifty bucks.
Grinning, I gladly take his money, loving this day. It started with Trista’s warm body beside me, and I’d forgotten how nice it was to snuggle with someone and wake up all tangled up in each other. She made breakfast—French toast—and then we took a long, leisurely, and orgasmic shower together. She headed home to get some personal things done, and I met Kynan out here at the golf course an hour ago.
Kynan follows the same routine I just did to get ready for his shot. Normally, we’re evenly matched, but I’m riding high today and he won’t be able to come close to the groove I’ve got going. After he tees off, we deposit our clubs back in our bags, which are sitting on hand carts, and we start walking along the fairway to the green.
“I want out by the end of the year,” I tell Kynan, but he doesn’t show any response. Not a jerk, a head snap my way, or even a “what the fuck?”
“Do you have an official buyout proposal?” he asks, getting right down to business.
It’s no secret I want to sell The Jameson Group. Military special ops have been a big part of my life for the past eleven years, but with almost fifteen months of owning The Wicked Horse under my belt, I know this is all I want to do. It’s the next phase of my life. I’m leaving one career and starting another. And who knows, maybe in ten or fifteen years, I’ll start another.
But Kynan is the only one I’d trust to take over the business and keep it within the exacting standards I’ve set. He knows I want out and I’ve slated him to be the one, but he had no clue my timeline would be this fast. I’m sure he felt I’d stay in another five years or so, which is why I’m surprised he’s taking this so casually.
“I’ve worked up an official proposal and my attorney is reviewing it now,” I tell Kynan.
“Without even knowing what you’re going to need,” Kynan says as we continue walking side by side while pulling our hand carts. “I can tell you right now I don’t have the type of money I’m suspecting you’re going to want to buy you out.”
Here’s the thing about private security.
It’s expensive.
Whether we’re protecting a rock star on tour, rescuing a kidnap victim, gathering intelligence, or doing something so top secret we could land in jail and the government would disavow us, the money is a big reason why I created the company rather than stay in the military for my kicks. The Jameson Group has over fifty special operatives around the world and another hundred security professionals. While the professional security services for the wealthy and elite provide the bread and butter from which we survive, it’s the top-secret government contracts where we really earn the big bucks. I personally haven’t netted less than three million a year in my pocket after making sure everyone else is paid very, very well and all expenses covered.
While I haven’t lived frugally, I’ve saved most of it, and I really don’t have to work another day in my life if I don’t want to. But I’m not one to sit around and just play golf all the time, so I’ll always be in business one way or the other.
“I’ve had the business appraised,” I tell Kynan as we approach the green. “It came in around twenty-two million.”
“I definitely cannot afford that,” Kynan says gruffly.
“Relax,” I tell him as I set my cart and pull out a club. “That’s the value over your lifetime. But I want out now and you’re the only one I trust, so I’m prepared to take seven million. Put down whatever you can and I’ll finance the rest by you keeping me on the payroll as a consultant.”
Kynan’s eyebrows shoot upward. “That’s actually a little unfair to you. And why the rush?”
I look back to the tee we just left, not seeing the next group there yet, so we have a few minutes to chat. Kynan walks to his ball, which also hit the green but is further from the hole than mine.
“I want out sooner rather than later,” I give him the answer to his question. “And to let me get out, I’m willing to accept less than the value. I figure six months is enough time to transition you out of field ops and into the office to run the damn thing.”
“What if I don’t want out of field ops?” he asks.
“Then do them,” I say with a shrug. “It will be your business to run however you want.”
“You still didn’t answer my question,” he says with a smirk.
I blink at him. I thought I had.
So he reminds me. “But why now?”
I give another shrug, trying to act casual. I really hadn’t planned on moving this fast, but I want to free up my time. Work has kept me so busy over the years that I haven’t had time for things like relationships, but that’s going to change. Trista has changed me. Changed what I want in life. “I just want to cut back on work. Start enjoying life, you know. I’ve worked my ass off doing dangerous stuff and now I want to take it easy. Is that so hard to understand?”