CHAPTER TWO

Caden's Pov

I thought too much last night because why the heck does my heart hurt?

I threw my eyes open and winced at the bright lights in the room.

“Jesus, fuck. Kill the lights.” I groaned as I rubbed my eyes.

“What happened to good morning?” A female voice replied to me in a sarcastic drawl.

I peeled my hands off my face and snorted. “Good morning, Gatsby.”

Her lips curled into a weak smile. “You're finally awake.”

My brows furrowed at her words. “Finally?” I could barely get any word out before she drew me in for a hug.

“Um… Gatsby, what are you doing?” I panicked. I'm not a hugger and she knows that.

“I thought we'd lost you.” she whispered in a shaky voice as she tightened our embrace.

Lose me? What is she talking about?

I pulled away from the hug and looked at her.

Her dark curls were disheveled and there were bags under her eyes. She looked nothing like the disciplined Gabrielle who maintained a strict appearance. She was… exhausted. Okay. What the hell happened?

The unmistakable smell of antiseptic wafting in the air hit my nostrils and I froze.

Wait a goddamn minute.

I looked around the room and holy cow — pale white walls, blue curtains, a beeping heart rate machine. I wasn't in my 18 million dollar penthouse. I was in a freaking hospital.

“What am I doing in a hospital?” I asked Gatsby with a shaky breath. “Oh no. Did I get drunk and do something stupid again?”

A tired laugh escapes her and she shakes her head. “No.”

She looked at me and her eyes began to fill. “There was an assassination.”

I tried to sit up but a sharp pain shot up my arm and I winced. My gaze dropped on my right arm and I stared at the cast wrapped around it. I was hurt. Someone had hurt me.

“An assassination?” I repeated her words slowly.

“Yeah,” Gatsby wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “Someone planted a bomb in your car. You were lucky to escape the explosion.”

An assassination? That's not possible. No one has ever tried to kill me. Not even once. They couldn't try if they could. I'm a Booker and no one dares to assassinate a member of the Booker family.

A news jingle made me lift my head and now, I'm staring at the TV across the room.

Lying on a stretcher with an oxygen mask over his face was me, paramedics fluttering around me like pigeons over bread while a group of firemen in the background battled to put out a flaming car. My car. My 12 million dollars.

I jolted from my bed not feeling the pain in my arm. “That car was over 12 million dollars. Does this fucker know how long I waited to buy that shit?!”

Gatsby stared at me as if I grew another head. “I'm sorry. What?”

“You heard me,” I ran my good hand through my hair. “My BMW 507. I never even got the chance to drive it. It was a new car. If he had planted a bomb in the SUV, I wouldn't be upset.”

“Woah. Woah. Woah,” Gatsby rose to her feet. “You were almost killed and the first thing you're worried about is a car?”

“Yes!” I yelled.

“I'm out of here.” She picked up her purse.

“Hold on. You're just gonna leave?” I called after her but she flipped me the bird.

The moment the door clicked open, she paused and took a step back inside.

“I'm glad you understand how I feel.” I said with an exasperated sigh. “Honestly, that car was …”

“... an eyesore to begin with. Flashy things attract criminals, Mr. Booker.” A familiar American accent filled the space and I recognized the owner before he even crossed the threshold — Gabriel Foster. And he wasn't alone. He brought the whole gang with him.

“To what do I owe this unscheduled meeting?” I replied with an edge to my voice.

Mrs. Benito grabbed the chair Gatsby once occupied and took a seat.

“We heard what happened two days ago and rushed over to see you.” She said in her slimy, Italian accent.

“You only come to see me when something bad happens. It seems you've been waiting a long time for this to happen.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Caden!” Jonathan barked. “You will not speak to her like that!”

“Ah, I see. The calvary is here. Want me to give you a round of applause?” I said with sincere sarcasm.

“Caden, stop that.” Gatsby shot me a glare. “They have something important to tell you.”

“By all means, entertain me.” I leaned back in bed and looked at the three musketeers.

Garbriel Foster, Casa Benito, and Jonathan Whipply are one of the company's board members and the pain in my glorified behind. They always show up whenever I mess up, like that one time I got drunk and hooked up with a stranger back in college and it made it to national TV. These people showed up at my penthouse the very next day and gave me peptalks about being the future heir, taking responsibility, and blah fucking blah. It's not a shock they're here to say the same damn thing.

“Here you go.” Gabriel passed me a brown folder.

“You want me to read this time. Cool.” I snatched the folder from his hand and tore it open. Gatsby was a darling and passed me my reading glasses.

After reading a few lines, I told myself I'd had enough of this thing.

“This is a load of crap.” I tossed the paper aside.

“Caden!”

“You expect me to be watched 24/7? I'm not a child!” I yelled.

“You act like one.” Mrs. Benito mumbled and I glared at her.

“You are the sole heir to the Booker Legacy Group. If anything happens to you, your family's legacy dies. We have to do everything in our power to keep you safe.” Gabriel explained or more like gave a word-vomit.

“You want to keep me safe or keep me alive to be your puppet?” I hissed.

“Don't be rude, Caden.” Jonathan stared at me like he was disappointed. Well, I'm not surprised. He always looked at me that way.

“Hiring a bodyguard wasn't our decision to make!” Gabriel's voice cut through the chaos and everyone froze.

“Grandpa is dead so the three of you all pull the strings now. If you're not the one who made the decision then who the hell did it?!” I asked, staring at their faces for an answer.

Gastby heaved a tired sigh before picking up the paper I tossed. “Your grandfather.”

My stomach churned. “What?”

She passed the agreement plan to Gabriel who folded the paper like scripture. “This is a mandatory executive protection written by his grandfather, Caden. You must obey it.”

So grandpapi is still giving orders from the grave. I'm impressed.

I lift my chin defiantly and grin. “And if I refuse?”

It was Gabriel's turn to grin.

“If you refuse, Caden, we will freeze all your shares.” He flashed me with a grin and I was tempted to wipe it off his red American face.

Dumbass.

“You can't be serious. Freeze all my shares? I'm the biggest shareholder in the company. You can't do that to me!” I hissed.

“Oh but we can.” Gabriel grinned.

I turned to Gatsby, waiting for her to tell me this is a fucking dream and I need to wake up. But she just shook her head and looked the other way.

Fuck. This is as real as my depression.

“We've already hired your bodyguard.” Gabriel added, replacing his grin with his usual unreadable look. “He's an Ex-Navy SEAL, has top-notch recommendations, and is experienced with guarding high-profile personalities. He’s a sought-after professional and the perfect fit for this job.”

God, this is really happening. In all my 27 years, I’d never had a bodyguard. Now, I'm going to be babysitted by one.

“Take a look.” He passed a picture.

I took the picture and stared at the man in it.

He had longish black hair grazing his collar and gunmetal-gray eyes. Most veterans kept their hair cropped or short but this dude clearly wasn’t one of them.

I spotted a thin scar slashing through his left eyebrow and a hint of a tattoo peeking out from both sleeves of his shirt.

I’ve seen this man before but where?