Guardian Angel

Chapter 1-2

As they approached the bar where the city’s high-glamour residents mingled and talked, a delicate dance began. Henderson swirled back, keeping his eyes on them but never drawing closer, almost as if he’d advance scouted the building and marked off the two hundred-foot barrier. That didn’t change the underlying threat. Jimmy swallowed a rising urge to approach him and wipe that hateful expression off his face with his fist. Instead, Jimmy stared him down, receiving back an Oscar-caliber look of woe-is-me innocence. Jimmy turned back when Serena handed him a glass of champagne.

“Better not. I’m on duty,” he said, refusing it.

“If you don’t, people will know you’re security, not a date. Henderson will know.”

“That’s important to you?”

“I can’t let him beat me,” she said and then, with regret lacing her voice, said, “Not again.”

Jimmy allowed Serena to clink glasses with him in a silent cheer, noticing how her left arm shook. He took a sip then gazed back to the area where Henderson Carlyle had been circling. The man was no longer visible, a specter instead of a spectator. Jimmy couldn’t decide which one was worse, being seen or knowing he was lurking somewhere in the shadows.

* * * *

After the performance, there was a private reception for people who had donated at least five thousand dollars to Help Is Here, a nonprofit charity that offered assistance to New York’s struggling families who suddenly found themselves jobless, homeless, or in need of cash for major medical expenses. The charity’s slogan was It’s no Longer on the Way. Serena was on the board of the charity, but still she’d written a sizable check herself, the amount barely making a dent in her sizable bank account. Little wonder the champagne was on the high-end; these folks could afford it. Jimmy would remember the seductive shape of the dark green Dom Perignon bottle from now on, as well as the velvety intoxication.

The exclusive event was taking place in a private room inside the Koch Theatre, and the haughty organizers were quick to turn away party-crashers. That included the discarded Henderson Carlyle, who was not only a pariah among the board of directors and a beater of women but he was cheap, too, the worst kind of socialite. Never trust a rich man with no money. He was the kind of individual to look out only for himself, spending his soft-earned money on his own first-world indulgences. Seeing the swirling array of guests, Jimmy realized what a strange scene this was to him, who knew five-floor walk-ups, street corner fights with bullies, corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick’s Day, and life lessons from his tart-tongued mother. He’d take those any day.

Still, it was interesting to see how the other half lived.

Given that Henderson wasn’t at the reception, Serena could relax. She flitted about, kissing cheeks and glad-handing the donors, playing the role of the aging socialite with long-practiced and well-placed aplomb. Jimmy had to admire her: the adversity she’d endured since childhood, losing her parents in such a fiery, headline-making way, living with the expectation of being an heiress, trailed by the paparazzi until being whisked off to Europe for private schooling. It was only after she had grown into a beautiful young woman—model worthy—that she returned to Manhattan and began her lifelong fling with the press, not to mention the men she shared her bed with. She was unapologetic; she knew what she wanted—and what she didn’t want. Her devotion to charity work was what endeared her to New Yorkers from all walks of life and helped pave the otherwise free ride she got from potential naysayers. She might use her money to live a good life, but she also used it so others could, too.

Jimmy should know. She had paid him handsomely, keeping him on retainer for weeks, not just for these such occasions. He was on call, anytime day or night. That was fine with him. His work was his life.

Standing in the corner, watching her in action, he noticed someone was watching him.

A handsome man of Asian descent, standing about five feet eight and maybe aged thirty-five but could be a youthful forty, his thick black hair was slicked back, a severe part on the side. He was dressed in a tux as well, but then again, all the men were for this black-tie affair. Jimmy had to admit, it looked distinguished on him, natural, almost like he’d been born in one. Jimmy shifted his position, adjusting his bow tie and wishing he could take off the strangling accessory. Turning away, he saw Serena reaching for the arm of a man young enough to be her son, blond, tall, perfect teeth. He observed her pinching the man’s butt cheeks, a devilish smile on her crimson lips. Nope, definitely not her son, so perhaps her next conquest.

“Your type?”

Jimmy realized the man who’d been watching him had found the courage to step forward.

“I’m sorry?”

“The blond, the one with Serena Carson.”

“Actually, I’m Serena’s escort.”

“That I noticed, but you’re not her date.”

Jimmy nodded, took a sip of his bubbly. “And how would you know that?”

“Call it a hunch. I saw you when you arrived.”

“Did you?”

“I don’t mean it to sound…creepy. You go to enough of these things, a new face suddenly emerges from the crowd and gives you hope. It’s a nice face, too.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy said.

“I’m Hai-Boi, officially. Friends call me Steven.”

“Not exactly a natural nickname, is it?”

“I’m a doctor of oncology at New York Presbyterian. Dr. Hai-Boi Wang. Doesn’t flow.”

“So Dr. Steven Wang?”

“It’s easier,” he said. “At your service.”

“I hope not,” Jimmy said, trying for a light tone while assessing the situation. Was Steven making friendly conversation, or was he trying to pick Jimmy up? He was definitely giving off a gay vibe. He was a close-talker, invading Jimmy’s personal space but not in an overly intrusive manner, just making sure he got noticed. Jimmy decided to let it ride, see where this went.

“I meant personally, I’d be at your service,” Steven said, his voice suddenly serious. “You’re quite handsome.”

“That’s kind of you, Steven.”

“I still don’t have your name.”

Just then a commotion occurred in the middle of the room, diverting Jimmy’s attention.

He zeroed in on Serena, and at her side was Henderson Carlyle. s**t, how the hell had he gotten in? Did he really think a five-thousand-dollar-per-person reception nullified the terms of a restraining order? Nor was he keeping to that two-hundred-feet-away rule; he was not even two feet away. His hand was gripping her arm, preventing her from being able to walk away. Jimmy quickly excused himself and pushed his way through the crowd, making his way over before the scene caught the attention of everyone in the room. He only had time to curse himself for dropping his guard.

“Let her go,” Jimmy said, intervening. He stared first at Henderson’s dark eyes then at his clasped fist around Serena’s wrist. “Now.”

The thing with bullies is that they back down when confronted, especially by someone bigger, more threatening. Jimmy easily won the intimidation battle, and even if his tone wasn’t imposing, his physicality and the look on his face could have knocked Henderson to the floor. First his expression wavered. Then Henderson’s hand did as asked, falling to his side.

“We were just having a friendly chat, no need to go caveman on me,” he said.

His accent was a mix of upper crust and British, and to Jimmy it sounded forced. He knew this man came from a wealthy family based in the Southwest, but he also knew a black sheep just from his attitude, the scorned scion, according to one news report Jimmy had read while doing his due diligence on the case. Being this close to him, Jimmy assessed the man’s tux was not painted on as he’d first mused, more like it oozed off of him. He was slime personified.

“This is an exclusive party,” Jimmy said. “I don’t believe you were invited.”

“Au contraire, my date, Melissa Harris-J’Arnoud, who just happens to be the chairperson of the board for Help Is Here, will vouch for me…oh damn, where has she gotten off to now…?”

“If she’s smart, she’s far away from you. You do the same with Ms. Carson.”

Henderson might have already released his grip, but he hadn’t put any distance from her side. He smoothed down the lapel of his tux as he addressed Serena. “Really? You could do much better than this lunkhead,” he said.

“And I could do worse and have,” Serena said, her words dripping with derision.

A few witnesses chuckled aloud, leaving Henderson Carlyle red-faced with embarrassment and shame. Between the two of them, his actions and her words, they had neutralized him. He took his leave, not just from their presence but from the party. Jimmy watched him depart the reception room, which was then abuzz with chatter about what had just happened. Gossip often outweighed the underlying message of the night. Serena had, up until then, done an admirable job keeping the restraining order quiet; none of the tabloids had gotten wind of it, nor had they known about the abuse he’d heaped upon her first. That was all about to change.

A photographer came by and took a shot of a visibly unnerved Serena.

“That’s enough,” Jimmy said, escorting her away to a table, where she could sit and collect herself.

They were soon joined by the tall blond man who had previously been attentive to Serena’s advances. The man bent down, keeping his eyes level with hers. He held two glasses of champagne, one of which he handed to Serena. The other did not make its way to Jimmy. It was a good reminder to Jimmy that he didn’t truly belong here; he was on a job, and he swore he would keep the distractions at bay.

“I leave you alone for a minute to grab celebratory bubbly…and that brute attacks you.”

“Oh, Robbie, I’m fine. Jimmy took care of matters.”

This Robbie fellow, whom Jimmy suddenly visualized as a grown-up version of that bland cartoon character Richie Rich, turned and gave him a snooty, judgmental once-over with icy blue eyes. “Indeed. I see that your…protector did his job. I thank you, sir, but your services will no longer be needed tonight. Ms. Carson is in fine company.”

Nice of him to review his own self. Where was he when Henderson was threatening her?

“I answer to Ms. Carson,” Jimmy said.

“Oh, boys, no need to compare p***s sizes,” she said, attempting a laugh but still rattled by what had happened. “Jimmy, it’s okay. Robbie will take me home.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.

“Jimmy, I’m still Serena Carson, and I’m not going to change my habits…my life, because of one insufferable creep. Henderson got his comeuppance tonight, shamed in front of the people he thinks of as his friends. Trust me, tomorrow they’ll all be on the phone inviting him to a hastily assembled dinner party. They’ll want to know the real scoop, and he’ll eat it up, all while he wines and dines the night away in style on someone else’s dollar. It’s his specialty, spooning off others.” She paused, offered up a slight upturn of her lips Robbie’s way. She reached out and planted a kiss on the man’s lips. “And this is what I do. We are all creatures of our own desires.”

Her intent couldn’t have been clearer if she had mounted him right there.

“Please, Jimmy, send me the bill for your services tonight.”

He wondered if Robbie would receive the same message in the morning.

“I think we’re good,” Jimmy said. “Your retainer was as generous as your motives.”

She appeared stung by his words, but right now he didn’t care.

Jimmy didn’t like the way this night was ending, watching as Serena and Robbie Rich downed their glasses before thanking their hosts and making their way out. A peck on Jimmy’s cheek was all he got in return for his night’s services. As he stood alone in the center of the room, the rest of the partygoers returning to their own intrigues, Jimmy considered what had just gone down, and he wondered if he’d just been played. If Serena Carson was so quick to dismiss her fears in favor of a romp in the sack with some prep-school alum, he wondered why he’d been needed in the first place. Henderson Carlyle might be physically imposing to Serena, but he’d backed down from the fight the moment he was confronted. He was an asshole but was Jimmy the fool?

“And I thought you were sexy before.”

Jimmy turned to see Dr. Steven Wang beside him, an unmistakable expression of desire on his face. In his hand he held a drink, this one notably stronger than the champagne that had been flowing all night. Jimmy accepted the whiskey, took a sip and savored the burning sensation that slid down his throat. The effect countered the rawness he felt inside. Still, Jimmy didn’t say a word to Steven, unsure if he wanted this kind of attention.

“So, are you some kind of bodyguard?”

“Private investigator,” Jimmy said.

“A tough-guy PI in a tux at a high-brow charity event. You’re an enigma.”

“I’m just a guy, no big deal.”

“I highly doubt that,” Steven said, “and to think, I still don’t know your name.”

Jimmy drank again, felt the booze float through his bloodstream, felt other emotions swirl there, too. He extended a hand. “Name’s Jimmy.”

“Is that all, just one name?”

“You need more?”

“Not right now, no. So, Jimmy, looks like your date left you high and dry.”

“It happens.”

“Glad it did. Clearly your night with her was ending at the front door.”

“I didn’t realize I was being obvious,” Jimmy said.

“I have excellent gaydar.”

Jimmy smiled. He liked the man’s confidence. “And your night, how is it ending?”

“Oh, I don’t want to think of it ending, not when it’s just getting interesting. I know a place where the drinks don’t require writing a big check.”

“Let me guess. Your place,” Jimmy said.

“That a problem?”

Jimmy downed the last of his whiskey, looked at the empty glass. Then he looked at Steven. His intent was clear. All Jimmy had to say was yes. What he said instead, code for yes, was, “Looks like I could do with a refill.”