Illegal Contact (The Barons 1)

I said nothing when Noah refused to have his cell phone confiscated every day, and hid a smile when the kid started haggling about his wages like a true hustler. I could relate. It reminded me of my teenage days when I’d done odd jobs for cash. No matter how good an initial offer had been, I’d always pushed for more.

They went back and forth before settling on a figure that was commensurate with Noah’s lack of experience. I said he wouldn’t have access to my credit cards until the probationary period ended, but that I’d provide money for gas and food. Noah’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when I mentioned he could use one of my cars during the week.

For the first time, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and his eyes brightened. Too bad that soft look was all over a fucking car. He was probably a gold digger.

I left them to finish signing the paperwork and returned to my barely furnished office.

I’d preemptively had a security system installed. Each room had a roaming camera, with audio, and allowed me to see what was happening at every moment. Call it paranoia, or call it caution, but I wanted to know what was going on under my roof. And this would be the first test.

The second monitor flickered on to several panels of surveillance video, and I selected the one focused on the living room.

“—don’t feel comfortable with that.”

“You don’t feel comfortable because you’ve never travelled from Elmhurst to the Hamptons at four o’clock in the morning.” Joe gave Noah one of his overly patient stares. “But if you don’t want to sleep here, by all means, commute. You’ll regret it after your first day.”

“Maybe, but I don’t feel comfortable agreeing to sleep in this house until I know how we’re going to get along.”

Joe sat back in his chair and twined his fingers together. “Are you afraid of Gavin?”

“What? No. I don’t even know him.”

“Nobody really knows him, and yet everyone makes judgments about him based on what they see online.”

“Luckily for me I don’t pay attention to sports coverage, and I don’t believe everything I read.” Noah tapped his fingers against the table and said, “It’s not just about him. It’s for my peace of mind. I don’t want to put myself in a potentially hostile environment. You said yourself he doesn’t want a PA.”

“Fair enough, but your performance will suffer.”

“How difficult do you expect this job to be?” Noah’s voice was heavy with skepticism. “I’m running his errands, not building another wing of this mansion.”

“You’ll see.” Joe sounded amused. He was likely hoping for Noah to fail. “And besides your day-to-day responsibilities, dealing with Gavin is no cakewalk. He’s spontaneous, abrasive, contrary, and he doesn’t always act based on reason. He isn’t dangerous, but as you said, he’s hostile about this entire idea. And it’s your job to put up with it.”

“I can do this.”

“You’re very confident.” Joe collected the papers from the table and stood. “But I think you underestimate what it takes to run the life of a celebrity. There’s a reason why people make careers out of being PAs. And there’s a reason why some PAs live with their employers even when said employers are not under house arrest.”

Noah shrugged. “It will be fine. As long as Gavin tells me what to do and leaves me alone to focus on football and working out, I’ll be good.”

I flicked off the monitor without waiting for Joe to respond.

So he thought I was some dumb jock who needed to stay out of the way of his coasting through an easy job, huh?

We’d see about that.

Chapter Four

Noah

The first morning of my new job started with me agonizing over an outfit. Did I go the biz-casual route or the college-student route? The main difference was that one involved a white button-down Oxford shirt and a blazer while the other included a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up and sneakers instead of loafers. Both outfits were miserably boring, but I was convinced each one conveyed subtle nuances about my level of commitment to this job.

Screw it.

I’d go with the Oxford.

“Noah!”

“What, Pop? I’m getting dressed!”

The walls were paper-thin and the rooms all squished together, so the shouting was more because we were both naturally loud than an actual necessity. It was weird how habits came back just as soon as I was in my old apartment in my shoebox of a bedroom with shelves and bookcases still packed with ratty journals and fantasy novels. My college-boy good manners were gone, and I was back to shouting up to my dad’s bedroom window from the sidewalk if I forgot what he’d wanted from the store.

“I got the directions all written down,” Dad said, limping into the room. “You’re gonna catch the E train to Sutphin—for Chrissakes, Noah. Don’t wear that.”