Stronger as One (#1, Completed)

1. Shadows of the mind

FTR and returning readers check-in

RILEY

"A babysitter gig? You must be joking." I slammed the file onto John's desk with a loud thump, sending his monitors rattling.

A sane person would never speak to their boss like that, but in our field, where we all put our lives on the line more often than not, hierarchy didn't matter. Being honest and open with each other made all the difference between life and death.

I was a goddamn security and protection expert, for crying out loud; part of the best in the business in the UK. My track record spoke for itself—I had neutralised more criminals and defused more dicey situations in the past four years than most agents did in a decade, which was why John's competitors tried to poach me frequently. Hell, even the MI5 had tried recruiting me.

That was precisely why I was pissed that he wanted to give me this guy as my assignment. Again.

John swung around in his chair, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips despite his attempt to look stern. "Always straight to the point," he said with amusement. "I get you are pissed off. He is...particular." That was one way to describe the giant pain that Adam Smith was. "But he is considered an up-and-coming tech genius."

"But why me? Give him one of the newbies."

Fighting was my forte. Top-notch combat skills, sniper precision with guns, and a knack for strategy—that was me. Handling danger and protecting others had always been my calling in life. And yet, he wanted me to be a glorified babysitter for a rich, spoiled guy who was probably receiving threats from his lovers and ex-wives again. Hadn't Adam learnt his lesson the last time we protected him?

"Mr Smith has money and influence, so I cannot turn him down or be seen as offering him anything else than our best. That's you, Riley," John continued. Did he think that flattery was going to change my mind? "Come on—it will be an easy job. All you need is to accompany him to this meet-and-greet this afternoon and make sure that no man lays a hand on him. Deal?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

I wanted to wipe that smug look off John's face. But the bastard was right. As always. "Fine. But if he even as much as looks at my butt again, he'll need protection from me next."

Lines pulled up at the corner of his mouth enough to reveal a quasi-smile. "That's my girl. Go say hello next door, Boswell. He is waiting there."

Zen, Riley, zen. No choking the client in the office.

Pushing open the meeting room door, a wave of sugary sweetness hit me first. Adam was sprawled in his chair, a doughnut from his almost-finished Krispy Kreme box halfway to his mouth. His loud munching broke the room's stillness as he obliviously scrolled through his phone, powdered sugar dusting his designer suit.

How was this guy a genius? At the rate he was going, he was probably en route to developing diabetes before he even made it big in the tech world.

He embodied the nouveau riche stereotype - designer clothes, a flashy red Lamborghini with the license plate 'PL4Y B8Y', and a penchant for broadcasting his every move in London on social media as if anyone cared.

That last part made my job all the more annoying as someone who needed to keep him safe from supposed perpetrators. The man was oh-so-clever that he would regularly end up posting photos with his latest lover. Sometimes I wondered if this was his way of speeding up the divorces from his ever younger-looking new wives. Not that they complained—it was clear what they were after.