Page 8 of In Daddy's Custody
He sounds so sad, so broken, that I can’t even find the heart to disobey him. I want to, I really do. I want to stand my ground, to refuse to go, or at least to refuse to fly economy, but I just can’t do it. Aside from my father, Richard is the person who means the most to me in the entire world—he’s more important to me than all my friends—and seeing him so distressed almost destroys me. It’s hard to reconcile the man standing on the other side of the desk from me now with the man who smiled smugly at me when I first arrived in this office not more than ten minutes ago. Then, he looked almost amused at my horror. Now he looks devastated by it. Maybe the headlines he’d been staring at all morning had annoyed him enough to want to punish me, but now his annoyance has worn off. I have one last-ditch attempt at changing his mind.
“What can I do to get out of this?” I ask as reasonably as possible, keeping all traces of emotion and brattiness out of my tone. “I’ll do anything!”
My heart falls as he shakes his head sadly but determinedly.
“There’s nothing you can do, Jade,” he insists. “My mind is made up. This is happening.” He inhales deeply before looking up at me. “One day you’re going to thank me for this, my precious, precious girl.”
I seriously doubt that, but for once, I keep my thoughts to myself.
He looks beyond me to Jaxon, standing behind me. “You look after her,” he growls.
Jaxon nods. “Of course, sir.”
Then, without so much as a glance in my direction, Richard walks out of the office, ending any further discussion, and taking my last shred of hope with him.
CHAPTER 4
Jaxon
Look after her.The words ring in my ears. Sure, I’ll do my best, but already, it’s apparent that this girl is going to be a handful. I’m pretty sure she was completely oblivious to the hurt in Richard’s eyes, she was so obsessed with herself. I don’t think she has any idea what she’s doing to him with her appalling behaviour and penchant for partying too hard.
I really didn’t want to take this job. I much prefer straightforward security detail. One-off close protection security or even longer-term jobs with the same adult client who knows how to act like a grownup and just needs to be protected from stalkers. But this—caring for Jade Owens—isn’t a normal job. This is completely outside the scope of anything I have ever done before. Jade Owens isn’t even a standard celebrity. She’s paparazzi fodder because of who she is—the sole heiress to Owens Productions’ massive fortune—and she’s in danger of kidnapping and extortion because of who her father is. But she doesn’t work. She’s spoiled. She’s so far beyond adivathat I don’t think the English language even has the words to describeher. She’s a brat of the highest order. And it isn’t just a bodyguard she needs; she’ll be safe enough in New Zealand. It’s more like a babysitter. Amanager.Not a career manager, but a behavioural manager. A get-her-away-from-the-city-and-off-drugs-and-alcohol manager. Me. She needs me.
The self-obsessed brat in front of me glares at me fiercely with eyes sparkling with tears, then she stalks out of the office, slamming the door behind her.
I shake my head in resignation and leave as well. There’s nothing left for me to do here, and I have to pack. “You owe me big time for this, mate,” I mutter, but it’s not even true. Not really. I’ll never be able to repay Sergeant Lance for all his kindness. He’s not a sergeant anymore, but we call him that anyway. The military is so ingrained in him it’s a part of his soul. He was born to it, spent his whole life in it, and only retired a few years ago, just before I left. He took me under his wing and has taken care of me ever since. At my most broken, destroyed by guilt, he gave me a home, a job, a family. I don’t know where I’d be today without him.
Jade needs more than a bodyguard,Lance had explained.Her guardian is desperate. He doesn’t know what to do with her, but she’ll be in jail soon if he doesn’t do something. She’s spoiled rotten. You’ll have to rein her in and curb her atrocious behaviour any way you know how.I should have listened to the underlying warning in those words and run. But stupid me, I didn’t. And now here I am. Walking through the empty halls of this luxurious, lifeless mansion, so I can return to my own place and pack everything I own into a suitcase and take it back home to the country of my birth—the place I left behind nearly two decades ago and swore I would never return.
Jade’s not going to make this easy, that much is clear. She’s spoiled, stubborn, impetuous, and entirely too self-centred. But there’s something about her that I like. Maybe it’s the haunted look behind her eyes, or the fact that there’s something about her that reminds me of me. Or maybe it’s just what Richard has already told me: the kindness in her heart, her strong sense of justice, and her desperate floundering in recent years, with no steady hand to guide her.Hopefully you can be that steady hand.Richard’s voice had shaken as he’d said those words, and when I’d promised to do my best and hoped I wouldn’t let him down, his relieved smile had filled me with confidence. But now, having met Jade Owens in the flesh, I’m not so sure.
It doesn’t take me long to pack up my things. I’ve been living out of a suitcase for so long that it’s second nature to me now. For years, I’ve had to be ready to pack up and move at a moment’s notice. First as a kid in foster care, flitting from one house to another, never having a stable place to call home. Then my years in the military. And since then, working in close protection has been much the same; if a celebrity needed a bodyguard for a holiday to the Caribbean, I’d up sticks and go. My rented apartment comes fully furnished, and I don’t care about personal possessions. Aside from my clothes and shoes, I own nothing. Things add nothing to life—I learned that the hard way, as a kid. The one photograph album I owned was stolen from me and shredded. Every photo was removed and ripped into hundreds of tiny little pieces. My only toy was hurled against the wall and broken. When I was school age, I’d been mocked for still sleeping with a teddy so that had been discarded along with the memories of the woman who gave it to me. I don’t remember getting birthday or Christmas presents.
Leaving the apartment keys on the kitchen counter, I hoist my single suitcase in my left hand and walk out without looking back.
When I return to the Owens’ stunning mansion that looks like it comes straight out of the pages of some fancy magazine but is totally bereft of life and soul, I leave my suitcase on the marble floor of the foyer that’s bigger than my entire apartment and follow where the uniformed butler points.
“I tried to help her, but she sent me away,” he says. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.” He offers me a sympathetic smile, but it fades away instantly at my frown. Maybe he’s trying to be friendly and helpful, but he comes across as unprofessional. Mr. Owens might be the top of his game as far as movies go, but his taste in household staff leaves a lot to be desired.
I rap sharply on her bedroom door, and she throws the door open instantly, a happy smile on her face. But it disappears pretty fast as soon as she sees it’s me.
“Oh. It’s you. I thought you were… Never mind.” Hurt flits across her face and although she tries to hide it, her pain is obvious.
“Who were you expecting?”
She shrugs. “Richard promised to meet me for coffee. I didn’t really think he would, but…” Her voice trails sadly off and she looks away. She’s proud, but there’s a vulnerability that awakens my protective instincts. I know the feeling of betrayal all too well. Broken promises by those who were meant to care, reasoned away with flimsy excuse after ever more pitiful excuse.
“Maybe he’s just busy.” That sounds pathetic even to me. And I don’t know why I’m defending this man. Sure, he’s paying my salary—or Jade’s father is—but if he can’t even make the time tosay a proper farewell to her like he promised, he doesn’t deserve my loyalty.
Jade doesn’t think much of my making up excuses for him, either, if the glare she gives me is anything to go by. She’s got a stroppy streak a mile wide, but this time, I can’t even blame her. In her shoes, I’d be upset, too.
“Have you got everything packed?” I ask, looking around the room. Two empty suitcases sit open on a super king-size bed, a few dresses on hangers strewn across the pillows, and several pairs of shoes that look like they were biffed at the suitcase from the wardrobe then hit the wall and bounced off, because they’re lying separately all over the floor. Nothing is together. Nothing is packed. We’ve got to leave really soon, and she’s done exactly nothing.
She doesn’t answer me, so I ask a different question. “Why didn’t you let the butler help you pack?”
“He’s a dick.”
I give a short, sardonic laugh. She’s right: he is a dick. I like her bluntness. I’ve no doubt it’s going to drive me nuts at some stage in the future, but right now it does seem fitting.