ChapterEight
Sam wasn’t two seconds into her civvies when she received a call from Vivianne Black, summoning her up to the penthouse for a sudden meeting.
I hope she likes my jacket. Sam threw it on over her fitted T-shirt and jeans. She’d already taken down her hair to brush before a shower, so she pulled it into a simple but neat ponytail that hung at the nape of her neck.
She wasn’t the ‘Ms. Reddy’ that Vivianne hired, but it was who she got at this time of night.
She crossed paths with Trevor in the hallway leading to the penthouse. He nodded to his boss and reported that nothing strange was afoot. Sam told him to stand down so she could get to Vivianne, who had already thrown open the front door and motioned for her to enter.
“Good luck,” Trevor said under his breath. “She’s treating us like the help today.”
I’m prepared. Sam knew what she was in for. Between Vivianne not recognizing her downstairs and the leather jacket she wore, Sam was surprised she wasn’t mistaken for a delivery woman.
Glass of wine in hand, Vivianne greeted Sam before leading her to the same sitting room where she first met the matriarch of the Black family only a few weeks ago. Inside, a uniformed housekeeper was dusting off the side tables. Startled by their arrival, she gave a profuse apology to Vivianne in a heavy French accent before making herself scarce. Sam had to wonder if the accent was real, or if it was something the young housekeeper put on to make clients like the Blacks feel like they were getting the authentic ‘French maid’ experience.
“Thank you for coming so promptly.” Vivianne motioned stiffly for Sam to sit. “Then again, you’re staying in the guest apartment, aren’t you?”
Sam sat on the edge of the nearest chair, her hands folded in her lap and her back straight. “Yes. It’s very comfortable. Thank you for allowing us to use it.”
“I’ll do anything to protect my family. And I feel much better knowing that your team is constantly on alert.” Her eyes skimmed up and down Sam’s body, taking in the jeans and jacket she wore with obvious disapproval.
“I’m off the clock,” Sam explained.
With a sniff, Vivianne pretended she wasn’t questioning Sam’s fashion choices—or lack thereof. “I’m even more grateful, then. You see, I need to talk to you about Bianca. For whatever reason, she is adamant that she has you as her personal bodyguard. And while I normally wouldn’t question the head of a company such as yours taking on the task herself, I do have some… reservations.” She gave the wine in her glass a gentle swirl. “By the way, is it Miss Reddy, or Mrs. Reddy? Pardon me. It’s part of my job to know everyone’s correct titles.”
“Ms. Reddy is fine,” Sam said.
“I figured as much. I didn’t see a wedding ring.”
“What can I say? I haven’t found the right woman yet.”
Vivianne paused, her wineglass halfway to her lips. “I… see.”
Sam didn’t usually divulge such personal information to her clients. However, she had a theory about where Vivianne’s ‘reservations’ came from. Her veiled disdain toward Sam wasn’t simply to do with class. No, Vivianne had pegged her as gay even before Sam opened her mouth. It was the source of the woman’s discomfort, which she stifled for the sake of politeness and professionalism.
At least Sam knew exactly what she was dealing with now. A woman so concerned about security that she was willing to overlook her prejudices in order to keep her family safe.
Vivianne collected herself. “Back to the matter at hand. Of all my daughters, Bianca is the one I’m most concerned about. Now, I’m a firm believer in letting my children have their own personal lives, but I also know that youth are prone to unwittingly putting themselves in danger. Scarlett is old and mature enough to know how to keep herself safe. Parker has street smarts, I suppose. But Bianca? She’s young. Naïve. She has these audacious ideas of moving to California to go to grad school.”
Because her adult child moving a few hours away by plane to go to grad school was such a crazy idea? Sam knew Vivianne was overprotective when it came to Bianca, but she’d underestimated just how much.
“She has… a condition,” Vivianne continued. “And I question her ability to manage it by herself. She needs someone keeping an eye on her. She’s going through quite a rebellious phase, you see. I’ve spoiled the girl too much. She can be quite the brat.”
While Sam was surprised to hear those words coming from Vivianne, she couldn’t say she disagreed with them. But Bianca’s bratty behavior invoked entirely different feelings in Sam than it did in Vivianne.
Feelings that were entirely inappropriate to be having while talking to her mother.
“I want you to tell me everything and anything that’s going on with Bianca,” she continued. “Who does she see? Where does she go? Tell me everything. I refuse to leave any stone unturned when it comes to my daughter’s safety during these turbulent times.”
Was she asking Sam to spy on her daughter? “Mrs. Black, Bianca is a grown woman. I don’t feel it’s right to spy on her for you. My job is to keep her secure and safe. That’s what I intend to do.”
Besides, I don’t think you’re the kind of parent who should know everything going on in your daughter’s life. Sam still recalled the conversations between her and Bianca the day she’d ended up in the hospital. There was a reason the youngest Black daughter refused to let the hospital call anyone in her family. She didn’t trust them to not overreact.
No wonder she’s such a spoiled brat. Her whole life, everyone has coddled her. Sam knew what those kinds of family dynamics were like, whether the family was as wealthy as the Blacks or working-class like the Reddys. The oldest child grew up quickly. The middle child was ignored. The youngest lived in arrested development for half her life.
“I’m not asking you to spy on her, Ms. Reddy.” Vivianne brought a hand to her chest, aghast. But Sam was willing to bet that any embarrassment the woman felt was simply a response to being called out. “Just tell me if anything stands out to you. Anything that could potentially threaten her security. Because while my daughter may have picked you out for whatever reason, I’m the person paying you. Keep that in mind. I’m the person you debrief on all security matters. Even my husband agrees that’s best.”
“This is true, Mrs. Black. I’m simply letting you know that it’s not my business what Bianca does with her personal time, as long as it doesn’t bring her any harm. But in order to make sure of that, I need all the information I can get.” Sam leaned forward, elbows on her knees, as she clasped her hands together. “You’ve never told me what this security threat is. While my team and I will do everything in our power to protect you and yours, it would help us immensely to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”