The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy(3)

“Thank you, Mr. Ellis,” she said as I walked out the door.





I got to the restaurant where I was meeting my date and parked on the street. Dating apps were hazardous at best, but I’d found one for the over-thirty crowd that seemed like it might work out better than all that swiping left and right bullshit. And at forty years old, my options for meeting women were narrowing. I didn’t want to be that guy in the club—the guy who’s too old. Last time I went out to a bar, people thought I was the bouncer.

Besides, I was convinced the type of woman I was looking for wasn’t out at the clubs on a Saturday night anyway. I’d moved to Miami five years ago to start over and live an ordinary life. A quiet life.

I’d joined the Marines at eighteen and had been recruited to the CIA several years later. I’d seen—and done—a lot of shit. Now I just wanted to settle down. Stay in one place. Be a normal guy.

And dating a woman I didn’t have to worry might kill me someday would be a plus.

The restaurant was only about half full, and Karen wasn’t here yet. Our dating app profiles had photos, and we’d done the thing where we said what we’d be wearing so we could find each other. She’d said light blue shirt, and there wasn’t a light blue shirt to be found.

I decided to get a table. It was a cute place—she’d suggested it—with bright blue tile and photos of Miami wildlife decorating the walls. I noted the exits, the location of the kitchen—which meant potential weapons in an emergency.

Damn it. I needed to stop thinking like that. This was a date, not a meeting with an informant.

The host led me to a spot next to a window and I chose the seat facing the front so I could see people coming in. My phone buzzed, so I checked, but it was Derek asking if we were boxing tomorrow. I told him I’d meet him at the gym at four.

After a quick glance at the menu Karen still wasn’t here, so I swiped through the local news on my phone to kill time. There wasn’t much going on that I didn’t already know about. I kept scrolling until something about a foiled mugging caught my eye.

I skimmed the article. Someone had attempted to mug local billionaire Cameron Whitbury in the parking garage of her office building. She’d gotten away by stomping on the perpetrator’s foot with her high heel. That made me chuckle. Nice move.

The article had a photo of Cameron with some rich pansy in a suit—the kind of guy who’d be no help in a crisis. It wasn’t that he was tall and lean—almost skinny—that gave it away, nor that he was dressed in an expensive suit. I could see it in his eyes. In his posture. He was the kind of guy who’d crumble in the face of danger.

I didn’t believe every woman needed a man in her life to protect her. But a woman like this—a billionaire CEO—could find herself a target of the wrong people for any number of reasons. Paid security was one thing, but a partner who could hold his own would be good for someone like her.

I put my phone down, realizing I was analyzing the story like she was an asset in a mission or a fellow operative. I needed to stop thinking like that.

The door opened and a woman in a light blue shirt came in. She had blond hair, cut in a short bob, a mid-length floral skirt, and sandals. She spotted me and lifted her hand in a hesitant wave.

I smiled, and she came over to my table. I stood and we exchanged a slightly awkward hug.

With a deep breath, I took my seat. I wasn’t nervous, exactly. It was hard to get nervous anymore. But I’d been out with a bunch of different women over the last couple of years, and never seemed to connect with anyone.

It wasn’t that I was wife-hunting, exactly. I wasn’t sure how I felt about marriage, although I was open to it if it seemed right. But I was well past the I just want to hook up phase, and not really into let’s just be casual and fuck sometimes. I was hoping for an actual relationship with someone interesting.

But normal. Ordinary. Not a woman who carried twenty concealed weapons underneath a black minidress and could use her stilettos as backup if necessary.

“Hey,” Karen said, getting settled in her chair. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

Seconds ticked by in silence. I rubbed my palms on my thighs beneath the table. I wasn’t good at this part. I could face down a corrupt senator and threaten to out him to the rival mafia factions he was scamming, but I couldn’t make small talk with a woman in a restaurant.

“So,” she said, picking up the menu. “The fish tacos are good here.”

“Oh, great. I like fish tacos.”

“Me too.”

I picked up my menu for something to do with my hands. And it made the ensuing silence less awkward. The server came to take our orders and I reluctantly handed over my menu. Kind of felt like I needed it for cover.

We managed a short stint of casual conversation—mostly about the weather—while we waited for our food. The server brought our meals and we both spread our napkins on our laps.

“So what do you do?” she asked.

“I guess you could say I’m a one-man security firm. I just finished up with a client before this, actually. Although I’m planning to retire.”

“That sounds nice. What will you do with your time once you retire?

I opened my mouth to reply, but I didn’t exactly have a solid answer to that question. What did I want to do with my time? More to the point, what did normal people do when they retired? “You know, play golf. Maybe start a small business.”