Nanny for the SEALs by Cassie Cole

2

Rogan

I fucking hated going to events like these.

We were standing in the suite at the Lakers game, idly looking over whenever the crowd noise rose to a roar. I didn’t care about basketball at all. That’s how I felt about most sports, actually. Games were just that: games. They weren’t real life.

But I did care about business, and that meant clients and potential clients needed to be schmoozed. Especially in this ass-kissing town. Most of our clients were athletes, models, or actors. All three needed their egos stroked to completion before they would hire you.

“You simply must diversify,” the guy in front of me was saying. He was the president of a Los Angeles talent agency. “It’s true you get a higher return in the stock market, but the point is to reduce risk as you get closer to retirement. I’m currently dabbling in a variety of target-date funds that automatically…”

I zoned out within five seconds of listening to him again. Retirement? I was thirty-two years old, and my job was to protect people. I wasn’t retiring for decades. Who the fuck did this guy think he was talking to?

Like I said: I hated events like these. That’s how life felt sometimes. Just a series of events I didn’t want to attend featuring an endless parade of people I didn’t want to talk to.

Sometimes I missed being deployed. At least then life was simple.

I nodded along to the guy, sipped my beer, and gazed around the rest of the suite. In addition to him, we had a member of the Los Angeles Rams public relations team talking to one of my partners. Asher—my partner—stood very still while explaining the computer network we used at our HQ, occasionally adjusting the glasses on his nose while the woman nodded and asked questions.

The other big fish in the room was Boras Scottsdale, one of the top athletic agents in Southern California. Clinging to his arm was a small, leathery woman with the biggest fake tits I had ever seen in my life—and that’s coming from a guy who lives in Los Angeles, the silicon capital of the world. Brady—my other partner—was telling them a long, and very loud, story in his thick Boston accent.

“So we land in the middle of the fucken night outside Baghdad. It’s so dark it might as well be the bottom of the fucken ocean. But we’ve got enough tactical gear it’s no problem. With nightvision goggles, we can see better than Ted Fucken Williams.”

My attention drifted away from the war story I’d heard Brady tell a thousand times. The three potential clients in the room were good, but I had expected more than them. We originally had twenty-five tickets to give away. Boras Scottsdale had taken five, but then he only showed up with Madam Volleyball Tits rather than any of his athlete clients. The Rams Public Relations director had accepted six tickets, but the only person she had brought was her husband. The talent agency president—who was now explaining mutual fund yields to me—had taken the rest of the tickets, but then he showed up all alone.

I didn’t mind wasting money. Our company had plenty of that. But I absolutely hated wasting time.

When the talent agency president paused to breathe, I cut in. “Is anyone from your agency coming tonight?”

“I invited a few people,” he said offhand, oblivious to the reason I was asking. “Mostly new talent. Oh, and Amirah Pratt. She’s the pretty little blonde girl starring in that new Netflix show. The one based on the book series.”

“Fantastic,” I said, even though I had no idea who Amirah Pratt was. But if she was starring in a Netflix show, she wasn’t a small fish.

“Amirah—lovely girl—insisted she would be here,” the guy said. “She’s had some death threats on social media since her show aired. Lots of crazies in this town.”

“That’s what my company is for,” I said smoothly. “To keep people like her safe. You can’t put a price on peace of mind.”

He abruptly pulled out his phone. “I need to take this.” Without any other comment, he strode out of the suite.

I breathed a sigh of relief once he was gone, and took a few steps closer to the arena. The suite was one big shoebox-shaped room, with the entrance at one end and the court side at the other. The wall was glass, and a door led down to four rows of seats overlooking the court. These were private seats, only accessible through our suite and not connected to the ones on either side. Right now, there was nobody sitting in them.

I sipped my beer and watched a few seconds of the game. The Lakers were winning, but it was only the second quarter. The crowd was happy about that, but I didn’t care. It all seemed so pointless to me.

Brady appeared next to me with a glass of beer in one hand and a tumbler of clear liquor in the other. “Fucken LeBron only has two rebounds. I bet a C-spot that he’d have a triple-double tonight.”

Brady’s Boston accent was thicker than Good Will Hunting. “C-spot” sounded like “C-spaht.” Sometimes, if I wasn’t paying attention, it sounded like someone was talking to me in a foreign language.

I had no idea what a triple-double was, so I said, “We’re not here to watch games. We’re supposed to be focusing on recruiting clients.”

Brady downed the clear liquor in one gulp and frowned at me. “Look around, pal. Not many asses to kiss. At least, not in our suite.”

“I know.”

“Fuck it. Might as well enjoy yourself.” It came out as yahself. As if to emphasize his point, he guzzled half his beer. “Nobody’s driving, and Patty’s watchin’ the boys.”

I pulled out my phone and showed him the screen. “Patty sent me this ten minutes ago.”

Patty: First they refused to eat their dinner, and now they’re running around naked calling themselves octopus monsters. They’re driving Cora crazy.

Patty: They’re driving ME crazy, too. I don’t think I can do this any longer. Have you found a permanent nanny, yet?

“Why’s my sister texting you and not me?” Brady asked after reading the messages.

“Because she knows I’ll listen to her concerns.”

Brady shrugged. “She worries too much. Boys will be boys.”

“Patty is a pushover,” I said. “She needs to put her foot down with them.”

Brady grunted. “Patty does just fine. And it’s easier said than done. You seen how Dustin is. He’s a little hellion.”

“Yeah,” I said casually. “He takes after his father.”

Brady gasped and put his hand over his chest. “You’re breakin’ my heart.” He pronounced it haaht.

“They don’t respect your sister anymore,” I insisted. “She’s Aunt Patty. She can’t discipline them without feeling bad about it. We need a dedicated nanny.”

“Aw, I don’t know…”

The door to the suite opened. Brady glanced over his shoulder and breathed, “Goddamn…”

I saw what he meant. The woman who walked into the suite was stunning. A long blue dress flowed over her slender frame like water. Blonde curls swung around her shoulders as she gazed left, then right, looking at the occupants of the suite.

I took her in with skilled eyes that were used to quickly analyzing people. She wasn’t just slender—she was fit. Athletic. My first instinct was that she might be one of Boras Scottsdale’s athlete clients, but then I shook off the assumption. This woman was an actor. I’d protected enough actors to know them when I saw them. It was the way she carried herself: back straight and chin held high, like she had just entered a stage and was waiting to say her first line.

The analytical part of my brain gave way to the primal one again. It was impossible not to admire the way she looked. Something inside me tightened, and it felt like I was being pulled toward her by a magnet. My cock flexed involuntarily as I followed the deep plunge of her neckline.

I’ve never been the bodyguard for a woman like her before, I thought.

An African American man followed her into the suite almost reluctantly. He wore a suit with a colorful bow-tie, and gently rested his hand on her back.

That’s when I noticed the rock on her finger. The big ass diamond that I would have immediately noticed if I wasn’t distracted by her looks.

She was taken. Of course she was taken. Women like that were never single, because life was unfair. A pang of grief formed behind my sternum.

I quickly pushed down the feeling. We were here to find clients, not dates. And this woman was the exact kind of client we looked for.

“I’m gonna go give her the welcome party,” Brady said. Pahty instead of party.

I held out a hand to stop him. “She doesn’t need to hear the Baghdad story.”

Brady bristled. “Aw, come on. It’s a good one.”

“I’ll handle it.” I ran my hand through my hair and prepared to give her my best smile.

Yeah, I hated going to events like these. And I hated kissing ass.

But that ass? I’d kiss it all night if I had to.