4. Elijah

One day later I was back in Cape Avalon, parked in front of Lucas's home.

It was typical for a cottage in the Hamptons—small, though extremely expensive given its location right on the beach. It was ranch-style, pale yellow siding with blue shutters and large windows. A hammock was strung between two trees in the front yard and a sandy surfboard leaned up against the garage.

From reading his file this morning, I knew that Lucas was twenty-seven, a decade younger than me, and a graduate of NYU. Contrary to the tabloids, he did, in fact, have a job. Had been an instructor at a local water sports company since high school, teaching people how to do things like surf and wakeboard. In the offseason, he worked full time at the South Shore Bookshop on Main Street.

And he'd invited me to meet here, at his house, instead of the offices at his father's estate.

I stepped out of the black sedan and rebuttoned my suit jacket. Ripley wasn't posted outside and no other protection agents were in the immediate area. Concerned, I knocked at the front door and listened for signs of life inside. There came the sound of loud, upbeat music—but no answer. No answer after the second, third and fourth knocks either. Given the threatening letter that had arrived at the estate this morning, I was about to use my shoulder to break down the door.

But then it swung open to reveal Lucas Beaumont wearing swim trunks and running a towel through his wet hair.

Shirtless.

I'd studied the picture clipped to his file and knew he had black, wavy hair like his father and blue eyes like his mother. The file didn't mention how carelessly the curls fell across his forehead. Or his deceptively long lashes. And the lopsided grin he offered me was all charm.

A dozen alarm bells went off in my head.

"You're my dad's bodyguard Elijah, yeah? Come on in," he said, kicking the door shut behind us and moving through a sitting room filled with morning light and built-in bookshelves. I scanned the open area—teal rugs, a few paperbacks stacked up on a coffee table, a lighter next to a half-finished joint. The room led directly to a kitchen with barstools pulled up to a counter and a large bowl of fruit next to a blender.

Beyond that were wall-to-wall windows and a glass door, revealing a stone path that led directly to the ocean.

Lucas tossed the towel across a chair and grabbed a short-sleeved button-up. I ignored the rippling of his back muscles as he shrugged it over his broad shoulders. "Sorry I'm a bit late," he said. "The surf was heavy this morning and I had to get out there. You surf too?"

"Absolutely not. Mr. Beaumont, I'm?—"

"You want coffee? Water? Not to brag, but I make a mean smoothie."

I shook my head. "No. Thank you. Mr. Beaumont, I'm?—"

"Luke."

My brows knit together. "I'm sorry?"

He sprawled on a large white chair, hooking an ankle over his knee. His shirt was unbuttoned and he tapped the center of his chest. "I'm Luke. Sometimes Lucas, depending on my mood. But definitely not Mr. Beaumont."

I hesitated. "Luke. I'm sorry for your loss. Your father was a wonderful person to work for."

Frustration—or maybe pain—rippled across his face so fast I wondered if I imagined it. Then he cleared his throat. "So I've been told."

An awkward pause lingered following his words. Scanning the room again, I said, "Where's your bodyguard? He was due here hours ago and you should have someone with you at all times, especially given your father's…of your current security risks."

His face brightened. "Oh, you mean Ripley? Super nice guy, but I sent him home. He put up a fight but I pulled the technically I'm your boss card and he left."

"He just…left you," I said flatly.

That charming smile reappeared. "I can tell you're pissed, so please don't yell at him, okay? It was my call. If you're mad at anyone, be mad at me."

I reined in the spiky edges of my irritation. Smoothed a hand down my tie. "Mr. Beaumont?—"

"Luke."

"Luke," I said, more forcefully than I intended. "Per the contract your father had in place, you're to have round-the-clock protection."

He stood and moved closer to me, bringing the scent of saltwater and sunscreen. "I looked into your company, Elijah. TBG's contract with Regent Executive Security Specialists ends next week."

"I'm here to walk you through re-signing it," I said with a nod. "It's merely paperwork at this point. Shouldn't take us more than a few minutes."

He spun on his heel and sauntered back toward the kitchen. "Dude, that shit is expensive."

"You can't pay too high a price to protect a person's life."

Luke poured himself a cup of coffee, then studied me from across the room. I held his gaze, ignoring the sweep of his eyes along the lines of my suit. "Let me ask you a question. You were by my father's side for five years, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

Another smile appeared, this one lazy. Wicked. The back of my neck went hot. "Calling me sir won't be necessary. But to my point, how many times was my father's life actually at risk?"

"In the months before your father died, the volume of hate mail and death threats he received increased. So much so that we involved local law enforcement."

"But were any of those threats successful?" he asked.

"No, they were not. Thankfully."

"Then why do I need your protection?"

I arched an eyebrow. "They weren't successful because he had me. Sir."

His low, raspy chuckle filled the space between us. "My father was an arrogant narcissist who believed he was the center of the world. He received death threats because he was a dick. Contrary to what my family has probably told you, I'm not a dick. And for however long my head bears this goddamn crown, I won't have some babysitter in a bespoke suit following me around, telling me what I can and cannot do."

A muscle in my jaw ticked. "You're deeply misunderstanding the relationship between a protection agent and their client. My team and I are not your babysitters. We're here to analyze threats, to protect you and your assets. You just inherited a billion-dollar company, Luke. That makes you a high-value target."

Luke closed the distance between us, so slowly that the air in the room seemed to rise in temperature. A few drops of water still clung to his tangled curls. "I lived my life just fine before you got here, Elijah."

I held my tongue. He'd lived just fine because of his family's significant wealth while my own scraped by with nothing.

"And I mean that literally," he continued. "Preston always had bodyguards but I never did."

I blinked, wrenched from my thoughts. I'd overseen his father's extensive team but someone else was in charge of the family members. "You've had no surveillance? Why not?"

Luke caught my eye. "My father protected what was valuable to him."

He brushed past me and opened the front door. "Anyway, thanks for coming all the way out here, especially since this meeting could have totally been an email. I'm not re-upping your contract. Nice to meet you, though."

Total shock had me stepping outside before I realized it. The Beaumont family was our most lucrative contract—and Foster's directive on this had been clear. A loss like this would be financially devastating to the company. I wasn't about to let it happen.

Couldn't let it happen, not if I wanted to keep that promotion.

Luke moved to shut the door, but I grabbed the side of it, keeping it open. His eyes widened, and some primitive part of me liked that I had a couple inches on him. Liked that he had to look up, just a little, to meet my gaze.

"I cannot begin to describe the mistake that you're making," I said gravely. "A letter arrived at your father's office early this morning. With your name on it, implying that you have information they want and they'll stop at nothing until they get it. Whether this letter is connected to these other recent threats, I don't know. What I do know is that this is the absolute worst time to be rid of the people meant to keep you safe."

His throat bobbed, forehead briefly creased. But then he plastered on another disarming smile. "I appreciate your concern. I really do. If it makes you feel any better, as soon as I figure out some legal loophole, I'm outta here. But I'm sure Preston would hire you back in a heartbeat."

I flattened my palm against the door frame. "Luke, you need to listen?—"

"I'll see ya around, Elijah," he said cheerfully.

Then slammed the door in my face.