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  Relieved, I said, "No problem at all."

  My beauty sleep had suffered plenty while I'd been working nights at the club and trying to sleep days while normal people were up and about. For a decent job, I could handle a middle of the night phone call from overseas occasionally. No problem.

  "Anything else?" he asked.

  "Nope. That about covers it. Anything else for me?" I asked.

  "Nope." He pushed off the cabinet he'd been leaning against and took a step toward me. "We'll have to clear through all the formalities but I think you've got yourself a job, if you want it."

  I smiled. "I want it."

  "Good. Your first assignment is to get us a couple of desks and a few chairs. And a coffee maker." He pulled his wallet out of his pants and slid out two things. A credit card and a business card. He handed both to me.

  "What do you want me to spend?" I asked.

  If it were up to me, I'd be dumpster diving. It's sinful some of the things people throw away. I was getting quite adept at rejuvenating old stuff I found on the curb. A little paint went a long way. But somehow I didn't think that was this guy's style.

  "A few thousand, I guess. Whatever it takes. Don't be cheap. This office is going to be the public face of GAPS in D.C.. We charge clients a lot for our services because we're worth it, but we also have to look like we're worth it."

  "Gotcha."

  "I'll get the paperwork we'll need you to fill out. We'll need to run some checks and clear you before you start interacting with clients and handling business. There's a non-disclosure agreement too. It might seem like a lot but given the kind of jobs we do and who our clients are, it's all necessary."

  "I understand."

  The guys hiring these escorts were probably some of the big names in politics, not only in D.C. but around the world. They couldn't risk me selling their secrets.

  "Good." His smile turned to a frown. "I almost forgot. I need you to arrange for new locks for the front door. And find a contractor who can install a steel door with a secure lock on that closet."

  I followed the direction he pointed. "For the coat closet?" I asked.

  He grinned. "Not for long. It's going to be the weapons room when we're done."

  Weapons room? My eyes widened.

  I glanced down at the business card and at the logo embossed above the letters GAPS. The same insignia was on Zane's shirt. I studied it closer on the card in my hand. It featured angel wings and a ship's anchor . . . and a really, really big gun.

  I drew in a breath and raised my eyes. "One more question."

  "Of course." He nodded.

  "What does GAPS stand for again?"

  "Guardian Angel Protection Services." He sniffed out a short laugh. "That's what you get when you give a team of Navy SEALs some beer and ask them to come up with a name for your new PMC."

  "PMC?" I asked, a bit afraid of the answer.

  "Private military contractor."

  My eyes widened further.

  "Don't worry. We'll try to keep you out of the gunfire. Promise." He laughed like it was a joke, which I guess to him it was.

  To me, not so much. I forced a laugh as my mind whizzed through a review of the events of the day, trying to figure out how the hell I’d ended up here.

  My new boss pulled out his cell. "Let me call Jon and see if he can email all the paperwork you'll need."

  "Okay. Sure."

  He turned and I noticed the bulge under his shirt at the back of his pants. A gun, I guessed.

  As he was busy on the phone getting the papers I'd need to be cleared by the NSA or FBI or whatever, I whipped out my own cell.

  I closed the map and got back to the search results page and there it was. I saw exactly where I’d gone wrong. Listed right below Angel Escort Services was Guardian Angel Protection Services.

  I'd hit the wrong name and gotten the wrong directions. I’d gone to the wrong office.

  Holy shit, I'd gotten the wrong job.

  A job working for a Navy SEAL. A job that required a security check. A job in an office that had a weapons room.

  What the hell had I gotten myself into?

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  ABOUT CAT JOHNSON

  A top 10 New York Times bestselling author, Cat Johnson writes the USA Today bestselling Hot SEALs series, as well as contemporary romance featuring sexy alpha heroes who often wear cowboy or combat boots. Known for her creative marketing, Cat has sponsored bull riding cowboys, used bologna to promote her romance novels, and owns a collection of camo and cowboy boots for book signings. She writes both full length and shorter works.

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  BILLIONAIRE FOR HIRE

  Copyright © 2018 by Cat Johnson

  All Rights Reserved

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.