10. Elijah

We were back at Lincoln Beaumont's estate.

I stood in the hallway, in front of the door to his office, while Luke tore the room apart. Searching for a flash drive full of secrets that probably didn't exist.

At least, that's what it sounded like he was doing—shifting boxes, pulling open drawers, cursing under his breath after muffled crashing sounds. His father had never played music in the five years I worked for him. But now the sounds of upbeat reggae filtered into the hallway, with Luke singing along.

I flexed both hands slowly, loosening the tension in my joints. Updates from the other protection agents circling the property came in over my earpiece while I scanned the oceanfront view from the windows. This part of the estate functioned as TBG's local offices when Lincoln stayed here. Which, when I was with him, was more often than not.

The hallway opened into a sitting area, decorated in dark wood paneling like the rest of the house. A large brick hearth dominated one wall with an oil portrait painting of Lincoln and his wife, Celine, hanging above. To my left was the empty desk where his assistant Adrian had sat until recently. Four other doors led to meeting rooms and administrative offices.

The Beaumont family's private stretch of beach was visible through the large windows. Beneath Luke's music was the hushed sound of the ocean and passing sea gulls.

The staff who worked the estate operated here in near-perfect silence, cleaning and cooking around the people who used these offices and the family members who lived here. Providing a seamless array of constant food and gleaming floors, ensuring TBG's clients enjoyed an ambience of high-end luxury. The staff and I exchanged quick nods of understanding whenever our eyes met, used to people treating us like a spare piece of furniture, as ordinary as the wallpaper.

I was comfortable with the odd intimacy of my career by now. I'd escorted clients on their romantic vacations, to five-star hotel rooms and Michelin-starred restaurants. Over the years, I'd overheard their heated arguments, their most personal stories.

Their many fears and secrets.

"It's really fucking weird, the way you're facing away from me," Luke called out from inside the room. "A killer could break in through this window and murder me before you even noticed."

I gave him my profile. "There are agents outside for that exact reason."

"Are they as good as you are?"

"Yes. Or they wouldn't be there," I said. "What is actually weird is your continued need for conversation. Some of us are working."

I heard Luke approach me. Could smell the sandalwood aftershave he'd applied this morning, right after I'd stanched the blood from his cut. His skin had been warm from the shower, his pulse rapid beneath my fingers.

As if I made him nervous.

He popped his head out from the door. "Can you come inside so I can ask you some questions?"

"About what, exactly?"

He lowered his voice. "The stuff you promised to help me with yesterday. Right before a chandelier almost crushed us to death."

I slid my eyes back to the wall. "I'm needed out here. We're set up this way for a reason."

Luke sighed and went back inside. I released a breath, stretched my neck from side to side. It was barely noon and I was rapidly approaching my personal limit for unprofessional behavior. It was true that I'd been furious with Luke this morning—his cavalier attitude about his own safety, how quickly he'd assumed the rules didn't apply to him.

Probably because they never had.

Yet those frustrations weren't an excuse for storming into that bathroom to help him with a minor cut he'd given himself while shaving. A cut I'd only known about because I'd stationed myself directly outside the bathroom door, where I could hear him showering.

Concerns for his safety aside, I didn't need to be that close, that curious, that interested.

But somewhere in the middle of that shower, I'd heard something…the softest groan. Luke was naked beneath the shower spray. Groaning. The sound was as low and raspy as his voice, stripped of his usual charm and swagger.

And I never should have heard it.

Never should have stood close to him when he was draped in just a towel, with drops of water in his chest hair and heat radiating from his skin. I'd kept my gaze trained and clinical and swore to myself I wouldn't do it again.

Couldn't do it again.

There came a crackling in my ear. Then, "Client is opening office window."

At the same time, I heard Luke opening the window and I turned toward it on instinct. Watched him hinge forward and wave.

"Hey, Sylvester," he called down. "Can you come up here real quick?"

"Lucas," I hissed, stepping into the office. "What the hell are you doing?"

He turned, flashing an arrogant smile. "Making sure we're protected while you're in here with me. My safety's the priority, yeah?"

Sylvester appeared ten seconds later, slightly out of breath. "Sir?"

Irritation zipped up my spine, made worse by Luke's smug expression. But I kept my cool and said, "Sorry for the change, Sylvester. Mr. Beaumont and I need to speak about the recent threats his father faced. Do you mind keeping an eye on things out here while we do it?"

He nodded. "Not a problem."

Then I turned, shut the door, and shot a glare at my aggravating client.

"We're back to Mr. Beaumont again?" Luke asked. "Or is that just because you're pissed at me?"

I stalked across the room and didn't miss the way his eyes darted up and down my body. "Is it your goal to make my job absolutely impossible for the entire length of our time together?"

Luke stood from where he'd been perched on the end of the table. "My goal is to figure out my father's secret dastardly deeds. A goal you agreed to help me with yesterday so that I would reinstate your contract."

Guilt had me eyeing the door, where Sylvester stood outside. "Yes, and?"

"And I can feel you not wanting to help me."

"That's because I don't want to help you," I snapped. "And you broke our agreement this morning, the first chance you got."

His cheeks flushed. "I apologized for that. And it won't happen again. I've got too much information to dig through." He indicated the office, which had gone from tidy and elegant to pure chaos. "So far, nothing I've looked at has been labeled ‘Warning: Flash drives filled with potentially dangerous secrets inside.'"

"Generally speaking, that's not how dangerous secrets work."

"Which is why I'd love to speak to the person who stood next to him for five years," Luke said. "That person being you, Elijah."

He crossed the room, brushing past me, and fell backward onto the black leather couch beneath the bay window. Kicked his legs up and leveled me with a smirk. "What were his days like?"

I dropped my gaze to the floor. "Busy."

"Busy how?"

I hedged, my fingers curling into fists. Reminded myself that keeping the Beaumont contract was vital and Luke would surely lose interest in a matter of days. "When he was here, in Cape Avalon, he took meetings in this office a lot. Went to on-site visits to different properties. Met with board members and clients. Stayed here working late sometimes. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Luke nodded. "Were you in some of these meetings?"

"No," I admitted. "Your father is…was…extremely private."

Luke raised his arms and settled the back of his head against his palms. "Who do you think I should meet with first? Who's known him long enough to know his secrets?"

"I honestly don't know."

He studied me, a smile playing on his lips. "In all that time, there wasn't a single person you thought was suspicious?"

"That's a long time to remember."

"And I bet you'd describe your memory as perfect."

I ground my molars. "I'll think about it."

He cocked his head to the side. "Didn't Preston mention that Dad had an assistant who just quit? Adrian something? Maybe he has some information he wouldn't mind sharing on his former boss."

"Lincoln had many assistants," I said. "Some only stayed a few months. Adrian wasn't here long."

"But he quit right before my dad died," Luke mused. "Interesting. Very interesting." He sat up on the couch, swinging his feet back to the carpet. "Can I ask you a question about what you said earlier? About needing to know the names of who I was sleeping with?"

I cleared my throat. "Something you'd like to share?"

"If I went on a date, would you or another bodyguard be there, like…with me?"

"Discreetly. But yes."

"Because so many of your clients are murdered on dates?" he asked, then snapped his fingers. "Wait, let me guess. Arsenic in their drink."

"Unless you're dating someone and haven't revealed that information to us, there isn't a need to discuss this now. We can always reassess when, or if, you're next asked on a date."

Luke whistled under his breath. "If I'm asked on a date?"

I didn't reply but held his gaze. Luke hooked his arm around the back of the couch and his T-shirt stretched across his broad chest. "And the same goes if I'm bringing someone home for the night, correct?"

I wouldn't think about it. Wouldn't think about Luke at a bar, looking just like this. Knowing he could crook his finger and have every person in there crawling toward him. Begging for one taste, one kiss, one night.

"That's correct," I managed to say.

Luke nodded but didn't surrender my gaze. He had it trapped with a predator's skill, forcing me back into that bathroom, with my hand on his throat and drops of water clinging to his long eyelashes. I know what you must think of me.

"This is good to know, as it happens more often than you think," he said.

I lifted my chin in response. "Then I'll ensure the background check is thorough."

His expression shifted, growing serious. "Does that mean your company knew about my dad's affairs?"

What had he said, back at his house? You've read our files. You know what happened to my mother. I'd almost responded with, I know. It happened to my mother too.

I paused. Watched a twinge of sadness darken Luke's face. "We did know about the affairs. Do you believe that to be relevant to the missing flash drive?"

He turned his head away. "I believe every aspect of my father's shitty behavior to be relevant. We know people have killed for less."

"Why would they come after you though?" I asked before I could help myself.

"That's a good point," he said, eyes flicking back to me. "I knew there was a reason I was keeping you around, Elijah. And not only for your first aid abilities and sparkling conversational skills."

"I'm paid for one and not for the other."

He brightened. "Does that mean every conversation we've had has been out of the kindness of your own heart?"

"Every conversation we've had has been because you're badgering your bodyguard with questions…sir."

A devilish grin tugged at his lips, like we were in the middle of a game he just realized he won. But then came a knock at the door, Sylvester's head peeking in. He opened his mouth to speak but Preston was already barging through.

"Fuck me," Luke swore under his breath. Raising his voice, he said, "Get out of here, bro. I'm not in the mood and I'm clearly busy."

Preston regarded the mess of boxes with a haughty air of disapproval. "What is all of this?"

"I'm redecorating. What do you think?"

His focus lit back on Luke. "And what are you wearing? We strictly adhere to business attire in these offices."

Luke plucked at his navy blue board shorts. "This is business attire for me."

"Where are Dad's paintings? The one's from over the couch?"

I'd noticed their absence as well—three scenes depicting a hunt, vibrantly colored and so detailed they were almost gruesome.

Luke raked his hands through his dark hair. "I took them down, dumped them in one of the hall closets. Didn't you always hate those things too? You told me that the dead boar gave you nightmares."

"They're thematic." Preston scoffed.

Luke snorted. "Animal murder isn't a theme I vibe with. I'm a vegetarian, remember?"

Preston's eyes narrowed. "Power was the theme of those paintings. Something you'd know if you hadn't fucked off in every single one of your art history classes at NYU."

Luke's response was a wistful smile. "I was only fucking off because I was too busy hooking up with a hot TA named Jeremy. That man taught me everything I know about art."

I shifted on my feet, attempting to control my body's reaction to his words. I knew Luke was queer—it was buried in his file somewhere, plus he was anything but subtle. I'd registered his flirting with me as a sign of his boredom, a halfhearted interest in a shiny, new plaything. He certainly wasn't the first wealthy client to flirt with the help and he wouldn't be the last.

But there was a difference, knowing it for sure.

"I so love hearing all the ways you've shirked your responsibilities, Lucas," Preston replied.

Luke's jaw flexed but his tone stayed light. "Did you swing by just to ask me what and where various things are? I actually am busy."

Preston's attention shifted my way. "I need to speak with you about a few items. It's urgent. And private."

Luke followed his brother's gaze, then shook his head. "Elijah stays in the room. Haven't you heard someone's out to kill me?" He pointed his pen at the ceiling, where the chandelier had hung. "And this house is a fucking death trap."

His brother looked bemused. "You believe I'm a threat now?"

Luke tossed me a grin. "What's your professional opinion, Elijah? And before you answer, I'll have you know that Preston used to cheat during snowball fights by hitting me in the face."

I flinched in sympathy and Luke caught it, looking delighted. But before he could say anything, Preston sank down in the maroon armchair by the fireplace, dropping a file onto the coffee table with a sigh. He peered around at the disorganized mess and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You need an assistant. I shudder to picture your inbox right now. Kenneth's fielding calls for you nonstop, if you'd like to thank him at some point."

"I'll do no such thing," Luke said archly. "Why would I thank a man who took great pleasure in belittling us when we were teenagers?"

"He was providing mentorship and guidance, something we sorely needed in the wake of Mom's death. Something you especially needed, if you recall."

Luke pulled a frown. "Sadly, I don't recall."

Preston's eyes flashed with irritation. "When it comes to hiring Adrian's replacement, I can pull together some candidates but you have to promise to actually interview them."

"Why did Adrian quit by the way?" Luke asked. "Did you ever meet him? Would you use words like ‘shady' or ‘quasi-dangerous'to describe him?"

Preston huffed out a dry laugh. "Adrian is exceptionally qualified and Dad didn't realize what he had, as usual. Adrian left because Dad ran him out of here. You know how he could be."

An uncomfortable silence stretched between the two siblings. Luke swallowed a few times. "I do. I do know how he could be."

Preston examined his nails with a bored expression that looked forced. "It doesn't matter. As soon as I found out that you somehow convinced Dad to fire me, I hired Adrian to work with me at my own real estate company. It helps to have a plan B if you're ever betrayed."

"Dude, for the last time, I would never do that?—"

"Can we talk about Sunrise Village now, please?" Preston said over Luke's objections. "It was the last project Dad worked on before he died. We're now so far behind schedule it's laughable, and you need to fix it. The press is starting to turn negative and we don't need the extra scrutiny right now."

Luke leaned back against the bookshelf, hooking one ankle over the other. "Is that because this project of Dad's is mildly to moderately evil?"

"Of course not."

"But why was Dad interested in building there? It's an artist collective. The bookstore works with some of their writers in residency."

"TBG purchased the buildings and the land from the owners," Preston said. "The cottages are being torn down for new luxury condos. Building permits have already been approved and we've got construction lined up. But the artists won't leave even though they were served eviction notices sixty days ago. They've chained themselves to the buildings and they're protesting every day."

"Oooooh," Luke said. "We're doing something illegal."

"It's perfectly legal."

"Unethical then?"

Preston's lips thinned. "Luckily for us, illegal and unethical are not the same things." He held out the file. "Handle it."

Luke laughed. "How? And why?"

"The protesters want to speak with the head of the company. That's you now. If Dad were here, he'd smooth things over. Offer them whatever they wanted to get them to shut the hell up. Use that infamous Lucas Beaumont charm to do just that. And do it today. We're hemorrhaging money with every second that passes. Don't even get me started on what it took to get these permits. Senator Wallace will personally murder us herself if we delay a second longer."

He stood and crossed the room, slapping Luke in the chest with the file. "Do you think you can handle doing one single thing for your family?"

I saw the effort it took for Luke to remain unfazed at those words, made even more obvious at his lack of snappy comeback. His brother was halfway out the door when Luke finally said, "Did you really not know about the threats Dad was receiving?"

Preston hesitated. "I really didn't know. He was obviously hiding things from me. He didn't tell me I'd been removed from the will and summarily fired, either."

"He didn't remove you," Luke argued. "You inherited all of his shit plus two houses. Dad loved you, clearly, even with all this bullshit about losing your job. But we'll never know why he did this to us. We never understood his decisions."

The sibling anguish hovering between the two of them was deeply entrenched at this point. I almost averted my eyes, but then I froze, struck by the longing on Luke's face and the pain on Preston's.

"You wouldn't understand what it was like, working with him so closely," his brother said quietly. "Even at his most critical, even at his most dismissive, I still thought he believed in me."

"Then help me to understand," Luke replied. "He's not here anymore to drive us apart."

"What's the point?" Preston said, his spine rigid. "You didn't care then, Luke, so why start now?"

An awkward hush followed his exit from the room. I stared down at my hands, thinking about my promotion, the ardent trust Foster had placed in me. The extremely clear policies I was breaking by even entertaining helping Luke in this way. We didn't turn on our clients, didn't relinquish the many secrets of their lives, didn't participate in any activity that distracted us from the goal. Protection, above all else.

Not tempting the danger that lurked in the shadows.

When I glanced up, Luke was staring down at the open file, his mouth set in a flat line.

But his fingers trembled slightly, where they gripped the pages.

"Clarita Reyes-Castillo and Ethel Walker," I said.

Luke looked up. "What?"

"You asked me…" I paused. "You asked me who I thought you should talk to, and I think it's Clarita and Ethel."

"Those names sound familiar, why?"

"They were your father's former business partners, when he first started as a real estate agent. They're married, local to the area, and run a popular real estate practice. They might have been privy to his secrets when he was younger."

Guilt sat heavy as a stone in my belly. Luke wasn't the only person in my life I'd sworn to protect and I could feel the threads of that promise unraveling with every line that I blurred. But it was just this one time, just this one bit of information.

It wouldn't happen again.

Luke nodded, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Thank you. That's very helpful."

I didn't reply.

He held up the file and cocked his head. "Can you drive me to meet with the protesters? I'll call the organizers on the way."

My eyebrows flew up. "That's no problem. I'll have two agents ride ahead and sweep the area."

"Great," he said, his grin slowly widening. "I think a clue just fell into our lap. Think any of these protesters are angry enough to set off a car bomb?"