Code Name: Tiara by Sawyer Bennett
CHAPTER 8
Jackson
I’ve never been a fan of New York City. Not really any of the big cities like Chicago, LA, or Dallas. I know it sounds un-American to not like the symbols of our nation’s wealth, growth, culture, and commerce, but the concrete jungle isn’t for me.
Give me a house in the country—at least within fifteen minutes of a decent grocery store—and I’m a happy man. I’m currently renting an apartment at Jameson headquarters, but I’ve been on the lookout for a little slice of mountain heaven on the outskirts of Pittsburgh.
The other thing I cannot stand about big cities is the crowded bustle. Millions of people all swimming upstream to get somewhere. I hate the smell, the honking horns, and the subways thick with commuters standing shoulder to shoulder. I’m not antisocial, but I like my space. I don’t like to be boxed in or controlled.
I told Ladd not too long ago about my aversion to big-city life—not that Pittsburgh is an overly big city—and he told me I was uncouth.
I looked at him as if he were crazy, but he explained about the importance of literature, the arts, fine dining, and advanced learning institutions only found in big cities. I didn’t disagree with him but merely pointed out that I could fly in for a weekend visit to New York City to catch a Broadway play if I wanted and fly back to my peaceful homestead well outside the city limits.
He merely laughed and said, “Touché.”
We’re going to hit a lot of big cities during Camille’s trip, but I’m glad we’re knocking New York out first since it’s my least favorite.
Too many fucking people.
Camille, on the other hand, loves it. On her itinerary—composed of business meetings and touristy things she wanted to do—was her very simple desire to just walk the city streets. Our protection plan for this request was simple enough. Me at her side, agents to the front, and agents to the rear. Her itinerary was top secret, known only to me, Ladd, Cruce, Dozer, and Dmitri. The additional security agents, coordinated and in place via Ladd’s direction, didn’t know their assignments until the morning of their duty day. This prevented information getting leaked—either intentionally or inadvertently—thus subverting kidnappers with well-laid plans.
Yesterday was our first full day in the city, packed with back-to-back meetings and events. Camille met with the owner of a high-end jeweler to discuss her family’s product. I got quite the education on rubies and was surprised to learn the Winterbournes’ immense wealth is not due to the quantity of gemstones from their mines but the quality. Their stones do not need to be treated or enhanced to remove imperfections and improve clarity.
It means a massive difference in retail price. A five-carat ruby heated to improve clarity costs around five thousand dollars retail. The same size stone from their mines, nearly perfect as is, goes for five-hundred thousand dollars.
Yesterday, Camille also spent time at a charitable organization that provides meals to low-income families, to which she made a hefty donation before we left, followed by a visit with a friend from Bretaria who relocated here a few years ago for graduate school and decided to stay. After that, very much to my surprise, she had a meeting with an editor at a huge publishing house to discuss a children’s book project she’s working on.
Yeah … Camille has layers.
After a shopping trip where she bought nothing but delighted in walking through the high-end stores, she dined with another expat friend from Bretaria at a quaint Italian restaurant that came highly recommended. Ladd and I ate at the bar, no more than ten feet from Camille. Ladd was in New York to meet us but would be heading back to Pittsburgh after dinner. He, Dozer, and Cruce have put together a team of agents in every city we’ll be visiting, everyone working twelve-hour shifts to ensure we’re all fresh and rested.
After Ladd left for his late flight, I escorted Camille and her friend, along with four other nondescript agents, to a nightclub.
Although I assured Camille she was safe and I was fine if she wanted to let her hair down and party, I was a little surprised that she drank water the entire night outside the one glass of wine at dinner.
Today she had more meetings, some of them business related, some charitable, and as the day wound down, it came time for her to just experience the city.
We now have a break before she is to get ready for dinner with the deputy mayor of New York City and his wife. I thought she’d want to rest in her suite, though resting in her suite really means working on emails and other duties she does for the family business.
Instead, she says she wants to walk through the city.
Our hotel is on the Upper West Side, so we stick to the area as there is plenty to see no matter what block we turn down. A surprise walk through Manhattan and part of Central Park doesn’t cause me much heartburn given the level of protection we have surrounding her. All the agents who watch from a distance are dressed to blend in with the New York crowd. I’m dressed to blend with Camille.
It’s cold and gray, a hint of snow in the air. Camille is wearing jeans, a thick sweater, heavy coat, and warm boots with shearling trim. Even though it’s overcast, she has on large sunglasses and a simple knit cap. Unless some would-be kidnapper knows where her hotel is—almost impossible given the secrecy of our plans and the fact she’s using an alias—it’s doubtful she’ll be recognized on the city streets.
Regardless, we may appear to be on a casual stroll, but I stay tight to her side with my hands in my coat pockets. In the right one, I have my CZ 75, a Czech-manufactured semiautomatic pistol, my gun of choice. I’m dressed casually in jeans and a heavy peacoat—we could be any couple taking in the sights.
We arrive back at our hotel close to 5:00 p.m., and Camille has two hours before dinner with the deputy mayor. Just as we’re approaching the revolving door, Camille laughs in delight when a snowflake lands on her cheek and then it starts coming down.
I glance down at her to see her face tipped up to the sky, her eyes closed and her mouth open, with her tongue sticking out.
She waits patiently for a single flake to land where she wants it and when it does, her eyes open, sparkling with joy. Slowly turning in a circle, checking out the snowfall getting heavier, she sighs. “I love snow so much. But then again, my last name is Winterbourne.”
“A lot different from Bretaria’s climate, huh?” I ask as I watch her, certain I haven’t ever seen another woman so lovely.
Her eyes slide to mine and she smiles. “Very different. It’s why I loved going to school in Zurich so much. I love seasons.”
I take her in. I see nothing of a princess before me. Just a woman who loves snow and winter and seasons, and I have an inkling that this might be the real Camille Winterbourne.
She stays out for a few more minutes, and when she’s had enough, we head inside. I drop her off at her suite and wait for her to enter and lock the door before moving to my own room. Granted, our rooms are linked by an adjoining door, but I wouldn’t dare move into her space without her invitation.
That’s not always going to be the case. Some hotels we’ll be staying in don’t have suites with attached exterior rooms. In those cases, we’ve reserved two-bedroom suites, and she’ll be taking the master bedroom. These details were ironed out long before I even went to Bretaria to meet Dmitri and his crew. Kynan insisted that such permission be granted before we agreed to the job. If the Winterbourne family wanted personal protection for Camille, they had to be okay with her bodyguard having very quick access. That means, in some instances, sharing a suite.
It’s not that big of a deal, to be honest. The king and Camille had no problem with it. I have no problem with it. We have doors on our rooms for privacy.
It is what it is, and I’m only here to protect her.
When I enter my room, I move to the connecting door and test the knob.
Unlocked since she now understands it to be very important. Satisfied, I take a seat at the desk and open my laptop, checking off events we’ve completed and looking at our schedule.
Tomorrow evening, we’ll leave for Atlanta. She has a CNN interview the next day about the Winterbournes’ philanthropic work, and then she wants to see the city’s renowned aquarium. From Atlanta, we’ll head to Miami where she’ll meet with one of the Winterbournes’ biggest customers, a famous jewelry designer who is in high demand and has an almost two-year waiting list for his work.
From there, the Florida Keys for fishing—another surprise, it’s something she does often in the waters around her home—and then it’s westward.
To my surprise, she chose a little town to visit called Jonesboro, Arkansas. I actually had to look it up—it’s your typical midsize city with nothing that I could see might draw a royal princess. When I asked her about it, using those exact words—“What is there that could interest a princess?”—she merely responded, “Nothing that I know of, and that’s exactly the reason I want to go.” She explained she just wants to see what typical America is like because she came to our country to figure out what we’re all about.
After Arkansas, she’ll see some of Dallas, Las Vegas, and Southern California. She’ll hit Lake Tahoe and Jackson, Wyoming for skiing—because as I just learned, she loves the cold—and then back to Washington, DC, where she’ll spend two days doing the ultimate touristy stuff followed by lunch on the final day with the president of the United States.
This was actually an event Cruce secured, given he’s married to the president’s niece, and this impressed King Thomas. Camille is, of course, beside herself—even though she’s royalty and one of the wealthiest women on the planet, she never thought she’d meet the leader of the free world, much less have lunch with him.
I smile to myself, finally admitting that I got her wrong. She’s not turned out to be anything like I’d stereotyped her to be. On the contrary, she’s fascinating, and I think about her far too much beyond the normal concerns of protecting her.
And let’s face it … she’s beautiful and sexy, and when you add that to the fact that she’s utterly intriguing, I can’t help but look at her outside the lens of just her bodyguard. It’s safe to say the man in me has pushed aside the protector a bit to take a closer look.
Of course, I know I can’t do anything about it. But as the saying goes, it’s okay to look.
I hear the TV come on in her suite, and I chuckle at the theme song from Friends. Another thing I was surprised to learn about Camille is that she doesn’t watch TV.
Like, at all.
She’ll watch a movie once in a while, but past that, the TV stays off. She gets her news from a daily summary put together by the king’s secretary, and if she wants a deeper dive, she goes straight to the web. And while access to satellite programming is abundant in her homeland, she told me she’s far too busy to invest time in TV.
But now … I hear her laughing, probably from something funny Phoebe did. Apparently the first night in New York, Camille was having a hard time sleeping due to the time difference from Bretaria to London to New York, so she turned on the TV and became hooked on Friends. That’s classic American television as far as I’m concerned, so good for her.
I move to the bed and settle in, propped against the headboard. I clasp my hands across my stomach and consider Camille next door.
Yeah, she’s totally different from what I thought she’d be, and I’m grateful. This assignment isn’t going to be the hot mess I’d been expecting. She’s actually fucking pleasant to be around.
But I’m still struggling to wrap my head around what I saw on the plane when we left London. I’d gone back to her seat to check on her. I knew her hangover had been bad.
And there was a moment before I left when she stared at my crotch. I was oddly fascinated at first, seeing almost a dreamy look on her face as she stared straight at where my dick was softly nestled behind worn denim. And then her expression morphed, and I swear a hungry look took over. If given the opportunity, I’m pretty sure she could’ve eaten me up right then and there.
It was weird and thrilling at the same time, and I’m lucky I didn’t develop a hard-on in response to the way she looked at me. I had to cough to break whatever spell she was under, and then that look on her face disappeared. She was clearly embarrassed, so I left it alone, not wanting to make it worse for her.
But … there was something there.
Attraction, for sure.
I know because whatever was on her face, I feel that same swirl of desire within me. Ever since that sex dream, I’ve felt it a lot.
Fuck, I’m a mess because I think I’m reading this right. I get the sense if I were to try something, she’d jump on it.
The question is, if she were to try something with me, would I jump?
I’m on the job. I shouldn’t, yet here I am wondering about it.
I’ve never made a move on a client, and I’ve protected plenty of gorgeous women over the years at Jameson. I’ve had some of them come on to me and offer up the goods in exchange for nothing more than a hot night of mutual pleasure. While incredibly tempting, I’ve never wanted to take the offer because my job and duties are more important.
What does it say about me that in my most protective role ever—for a royal princess—that I’m considering possibilities?
If Kynan knew what was going on in my brain, he’d shoot me. If he knew it had already extended to my dick, he’d strangle me, then shoot me.
Fuck if I’m not tempted, though, and only because I’m sure she’s on the same page, and I’ve never been attracted to someone the way I am to Camille.
Christ, I’m an asshole. I need to let this go.
My phone rings, interrupting such complex thoughts I actually jolt. I recognize my mom’s ring tone, though, so without hesitation, I reach over to answer.
“Hey, hot stuff, what’s up?” I ask, knowing it will make my mom giggle.
Instead, she says my name—Jackson—and the hair stands on the back of my neck.
“What’s wrong?” I demand in a low voice, coming up off the bed.
“It’s your dad,” she says softly. “He’s had another heart attack. We’re at the emergency room now, but they’re going to admit him and do a catheterization.”
“Going to try to place another stent?” I ask. That’s what they did last time.
“Maybe,” she murmurs. “If they can. But if the blockage is too great, they might have to do bypass.”
“Fuck,” I mutter low, but I know she heard it. She doesn’t chastise. Being married to a military man with two sons in the service, the F-bomb isn’t going to make her blush. Hell, she can drop them with the best of us.
“I’m coming,” I say, making a split-second decision that’s going to disrupt a lot of people.
“You’re in the middle of a job,” she exclaims, denial in her tone. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m coming,” I repeat, and what I don’t say is that I’m coming for her. She’s the one who needs support. My brother is deployed, and she’s by herself.
“Jackson,” she starts to argue, but I cut her off.
“Mom … I need to get busy making some arrangements. It will be no problem for me to take a day or two or however long. I can get someone to take my place.”
And that’s the truth. Kynan would never expect me to continue on with an ill parent.
She tries to argue one more time, but I gently shoot her down and make my farewells. I promise to call her back soon with my arrival time.
Before I call Kynan, though, I need to talk to Camille.
Moving to the door that connects us, I give it a quick rap with my knuckles. The TV is quickly muted and Camille calls, “Come in.”
I enter the main suite to find her sitting on the edge of the couch, turned at an angle to watch me come through the door. “Is something wrong?” she asks as she stands.
“Not that affects you,” I reply flatly. I’m obviously worried about my dad, and my mom being alone, but I’m also worried about leaving my post. I’ve never done that. “My dad had a heart attack and—”
“Oh no,” Camille blurts loudly and rounds the couch to rush to me. Her hand goes to my forearm in a show of support. “Is he okay? What can I do? Are you okay?”
I should be irritated as time is of the essence, but I’m quite touched by her compassion.
Gently removing her hand from my forearm, I give it a soft squeeze to show I appreciate her concern. “He’s getting ready to go into a medical procedure now. My mom is there by herself since my brother is deployed overseas, so I need to go to her. I’m going to have Paul take over my duties. He’ll stay in my room tonight, and of course, I’ll let Dmitri know. I probably won’t be gone for more than a day, so I’ll catch up with you in Atlanta.”
She’s shaking her head before I can finish. “Ridiculous. We’ll go to your dad right now in my plane. I can cancel tomorrow’s activities, as well as dinner tonight.”
“No way,” I proclaim, taking a step back.
“Why not?” she asks, stepping forward. “I have a plane at the ready that can get you there in, what …?”
“An hour and fifteen,” I mutter, knowing she’s going to use the expediency by which she can get me to Reagan National Airport as a selling point. From there, it’s a fifteen-minute drive to the hospital.
“Then what are we waiting for?” she asks, pointing back at my room. “Go pack up. It will take me about fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”
I sigh, scrubbing my hand through my hair. “We don’t even have hotel arrangements. I haven’t been able to vet hotels in that area. I can round up the agents, but that’ll take a bit, especially the ones who are off, although I suppose I can get Ladd to send some on to DC who can step in—”
“Stop,” she says, and once again, she’s right in front of me, head tipped back with sympathy written all over her face. “I don’t need any extra protection. I doubt kidnappers are waiting at the hospital on the off chance I walk in. And we can stay at your parents’ house—we don’t need hotel arrangements.”
“At my parents’ house?” I repeat, one eyebrow cocked.
“Yes,” she says brightly. “You told me they live in a big, lovely old farmhouse. I’m sure there’s an extra room or two. Surely there’s an extra couch.”
Holy shit. This royal pain in my ass just invited herself to sleep at my parents’ house. Not that I wouldn’t have extended an invitation, but that’s just … rude?
No, that’s not it. Presumptuous?
Not it either. Charming?
Maybe.
Whatever it is, it doesn’t offend and I find it kind of cute. Her Royal Highness Camille Winterbourne has offered to sleep on a couch tonight so I can get to Mom as quickly as possible.
When I look back on this later, this will probably be the exact moment when I decided Camille’s not just a job anymore.