Page 45 of Auctioned to the Billionaire Bodyguard

We both waved at Marschall Levine as he put a group of recruits through the paces on the course. He was the training director, and he was damn good at it. He’d been the guy who’d trained me years ago, and I felt prepared for anything.

Once we were inside and situated, I waited for him to indicate he was ready to hear me out. I knew my dad well, and I wanted to give my plan the best possible chance of working.

“Okay, son. Talk to me,” he said after he’d had a couple of sips of his drink.

“Would you agree that Marschall Levine is the best training director we’ll ever have?”

He frowned. “Of course.”

“And what about Sara Beth Lakes? She’s an incredible educator in the training academy, correct?”

“Yes. What are you getting at?”

“Dad, once you retire, I don’t think Virginia should be the headquarters of St. James Security.”

He raised his eyebrows, which was basically the equivalent of anyone else saying, “What the fuck?”

“Virginia should be the training center only. You and Sara Beth could teach some classes and hire a few more people to teach others. Marschall could hire some help as well. This would become like Quantico is to the FBI.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“As you know, the headquarters of the FBI is in DC, not Quantico. St. James Security could follow their lead.”

“You’re moving to DC?”

Shit. “No. No, I want the headquarters to be in West Bay. I could find the perfect property with enough land for a smaller training course to have agents pass their quarterly fitness reviews. I also want to increase the size of the field office in Atlanta.”

Dad’s eyes widened. “What the hell?”

My dad never cursed. Ever. This was a very bad sign.

“Dad, the woman I love lives in West Bay. All my friends are in West Bay. I love it there. And Georgia, especially Atlanta, is a hub for people who need our services. There’s so much talent there, from multiple industries. Film, music, sports, politics, TV stars…”

Dad just stared at me blankly. I was starting to sweat. This was really not going well at all.

Then it got worse.

The doors to the study burst open, startling Dad and I so badly we both almost dropped our whiskey. Reynolds and Nadine came hurrying inside.

“What the hell?” my dad said again. “Reynolds? What are you doing here?”

My dad had never liked Reynolds, but I’d always lied to my best friend about that little fact.

Reynolds gave me a look, letting me know he had caught on. I knew he’d always suspected it. Now he knew it was true. Dad was not in the mood to hide his true feelings. I shrugged.

Nobody could hate Nadine, though.

My dad stood and strode over to her, giving her a hug. “Nadine. It’s always a pleasure.”

He’d literally met her once. At their wedding. He’d known Reynolds since he was ten years old.

“Hey, Mr. St. James.”

“Honey, call me Marcus.”

Reynolds stuck out his hand and Dad shook it. “Good to see you, Marcus.”

Dad frowned. “Mr. St. James is fine for you, son.”