Page 35

“Morning, boss.”
“Morning.”
The recruits greet me when I pass by. I can always tell the ex-military from the ex-MMA and street fighter types. Those who’ve been in the army click their feet together and salute, even though I’ve made it clear that I’m a civilian now.
“Those nerds don’t need me breathing over their shoulders. Hell, I don’t understand half of what they do anyway,” Link says.
“Can’t call them nerds anymore, Link.” I wrap gauze around my knuckles and tape it up well. Regan doesn’t like seeing bruises on my hands. She’ll get teary-eyed, kiss them and croak ‘does it hurt, daddy?’
I hate seeing my baby girl anxious, so I make sure not to leave any evidence of my more strenuous activities.
“Are you kidding? Nerds are climbing the totem pole these days. Used to be the jocks who ran things.” Link shakes his head. “Not anymore.”
“Money runs things,” I tell him. “That’s why nerds…” I stop myself. “I mean, the academically inclined are running things. But if you strip it down to the basics and money isn’t an option, strength is still more desirable.”
“Spoken like a true jock. Bet you won Prom King back in high school, Bolton.” He flashes his teeth in a broad grin.
I did. But I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing he’s right.
“What do you want to discuss?” I stretch in front of a punching bag and then take the first jab.
Thud.
The bag swings wildly.
“Your new nanny.”
The punch I’d been aiming at the middle of the bag goes foul. I end up catching air. It’s a quick misstep and I correct myself almost immediately, but Link is too sharp.
“Something you want to tell me?” he muses.
“Make your report and don’t waste my time, Link.” I huff out a breath, shift my stance and land another strike.
“She’s making a fuss about the men we assigned to her store.”
“What?” I arch both eyebrows.
“She sent them home. Tried to send Amy home too, but you know that girl will grin and bear a zombie apocalypse. She’s ditzy but tenacious.”
I grab both ends of the punching bag to keep it stationary. “The guards are for Regan’s safety. Island’s salon isn’t secure and since she insisted on watching Regan there—”
“You’re preaching to the choir here, Bolton.”
I scowl. Yesterday, Island rejected the chauffeur and insisted on picking Regan up from school in her barely legal rust bucket of a car. Now she’s making a fuss about everything else.
“Tell the men not to go anywhere. Their assignments remain the same.”
Link flattens his lips in tight disagreement.
“How wouldyouhandle it then?” I huff.
“Me?” He slants me a crooked grin. “Son, I’ve survived thirty years of married life by one thought only.”
“What’s that?”
“The wife is always right. Even if she’s wrong…”
“She’s right?”