Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)
Her honesty didn’t make him feel any better. Bea’s security agency, Whitethorn, was well respected and booked well in advance. She’d grown the agency from the ground up, working her way into more prestigious and expensive contracts as the years went on. Openings for new agents were rare, since no one wanted to leave. And three years ago, well after he’d gotten back stateside, Whitethorn had won a lucrative contract with a major investment group who owned a number of critical companies throughout Scarsdale. It was a coup for a relatively small agency in upstate New York that had been vying against metropolitan agencies in several states, but Bea’s competence and knowledge of local matters had given her an unbeatable edge. So if she was asking him for help, she was facing a true cluster.
He sat back down. “What’s the contract?”
Bea rested her clean plate on her knee and tapped a finger against the couch arm. “Have you heard of Decebal Vladislavic?”
Atlas wracked his memory. He’d heard the name before in the news, but he hadn’t paid much attention. “Yeah, but I don’t remember why.”
“He’s the financial power behind Scarsdale’s revitalization.”
Atlas frowned. “You mean its gentrification.”
Bea waved her hand, either to dismiss or to acknowledge and move past his phrasing. “He’s got his fingers in everything in this town. Medical, entertainment, housing, the whole thing. I’ve worked with him for a couple of years now—”
“The contract that put you on the map,” Atlas put together. “That was his contract?”
Bea nodded. “Whitethorn’s success is directly tied to Mr. Vladislavic, though strictly in a business sense.”
He felt something dip in his gut, a weighty foreboding at what was coming next.
“That’s changed recently.”
“God, Bea, don’t tell me you started fucking the guy.”
Bea kicked him. Her speed was impressive, as was her ability to secure her plate before it smashed to the ground
. “That’s for insinuating I’d break the rule,” Bea said calmly while Atlas rubbed his aching hip.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. He actually was. Bea had a strict policy prohibiting romantic or sexual entanglements between clients and Whitethorn employees. “I know you wouldn’t do that.”
Bea sniffed, but carried on, which meant Atlas was forgiven for the moment. “A few months ago, Decebal contacted me. There have been some...complications with recent business deals and he needed an agent to provide security at home.”
“You have plenty of agents who could do that job,” Atlas pointed out. “Why do you need me for it?”
“It’s a delicate situation. There are some unusual circumstances about the position.” Tap tap tap went Bea’s finger. “And because none of my agents want the job. Todd just stepped away from it tonight.”
Todd was a rock, an unflappable, boring, yet competent agent. He never stepped away from jobs.
Atlas ran a hand through his hair and leaned back into the couch. “Shit.”
“Yes. Shit.”
“Well,” he said, motioning for Bea to continue, “tell me more.”
“The pay is top level.”
“Always a good thing.”
“You’d be working night shifts.”
That bit of bait was tempting. His stupid sleeping habits hadn’t shifted back, even after he’d cycled off the various drugs he’d taken to aid his physical recovery. At this point, the doctors doubted he’d ever return to his former circadian rhythm. Night shifts aligned to his needs quite well.
She kept going. “Decebal is willing to work with your sensory sensitivity.”
Impossible. Clients wanted someone to be at their side at big events, or during shopping trips, or while eating at restaurants catering to influencers. There was no way in hell Atlas could do any of that, especially not when his migraines were acting up.
“That’s too good to be true,” Atlas said flatly, refusing to grasp at the faint scrap of hope she’d floated his way.
Bea shook her head. “It’s not. There are some perks for you, but don’t get cocky. This is not an easy position. Lots of moving pieces and potential drama.”