The Mogul and the Muscle - Claire Kingsley Page 0,13
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.”
I probably shouldn’t have said that—I hadn’t agreed to hire him for more than a security assessment—but seeing Bobby’s perpetually tanned face go pale made it worth it.
“Cool,” Bobby said, his voice weak. “I guess you have that meeting, so I’ll let you get to it.”
Jude moved aside, but not quite enough for Bobby to get past him. I tried to keep the amused smile off my face while Bobby shifted from one foot to the other, trying to figure out how to get through the door with Jude in his way. Finally, Jude side-stepped, giving Bobby just enough room to squeeze by.
“Who was that?”
I set my purse down, since I didn’t really have a meeting. “Robert Spencer, aka Bobby the douchebag. He’s the founder’s son and a regularly occurring pain in my ass.”
Jude’s eyes narrowed slightly and he glanced back at the door. I thought maybe he’d comment on Bobby, but he didn’t say anything.
“So, are you finished with the assessment?” I asked.
“No,” he said, settling into a chair.
“I don’t need you to make it formal. You can just email me your recommendations.”
“I need to see your house first.”
I leaned back in my chair. “I have adequate security at home.”
“We’ll see.”
“I live in a gated community with twenty-four/seven security personnel, and my house is outfitted with a state-of-the-art alarm system. I don’t need additional security.”
“I don’t think it was random,” he said.
His square jaw with its careless bit of stubble was stupidly distracting. He was so hard and angular. Almost military. But there was a sophistication inherent in the way he moved that was a surprising contrast to his size. He wore a cuffed-sleeve button-down like a high-powered CEO but looked like he could lift the back end of a car without breaking a sweat. I had a feeling people often underestimated him.
I knew what that was like.
“What wasn’t random?” I asked, mentally kicking myself for getting lost in that rugged face.
“The attempted mugging.”
Points to him for calling it attempted. I wanted some damn credit for not getting robbed. “Of course it was random. It was dark and