Breaking Habits

Chapter 1 - Micah-MY Protection

As I listen, I do a quick scan of my team. I told Bradley to use Jordan tonight and everyone else have already signed their agreements and made their commitments for later, so there's no one left but me.

"I'm available," I tell her.

"How soon can you get here?" She asks desperate, and even though I'm doing this at such short notice, she doesn't seem pleased.

"I can be there by mid-afternoon. What's your name and location?" I ask grabbing a pen and a note pad to write down the address.

"Don't you have it already?" She sasses down the line.

Her condescending tone reminds me of the ones prison guards use, and as I'm no longer there, I don't have to take it. Deepening the base in my voice, I say, "like I said, not in front of me."

"Uugghh..." She huffs again. "It should be under Bethaliee Enderson or Beth. You know... the super model- and everyone knows where I live."

As she said that, the pen falls from my hand and land on the desk, then it rolls off on the floor. I know her, not in person. She's the country's top model.

Excitement floods me. She's a high-profile celebrity, and if we do business, it could mean more exposure for my business. I begin to lose track in the conversation as I think about the risks that would arise on this detail. I almost didn't hear when she starts firing off her address. Her place is not too far from here. It's about thirty minutes outside of the city. Clifton Heights, where all the rich people live.

"Don't be late," she stressed before she hangs up.

It's agitating and I take a long, deep, steady breath after I put the phone down. The way she sounds doesn't match the way she looks, so I pull out my phone to look her up. As soon as I type her name in, the screen fills with all kinds of images of her.

She's tall and slender, and her skin, gingerbread, is the same shade as mine. I judge that she could be five foot nine. She's dresses immaculately in all her pictures and everything she wear suits her. Her body curves in the right places and I notice how she likes to show off her slender tone legs.

Scanning the photos, her smile keeps drawing my attention to her heart-shaped face and I get lost in her beauty. Her nose is the cutest button that I've ever seen. Her chins remind me of a pixie's. The only thing I can't decipher is her hair. The colour is different in all her pictures, just like the guys that she gets pictured with, but that's none of my business, if the woman wants to be seen with someone new all the time, that's her game.

Thinking not to judge someone based off their looks, I put my phone away and go back to my earlier thought. I need to hire a Risk Assessor to help Ben, my current advisor because I know he's getting run over with the new influx of business that's coming our way.

***

Later in the day, I arrived at the address. I thought the model's house would be bigger. A castle popped in mind, like the one Shauna described. She's one of the female bodyguards, who covers the socialites. She checked the bookings and saw Beth's name on the listing, and it started a commotion in the office. She told anyone who would listen that Beth's is the supermodel and we're covering her.

Sevyne, Riot and few others got involved and the offices ran with chaos. My employees pulled all sorts of stories about the model, and I tried not to listen to any of it, but obviously few things snuck through, hence my impression.

As I walk up the driveway, the two-story brick house with white bay windows and a pristine white door tower over me. There's also a two-door garage sitting next to the house as a separate building with black doors like the paved driveway. The space is bigger than it looks and out of habit I estimate that three cars could park here.

When I reach the front door, there's no knocker so I look around for a bell. A little gold thing dented in the wall sticks out at me and I press it then wait.

Not long after, a woman carrying a purple case comes to the door. She doesn't offer a greeting, but she tells me to go in as she walks hurriedly out the house, down the driveway to a car parked across the street, and when she goes in, she drives off without a second glance my way. Accessing the situation, negligence is the first thing that comes to mind. She didn't even check to see who I was.

Turning back to the house, I hope that I'm in the right place because only God knows how badly this could turn out if I walk in the wrong house. The owner would take one look at me and get the wrong impression.

I must be cautious with my approach, so I look down at myself. My black shirt's tucked in my black jeans. My boots also black are clean, and they have the right shine. I rake my hands down my black tactical gear jacket. It's a stab proof one and it bears my logo, MY Protection.

There should be no issues. Looking around one last time, I take a deep breath then I go inside.