The Mogul And The Muscle

Bobby was neither an artist nor an entrepreneur. He lived off his father’s wealth, and once in a while he pretended to start a new business. I knew better than to ask about his latest venture or why he was calling himself an artist now.

“Do you need something, Bobby? Because I need to get to a meeting.”

“Did I tell you about the girl I’ve been hanging out with?”

I pretended to be absorbed in something on my computer screen. “Don’t sit on my desk.”

“She doesn’t speak a lot of English, but we don’t need words to communicate, if you know what I mean.”

“Mm hmm.”

“You know what we should do? Go clubbing. I’ll bring Lola, and you can bring… Wait, are you dating anyone these days?”

“None of your business.”

“Oh crap, I’m sorry,” he said.

“Why?” I still didn’t look at him. Hopefully if I didn’t make eye contact, he’d get bored sooner and leave me alone.

“Me talking about another woman is making you jealous.”

It was so hard not to laugh. “It’s really not.”

“You don’t have a thing to worry about, Cami, you know my heart is yours. I’m just sowing my wild oats so I’ll be ready to settle down with you when the time comes.”

“That time will never come, but good luck to the girl who has to fill that position.”

He stood, finally getting his skinny butt off my desk, and did a few hip thrusts. “She’ll get all the positions, if you know what I mean.”

“Gross, Bobby. Don’t you have art or entrepreneuring to do?”

“Actually, I came up here to see if you want to come to my place tonight.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To have dinner with me.”

“I already told you to stop asking me out.”

“Not a date,” he said, holding his hands up. “I just figured you could use a little comforting after someone attacked you in the parking garage. We could talk.”

“Someone tried to attack me and failed. And no thanks.”

“Come on, Cami, you work too hard. You need to let your hair down. Take the edge off. I can help with that.”

“Still no,” I said. “Besides, I’m sure you have very important things to do tonight. Like jacking off to MILF porn and binge-watching Miami Vice.”

“Already did both.”

“Well haven’t you had a nice productive day.” I grabbed my purse, ready to get up and pretend to go to my nonexistent meeting. “Besides, why do you care if I work too hard?”

“Cami,” he said, putting a hand to his chest. “I’m hurt. We’re childhood best friends. Of course I care about you.”

My grandmother, Dorothia Whitbury, had been one of the top engineers here at Spencer. She’d been with the company since the beginning, and she and my grandad had been good friends with Milton Spencer. When Milton had realized an eight-year-old me had an interest in aviation, he’d insisted on helping with my private school tuition. That meant I’d received an amazing education. But I’d also had to go to school with his dipshit son.

“We’re not childhood best friends.”

“I’ll forgive you for saying that because you’re traumatized by the attack. And you’re probably on your period.”

“Get out, Bobby.”

“But first—”

I lifted my eyes. “Get. Out.”

The corner of Bobby’s mouth lifted in a smirk. He sucked in a breath, like he was about to say something, when a low voice came from behind him.

“You heard her.”

Jude looked like he’d barely fit through the door. If he had some magical ability to appear unobtrusive, he was doing the opposite now. It looked like one of his tree trunk legs weighed more than Bobby’s entire body.

Bobby turned at Jude’s voice and I could see the smartass comment die on his lips. The color drained from his face and his barely-there Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

Jude’s eyes shifted to meet mine. “Problem?”

“No, he was just leaving.”

Bobby glanced back at me. “Who’s this guy?”

“Jude,” I said, dropping my phone in my purse. “My bodyguard.”