"Hey boss! You have a call waiting," Bradley shouts in the garage.
He's been with me since year three. He's my second in command. He's honest and loyal and I consider him a good friend.
Ending the checks on the range rovers that we use as company cars, I look over at him. "Who is it?"
"Didn't get the name, but she asked for you by yours, and she only wanna speak to you."
My heart flips a little when I hear that. We don't give our real names to our clients. Only official people know who we are, so I start to run throw the events in my head to check if I've accidentally broken the law in some way. After spending time in prison, unexpected calls like this can make me over think things.
"I hope you weren't shitty on the phone," I say leaving the garage.
"C'mon, you know me." he grouses following behind. "I can be professional... when I wanna be. The call's on line one. It sounds urgent too."
We enter the office and Doreen is not at her desk, so I add a little haste in my steps because if it's someone official calling, I don't want to piss them off, plus, I don't want to miss any opportunities passing by if that what this is.
"Has she been waiting long?" I ask heading towards the desk and wondering where the hell is my receptionist.
"Nah, five minute or so," Bradley answers keeping on my tail.
When we reach the receptionist area, I turn to him. "Where's Dor?"
He looks around, bunches his shoulders, then flares his arms. "I think she went to get coffee."
Doreen was employed shortly after Bradley. She's excellent in her role but the woman is never at her desk. Sometimes I think to fire her, but she's the only one who can keep the rest of my crew in check.
I get ready to take the call, but Bradley adds, "I have a pickup later and could do with the help. Who's free?"
"Use Jordan, I don't think he's booked for anything tonight," I say then answer the phone.
"Micah Yorke here."
Whoever's calling already knows who I am so there's no point beating around the bush with the niceties of a hello.
"Hello... Hi! I'm calling about the security detail under Enderson."
I don't remember the name coming up in this morning's meeting, so it doesn't ring any bells.
"Can you hold for a sec." I tell the woman and she huff annoyed.
Looking all over, I can't see our meeting folder on Dor's desk, and I also can't log on the computer here because I left my key card in my office.
"Bradley!" I yell hoping he's nearby and knows where the folder is.
When I don't get a response, I put the phone back to my ear to listen if the woman is still there.
"I'm sorry, I'm having system issues and unable to pull your files but tell me why you're calling and how I can help. Has the arrangement changed?"
I don't set up bookings and have no information about the fine details, but I play off like I know what I'm doing.
"Yes actually! My mother called this morning, have you no notes about the conversation?"
The woman sounds snotty and stuck up, but I don't want to lose the business coming my way, so I let her attitude slide.
"I just don't have them in front of me. Can you fill me in on the details. Has anything changed?"
I get another huff before she tells me the details. Her mother rang this morning to hire our services for the coming weeks, but this woman wants to hire someone straight away. Her bodyguard quit this morning, now she needs someone to escort her to an event tonight. Her explanation sounds dramatic, and she's coming across terrible and mean, but I'm not here to judge. She could be nice for all I know.
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.