“She knows your preference, sir. She took this on, and she’s bringing her best to watch over you and your mother,” he explained.
“She needs to obey my fucking orders, Phil.” Then he seemed to acquiesce. “Fine, but she’s watching my mother, and if my mother has even the slightest problem with it, she can leave and take that ninja cat with her. I won’t be disobeyed in my own home.”
Oh, he was a motherfucker, I mused before going outside. It was a mansion, and clearly he came from old money.
The exterior of his estate was decorated with stone statues, as if it were Egypt and was being guarded by lions as big as me. There was an antiquated vibe about the estate, but that was only on the outside. The inside of the property was very modern, with stainless steel appliances in the kitchen, top-of-the-line furniture, artwork I was sure had carried five- and six-figure price tags, along with authentic rugs and pottery. His homes on the property seemed more like a museum and less like a place that was lived in. The kitchen had that industrial look, as well, filled with large, steel appliances, no decorative placemats, colorful blender, toaster sets or dishcloths.
Nope.
Just the basics.
Expensive basics, but still the basics.
My inspection included searches for bugs, wireless devices, and any other sort of electronic surveillance. Eli fought me about doing my own background checks on the current staff, because he said they had already been through the process with the last group of guards from the private security firm. I politely shared that I was hired to do a job and I would do a thorough job, which included checks of all persons he’d corresponded with in the past twelve months; known enemies and/or people who went against him in some way; old lovers, especially scorned ones; and past as well as current employees. His response: “I don’t have scorned lovers.”
Great, I thought.
“Wonderful,” I said. “I still need all names, last known place of contact, and context of the relationship.”
The man, seemingly irritated, pushed out a fuck under his breath and then said, “I’ll have it to you within an hour.”
“That’s fine. The team will brief you by the end of the day.”
“Team?” he repeated before I could make my exit.
“Yes, Mr. Richardson,” I replied.
“You are my point of contact. No one on your team should address me. Understood?”
“Sir, I do not work every day,” I informed him.
He leveled his eyes on me. “Listen, you work when I say you work. Understood?” He stared at me, as if he was waiting for me to disobey his decree. Clearly there were labor laws against a practice like this, but with these jobs, those went out the door. Private security. Top officials and billionaires. I could snitch, but I would be out of a job.
This type of shit reminded me of my old drill sergeant, except he was a man and did not have a cut over his eye. From my research, he had served in the army. Moved up the ranks and quickly to Private, First Class, but when his tour was over he did not return. So, he was not my Sergeant, but this particular man had mostly sandy trimmed facial hair with gray stragglers throughout and a full head of hair in the same color that covered his ears due to him not having it cut. It wasn’t in his face or anything, but it gave him a gruff look that matched his demeanor. The suit he wore told another story. It was tailored and fit like a man’s suit should, outlining his physique in a way that showed his workout routine could have been rivaled by most men. His bold chest poked out, as if to say, “What peasant dared go against me?” His sea green eyes were sharp, like those of most successful military men. His precision, understanding of how to command and the fact that he hired me, based on instinct and my response; spoke volumes. Most civilians would have thought it heroic, but that was not his concern. He wanted my loyalty.
Loyalty meant everything in the Army…to most Americans, to be honest, especially in the armed forces. Being a traitor could get a person an instant death sentence. Those details will never be told by me, though. I saw nothing…and I’d deny it in court.
“Yes, sir,” I refused to shift my gaze from his.
This was the job I’d wanted, and just like the Army, it would make me earn every single minute of pleasure to hold. I was at this man’s beck and call twenty-four/seven. Why didn’t he just stay out of my way and allow me to secure his home, like any other client? Nope…not this one. He required me to be part of his detail, not just run it. This coming from the same man who’d been so adamant about not having a woman guarding him.
I made my exit then, wanting him to get me the information I needed to do the background checks. That would help to keep him and his mother safer.
As promised, within the hour, he had all the information I requested, which was crazy, but it was because he was super organized, and everything was on his calendar. Even when he fucked.
That’s right. It actually was. Three different ladies’ names every month with the word “fuck” next to it. So, the man updated his calendar and scheduled the times he fucked. Shit, now I’ve seen it all. This was by far the craziest setup I’ve been part of. He had a pattern of once a month, rotating several women: Regina, Abagail, and Joslyn. Next up was Abagail, who was scheduled for three hours in two weeks.
Damn.
Okay, sir.
One thing that I wouldn’t have perceived about this client was his penchant for being meticulously organized, a man so tightly led by a schedule that he penciled in time to fuck.
That was a first.
Each calendar event had the woman’s full name and the address of where he would meet them. It looked like his fucking took place outside of his home.
Focus, Cruise.
But my thoughts kept going back to his ‘fucks.’
He actually had way more important clients outside of the ones he fucked. That was the same three people. The man’s business, on the other hand, was booming.
Eli Richardson also provided how much money he earned with each person he met, or how much they contributed. He obviously believed in monetizing all his partnerships. He didn’t seem to meet with people unless he could. Everyone seemed to be of value to him in one way or another, and he had it well documented.
What I didn’t see was anything pertaining to family or friends. No wonder he was a surly son-of-a-bitch. He really didn’t have a life.
Every moment of his days wasn’t scheduled, but I assumed that meant he was at home lording over his riches or something.
After cataloging his contacts, I sent them out to my agency to get the necessary background information. Some of them were top officials at the National Rifle Association (NRA), others were millionaires and billionaires like him, big Florida movers and shakers.
There was no question about his politics and where his loyalties were, which was for sure. Not that it was up to me to judge. My one and only job was to make sure this man was safe and sound, along with his mother. Who he fucked, his party affiliation, and how big an asshole he seemed to be, none of those were my business.
That was what I often told myself when I saw things I shouldn’t have when on a job. Hell, even out in the field as special agent our jobs were clear, and everything else was a non-factor.
Always.
My first week on the job, I was able to secure Mr. Richardson’s entire estate, update the cameras of his security systems, replace his security detail with agents of my own choosing, and get background checks on everyone with whom he came in contact. There were flags on some people he met with, but none on him. The women he was scheduled to fuck did not have any flags, which was good. Our encounters were minimal, brief, and because he wasn’t scheduled to go anywhere offsite, there was no reason for me to accompany him just yet.