Caden's Pov

I thought too much last night because why the heck does my heart hurt? I threw my eyes open and winced at the bright lights in the room.

 "Jesus, fuck. Kill the lights." I groaned as I rubbed my eyes. "What happened to good morning?" A female voice replied to me in a sarcastic drawl. I peeled my hands off my face and snorted. "Good morning, Gatsby." Her lips curled into a weak smile. "You're finally awake."

My brows furrowed at her words. "Finally?" I could barely get any word out before she drew me in for a hug. "Um... Gatsby, what are you doing?" I panicked. I'm not a hugger and she knows that. "I thought we'd lost you." she whispered in a shaky voice as she tightened our embrace.

Lose me? What is she talking about? I pulled away from the hug and looked at her. Her dark curls were disheveled and there were bags under her eyes. She looked nothing like the disciplined Gabrielle who maintained a strict appearance. She was... exhausted. Okay. What the hell happened?

The unmistakable smell of antiseptic wafting in the air hit my nostrils and I froze. Wait a goddamn minute. I looked around the room and holy cow - pale white walls, blue curtains, a beeping heart rate machine. I wasn't in my 18 million dollar penthouse. I was in a freaking hospital. "What am I doing in a hospital?" I asked Gatsby with a shaky breath. "Oh no. Did I get drunk and do something stupid again?" A tired laugh escapes her and she shakes her head. "No." She looked at me and her eyes began to fill.

"There was an assassination."

 I tried to sit up but a sharp pain shot up my arm and I winced. My gaze dropped on my right arm and I stared at the cast wrapped around it. I was hurt. Someone had hurt me. "An assassination?" I repeated her words slowly. "Yeah," Gatsby wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "Someone planted a bomb in your car. You were lucky to escape the explosion."

An assassination? That's not possible. No one has ever tried to kill me. Not even once. They couldn't try if they could. I'm a Booker and no one dares to assassinate a member of the Booker family. A news jingle made me lift my head and now, I'm staring at the TV across the room, laying on a stretcher with an oxygen mask over my face with paramedics fluttering around me like pigeons over bread while a group of firemen in the background battled to put out a flaming car.

My car.

 My 12 million dollars. I jolted from my bed not feeling the pain in my arm. "That car was over 12 million dollars. Does this fucker know how long I waited to buy that shit?!" Gatsby stared at me as if I grew another head. "I'm sorry. What?" "You heard me," I ran my good hand through my hair. "My BMW 507. I never even got the chance to drive it. It was a new car. If he had planted a bomb in the SUV, I wouldn't be upset."

"Woah. Woah. Woah," Gatsby rose to her feet. "You were almost killed and the first thing you're worried about is a car?"

"Yes!" I yelled.

 "I'm out of here." She picked up her purse. "Hold on. You're just gonna leave?" I called after her but she flipped me the bird. The moment the door clicked open, she paused and took a step back inside.

"I'm glad you understand how I feel." I said with an exasperated sigh. "Honestly, that car was ..." "... an eyesore to begin with. Flashy things attract criminals, Mr. Booker." A familiar American accent filled the space and I recognized the owner before he even crossed the threshold - Gabriel Foster. And he wasn't alone. He brought the whole gang with him. "To what do I owe this unscheduled meeting?" I replied with an edge to my voice. Mrs. Benito grabbed the chair Gatsby once occupied and took a seat. "We heard what happened two days ago and rushed over to see you." She said in her slimy, Italian accent. "You only come to see me when something bad happens. It seems you've been waiting a long time for this to happen." I crossed my arms over my chest. "Caden!" Jonathan barked. "You will not speak to her like that!" "Ah, I see. The calvary is here. Want me to give you a round of applause?" I said with sincere sarcasm.

"Caden, stop that." Gatsby shot me a glare. "They have something important to tell you."

 "By all means, entertain me." I leaned back in bed and looked at the three musketeers. Garbriel Foster, Casa Benito, and Jonathan Whipply are one of the company's board members and the pain in my glorified behind. They always show up whenever I mess up, like that one time I got drunk and hooked up with a stranger back in college and it made it to national TV. These people showed up at my penthouse the very next day and gave me peptalks about being the future heir, taking responsibility, and blah fucking blah. It's not a shock they're here to say the same damn thing.

"Here you go." Gabriel passed me a brown folder.

 "You want me to read this time. Cool."

 I snatched the folder from his hand and tore it open. Gatsby was a darling and passed me my reading glasses. After reading a few lines, I told myself I'd had enough of this thing. "This is a load of crap." I tossed the paper aside. "Caden!" "You expect me to be watched 24/7? I'm not a child!" I yelled. "You act like one." Mrs. Benito mumbled and I glared at her. "You are the sole heir to the Booker Legacy Group. If anything happens to you, your family's legacy dies. We have to do everything in our power to keep you safe."

 Gabriel explained or more like gave a word-vomit. "You want to keep me safe or keep me alive to be your puppet?" I hissed. "Don't be rude, Caden." Jonathan stared at me like he was disappointed. Well, I'm not surprised. He always looked at me that way.

 "Hiring a bodyguard wasn't our decision to make!" Gabriel's voice cut through the chaos and everyone froze. "Grandpa is dead so the three of you all pull the strings now. If you're not the one who made the decision then who the hell did it?!" I asked, staring at their faces for an answer.

Gastby heaved a tired sigh before picking up the paper I tossed. "Your grandfather." My stomach churned. "What?" She passed the agreement plan to Gabriel who folded the paper like scripture. "This is a mandatory executive protection written by his grandfather, Caden. You must obey it."

So grandpapi is still giving orders from the grave. I'm impressed. I lift my chin defiantly and grin. "And if I refuse?" It was Gabriel's turn to grin. "If you refuse, Caden, we will freeze all your shares." He flashed me with a grin and I was tempted to wipe it off his red American face. Dumbass.

"You can't be serious. Freeze all my shares? I'm the biggest shareholder in the company. You can't do that to me!" I screamed . "Oh but we can." Gabriel grinned.

 I turned to Gatsby, waiting for her to tell me this is a fucking dream and I need to wake up. But she just shook her head and looked the other way. Fuck. This is as real as my depression.

 "We've already hired your bodyguard." Gabriel added, replacing his grin with his usual unreadable look. "He's an Ex-Navy SEAL, has top-notch recommendations, and is experienced with guarding high-profile personalities. He's a sought-after professional and the perfect fit for this job."

God, this is really happening. In all my 27 years, I'd never had a bodyguard. Now, I'm going to be babysat by one.

"Take a look." He passed a picture. I took the picture and stared at the man in it. He had longish black hair grazing his collar and gunmetal-gray eyes. Most veterans kept their hair cropped or short but this dude clearly wasn't one of them. I spotted a thin scar slashing through his left eyebrow and a hint of a tattoo peeking out from both sleeves of his shirt.

I've seen this man before but where?

Asher's Pov

 I've swam through the deadliest rivers in the country, taken a shot in the chest, and trudged through enemy territory with a broken leg, and I survived. But nothing had prepared me for this new hell.

"You'll be protecting the Young Master." The old man in front of me said in a posh American accent.

Young Master? Seriously? Who even talks like that?

"I trust you're good... no, excellent at your job, yes?"

He asked, twisting the ring on his finger.

He was nervous. Good.

I leaned forward and smiled. "If I wasn't good at what I do, we both wouldn't be here."

Gabriel chuckled softly. "Why, yes."

 "Cut to the chase, Foster." I said, reaching for my cigarette.

"Sorry?"

"Why does a billionaire want his grandson protected by a man like me?" I grinned. "You know my reputation very well. I was blacklisted from the force and I have a rep for violence and not following orders. Why on earth did you not choose a proper bodyguard?"

 "Because it's you," Gabriel's eyes hardened. "You have a terrible reputation but not a terrible record. Unlike the others, your clients have never lost their lives. Not a single one. I think we made the best decision hiring you."

My grin widened. He looks like a scared little man but he's a fighter on the inside.

I tossed my cigarette butt in his glass of water and rose to my feet.

"You'll be meeting the Young Master today at noon in the mansion. Don't be late." He called behind me.

I replied with a lazy drawl. "Aye, aye, captain."

 I arrived at the Booker's family mansion in upstate New York an hour later. The meeting was supposed to be held at noon but I don't give a shit about punctuality.

The mansion came into sight and I maneuvered my SUV throughout the gate as soon as the security cleared me.

The place looked like it cost tons of money : a stone water fountain, a giant polished building, and the whole shebang. I've seen a lot of places but this one impressed me especially the little paintings in the cupid statues littering the entrance. Whoever painted those was good.

 "Mister Donovan?" An old man in a tail coat, obviously, the butler, said as soon as I got out of the car.

 "The one and only." I tipped my invisible hat.

 "This way, please." He said, leading me into the building.

I followed the butler past red carpeted hallways and paintings of European aristocrats until we got to our destination.

 I paused. Was that classical music?

"Young Master Caden is inside," he said, tapping on the door.

There was no response.

I kicked the door down with my boot, earning a glare from the butler, but who cares? They have enough money to fix it.

I walked into the room, greeted by the smell of paint and wine.

 Something caught my eye and I grinned. There he is. That little fucker.

His white singlet clung to his lean muscles and his trouser was low around his waist, showing a little bit of skin when he moved. He was so lost in his painting that he didn't notice me standing behind him.

Just then, he froze and turned. For a moment, he just stared at me. As if realizing what he'd done, he killed the music and looked past me.

 "Albert, who the fuck is this?" He asked.

 Of course, the butler's name is Albert. Fucking predictable.

"This is the new bodyguard." Albert replied softly.

Caden looked back at me, his babyblue eyes glaring at me like I was some dug underneath his shoe.

"You were supposed to be here an hour ago." He hissed and returned to his painting.

The flowery patterns looked similar to the ones I saw on the cupid statues. Don't tell me he's the one that paints them. This asshole has a talent?

 "Traffic." I shrugged. That was a goddamn lie.

"Well, state your name and schedule and get the fuck out of my room." Caden said, resuming his painting.

 That was rude.

"Are you sure you want to talk to me that way?" I asked in a deep, gravy voice. This boy better not push me.

Caden dropped the brush and turned to face me. "Just get this over with and talk."

 I noticed the bandage wrapped around his right arm. An arm he should've lost.

"The name's Asher Donovan." I had just begun when the little fucker turned towards his painting, ignoring my existence.

"Would you look at me when I talk to you?!" I barked.

Shit. I never lose my temper. False. I never lose my temper that easily.

 "I'm all ears, American." Caden snorts.

"It's Asher, you British snob." I hissed.

 Now, he looked at me. Gotcha.

 "Is that how you talk to your employer?" He rose to his feet.

 I grinned. "My employer is your grandfather..."

"...who is dead so I'm in charge now," he interrupted me with a glare. "You speak to me with respect, American."

"For the love of pizza, it's Asher." I hissed.

"I'll make sure not to remember that." He grabbed a white towel and brushed past me. "Albert, send the American on his way. We're done here."

 Like hell we are. I grabbed his arm and pinned him against the wall.

He seemed so small, so delicate, so easy to break. When he struggled against my larger form, I brought my knee underneath his crotch.

 "Young Master!" Albert cried out.

 I ignored the ass-kisser and focused on the little shit in front of me. "I know 30 deadly moves that can kill you in an instant."

I'm not kidding.

 "So why don't you kill me?" He challenged.

 "Because that'll be too easy." I grinned.

"Let go of me, you brute." He slammed his head against mine. That didn't hurt at all.

"Let go!" He hissed again and I wanted to hear the sound of his hot voice.

Wait a minute. Why do I find his accent hot? What is wrong with me today?

 I pulled away from him as if I'd been burnt and stared at him. With his big blue eyes and lush pink lips, perfect pale skin, and golden hair falling in curls around his heart-shaped face, Caden looked like a fairytale prince - young, rich, and regal, the opposite of me in every goddamn way.

Jesus. Why does that sound gay? I'm straight!

"If this is how you handle your clients then you're fired, Asher." Caden hissed.

His smooth tenor voice rolled over me like a velvety caress. There must've been something in that cigar I smoked earlier because what the fuck is wrong with me? And why am I getting hard just by hearing him say my name?

"Young Master, you can't..." Albert is interrupted again. This time, it's me.

"You have to move." I said. Caden blinked.

 "I beg your finest pardon?"

"Your house." I gestured around the room. "It's a security nightmare."

 "I'm not moving." Caden punctuated his words with a sharp hiss.

 I glowered at him beneath my thick, dark brows. "If your killer knew you'd be at the launch, don't you think he or she would know where you live?"

Caden's eyes went round. "What?"

 I turned to Albert. "He needs to be in a safe house. Lucky for you, I know the perfect place."

Albert hesitated for a moment before he gave me a curt nod and dashed out of the room, probably to snitch to Gabriel.

One hour and 20 minutes later, we were on our way to the safehouse.

"This safehouse better be safe." Caden mumbled as he scrolled on his phone.

I nearly grinned.

Little did he know that he was moving in with his killer.

Caden's Pov

 Irritation stabbed at me like a sharp knife.

 Why was this asshole my bodyguard? He's so rude. Stupid American. He doesn't even deserve his looks. Not his stupid sculpted muscles or his curly black hair or his gunmetal-gray eyes. He's very... ugly on the inside.

 Why did grandpa have to hire him?

 I sigh for the umpteenth time that evening and stare at my empty glass.

 "Are you sure he's not a robot?"

 Gatsby gave me a light nudge in the shoulder.

 I shrugged. "How do I know? Go ask him yourself."

 Gatsby stared at Asher who was busy scanning the living room of my, fireworks emoji, new home.

 She turned to me and shook her head. "Hard pass. He looks like he'll kill me."

 When we arrived at the penthouse an hour ago, I'd called Gatsby over but Asher gave me a hard NO, saying stuff about security measures and knowing your enemy bullcrap. I didn't listen to him. I called her right over and here we are.

 Gatsby tried to lighten the mood but it didn't work out.

 "So..." she began. "Why don't we get to know each other?"

 "There's no need for that. I'm sure Gabriel has told you all about me." He said in a brisk tone.

 Now that I think about it. He was the exact opposite of what Gabriel described. Experienced? Well, yeah. Those muscles could pack a punch but top-notch recommendations? This bloke lacks manners and is basically an animal. Sought-after professional my ass.

 Gatsby lounged around for an extra hour before she left. I'd begged her to take me with her but she'd scurried off. Traitor.

 A yawn escaped me and I covered my mouth with my good hand. I must be exhausted.

 "Going to bed early?" Asher asked like the noob he was.

 "What's that to you?" I rolled my eyes and turned towards the stairs.

 I expected a retort but didn't get one. Nice, that'll teach him to shut up.

 I crashed on the floor the second I entered my room, too tired to even move. Maybe, I'll just sleep on the floor.

 The cold, tile floor was replaced with a familiar warmth I never thought I'd feel ever again.

 Leather and sandalwood filled my nostrils as I floated, I believe, towards my bed. I didn't need to open my eyes to know that it's HIM - the man from 5 years ago.

 I knew this was obviously a dream. I always see him in my dreams, watching me, touching my hair and my hand, and sometimes, kissing me. I never asked him his name after we hooked up but my therapist told me to ask him whenever I saw him in my dreams and so I did.

 "What is... your name?" My words came out slurred. When he didn't reply, I tried to open my eyes but he placed his hand over them.

 "Go to sleep, amore." He said in his lovely deep voice.

 That's right. He also called me "amore" 5 years ago and told me he loved me. It's actually him.

 "Don't go, Grey." I mumbled and snuggled into his arms. I never got to know his name so I called him grey because of his eyes.

 I remember his touch, his kisses, the way he pounded into me like a madman, but I didn't remember his name.

 I never do.

 The following day, I woke up to emptiness.

 The side next to me was cold, reminding me everything I felt last night would always be a dream. Fate, you fucking bitch.

 I kicked off the bedcovers when I suddenly realized something. How the hell did I end up in my bed? I remember passing out on the floor.

 I'd barely gotten my answer when the door suddenly opened and the grumpy American walked in.

 "Don't you know how to knock or did your parents not teach you any manners?" I chucked a pillow at him, one he was quick to catch.

 "My parents are dead," he said dryly. "Come downstairs for breakfast."

 That stopped me. "You cooked?"

 "No. I'm not your chef. Get your ass out of that bed and come make your own breakfast. Your physiotherapist will be soon." He scoffed and turned to the door, walking the way he came.

 I clenched my knuckles so hard my fingernails cut into my palm.

 I'm going to murder this asshole.

 After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I went downstairs to the kitchen, only to be greeted by the smell of bacon and eggs.

 He made breakfast after all.

 "Morning, Caden." Gatsby beamed at me.

 Of course, she made breakfast. The asshole lounged at the head of the dinner table with a cigar in his hand and a wine in the other.

 "Cigar and alcoholic wine in the morning? I see you're hungry for death." I glared at him as I took my seat.

 He blew smoke in my direction and I coughed.

 "Please, smoke somewhere else. Caden hates the smell of smoke." Gatsby said in a semi-polite tone.

 Asher doesn't move from his spot and only keeps smoking. He looked at me, mischief dancing into his stupidly attractive eyes. Does he know something I don't?

 Suddenly, memories of the past flashed through my head - The grey-eyed man smoking a cigar and passing it to me while we drank more wine, smoked more weed and fucked.

 Jesus. I hope my cheeks aren't red.

 I cleared my throat. "Don't worry, Gatsby. I'll just have breakfast in my room."

 "I'll let you know when the physiotherapist comes." She said, patting me lightly on the shoulder.

 Thank God she read the air. There was clearly no point addressing the mountain-size elephant in the room.

 I was used to eating breakfast alone so this shouldn't be too hard. But when I tried to eat, I couldn't.

 Why did Asher stare at me like that? Does he actually know something about me that I don't? Or... oh no. Did he hear me call Grey in my sleep? God, that must've been so embarrassing. Of course, he'd heard me otherwise he wouldn't have been staring at me like that.

 I pushed that thought to the back of my mind and started eating breakfast.

 By the time I was done, I took the tray and reached for the door.

 My stomach flipped when I saw who was standing on the threshold.

 "The doctor's here." He said.

 Those three words were my very undoing.

 I stared at his eyes, grey, almost dark like two little storms waiting to break loose.

 Where the hell have I seen those eyes and why can't I remember?