Chapter 1 - Some Like It Sitting

Rayna

The whirring of the helicopter blades blasted around me, slicing my eardrums and overwhelming the connections in my brain. Did it bother me?

Heck no.

I drove several helicopters and fighter jets many times than I could count, and their intimidating sounds were actually music to my ears. Though never in my life had I dreamed to become a servicewoman for my country, I had come to love the job, and even excelled at it.

What bothered me as I rode the helicopter was the fact that I wasn't the one driving. Instead, I was babysitting a CEO ass who sat opposite me, acting way too silent for my liking.

He looked motionless too, as if he was a corpse. Although I couldn't see his eyes because of the Chopard glasses he used and the hooded white robe he wore, I knew he was staring at me, and this had been going on since the time we met...

But later.

I preferred to delve into that memory later when I get a room for myself inside the secret headquarters we were visiting. It was an unnerving encounter and since then; I had been on edge interacting with him.

"Are you okay there, Sir?" I asked over the intercom, acting like a damn concerned bodyguard wearing camouflage trousers, black jacket, tank top and combat boots. Still alive? I wanted to add, but refrained. It wouldn't be right to diss my temporary employer on the first day of the job.

The corners of his mouth quirked ever so slightly that it almost looked like a weak attempt to hide a smile. It was like a ghost. Existing now and gone the next.

Luckily—or more like, unluckily, I caught it just in time and once again, it unsettled me.

"Yes, I am," he answered, still maintaining that three-to-five-word reply for almost two hours.

"Good." I flashed a weak smile of my own and returned my attention to the sea of trees below us. Now this scenery, I always loved whenever I fly. The ocean too, and the mountain ranges—basically, I loved the beauty of Mother Nature in its most untouched detail. This place possessed lots of it, and I was confident this will make my time here bearable—exactly what I told myself over and over again when my commanding officer broke the news two days ago....

"With all due respect Major, I am a fighter, not a babysitter. I can't guard that man. Put me in any assignment wherever it is located, just not that mundane job of tailing an entitled prick."

Stiffly, I stood behind his office desk, at the center of his aquarium-like office in Washington. My arms hang low on each side, hands balled into a tight fist as disappointment and desperation collided inside me.

I had just only finished my annual vacation with my parents in Maui when an email from him arrived in my inbox telling me about my next assignment. I didn't want to argue with him over the phone or thru email, so the moment my family and I returned to Baltimore, I set out to visit his office.

He actually believed I would be all happy and giddy accepting the assignment, but he damn had it wrong. So wrong.

His features contorted into displeasure when he heard my reply.

"Officer Chase, not all businessmen are like that," he said, huffing in his seat. "This man is different, believe me. Plus, you are the best fit for the job. Your skills are impressive as a pilot, as an explosives expert, and as a combat specialist. It will do well when you guard him. Not to mention the fact that you're a woman."

"How does my gender relate to this job, Sir?" There. I knew it. I knew there was some kind of hidden agenda behind this so-called assignment of his. "I hope you are not pimping me to that CEO."

"No!" he was quick to shout. "Of course not! Mr. Axel Windstorm will surprise you. He is not what your brain stereotypes him to be." His brows knitted as he returned to flipping his The Washington Post newspaper.

I mentally rolled my eyes.

"I am not stereotyping, Sir. I am just stating the facts," I expressed, pointing to my own experiences with these kinds of people, from what I heard about them in mainstream media and firsthand reports of war-stricken victims. "And I hate men in suits. They always give me the chills."

"There you go again," the major gave me a look. Then, he placed the newspaper down and poured all his attention to me. "Look, Rayna."

He used my first name this time, and I knew because of that, he was speaking to me as my godfather and not my commanding officer. He and my father had been combat buddies back in their heydays. My father was the oldest of the two and retired early at the suggestion of my mom. Major James Deupolt continued his duties until he was promoted to a higher position and moved to a cozier environment that was his office.

"Mr. Windstorm is a very important man not only in our country, but in, probably, the entire planet," he continued. "He runs many businesses in almost every known sector of the market. Pharmaceuticals, steel works, shipping lines, hotel chains, banks, hospitals—everything! You name it. And he is generously financing our entire stock of weapons and heavy equipment and machinery. Pentagon is kneeling before him for crying out loud."

"So, you're telling me to do the same, Uncle James? You know, kneel in front of him?" I bit back.

"No!" His hands flew in the air, probably frustrated with me. "Goddamnit, Rayna. I'm just telling you to accept this assignment, guard the man, and ensure his safety when he visits our secret headquarters in Bolivia. That's all. I didn't say to give him some extra service."

He had the decency to control the shade of red slowly appearing on his cheeks. I couldn't blame him. That was an awkward topic even for a godfather-and-goddaughter standards. I was the same too, but I was furious enough not to let the blush slip.

Maintaining my stoic facade, I pushed my point further.

"If he is that rich, then he could afford as many male bodyguards as he pleases to guard his ass."

"Watch your mouth," Uncle James quickly chastised me, pointing an accusatory finger. "The General of Army, General Maurice Foch, wants his visit to be discreet. He is going to Hextrion HQ, remember? That place basically doesn't exist in the public's eye. You, who knows this facility already, would fit as his sole bodyguard."

"Why does he want to go there again?" I asked.

"He wants to ensure that the weapons he financed are safely delivered to the right hands."

"Hm, very perfectionist of him," I quipped, still not wanting to accept the job despite his explanation.

His eyes shifted from me to the outside of his office. In haste, he raised a hand, told me to keep quiet, and then stood up.

"General!" he shouted with glee just as the door behind me flung open.

He saluted. I followed in reflex and stepped aside to give the VIP some space.

"What a pleasure to see you!" Uncle James continued, now rounding his desk to shake the general's hand.

"Am I interrupting, Major?" the latter replied, looking at me first with his senile eyes, then to him.

General Zorg from the Man of Steel—that's how I could liken this man with. He had that kind of vibe the first time I saw him while I was in training and even until now, after I got my lieutenant rank. Only this time, his hair had receded, and it was still obvious under the general hat he wore.

"No, General. Officer Chase and I just finished our discussion. She accepts the assignment," my uncle replied.

I cursed inside in response. Damn him for taking advantage of the situation.

General Foch turned to me and nodded.

"Excellent, Officer Chase. Ensure that Mr. Windstorm's visit to Hextrion will be...fruitful."

"And safe, General," I boldly added. My uncle gave me a quick, stern look because of this. Damn me and my mouth.

But I couldn't help it. I picked up double meaning from the general's words. Either he was pertaining to more financial aid from this CEO hotshot or he was hinting me something that only I as a woman could give.

"Yes, of course, and safe." The general grinned. "Are you up to the task?"

"Sir, yes, Sir," I answered, feigning joy about this commitment.

"Good. You are dismissed," was his reply.

My uncle and I exchanged glances: his was filled with relief and gratitude while mine full of uncertainty.

Now, back to the present, I realized just as to why they specifically wanted a woman to guard this man. They wanted gentle hands.

Gentle hands to support Mr. Axel Windstorm, who sat too cozy for my liking in his wheelchair.