The billionaire has a secret - the bodyguard has to protect it

GUARDING THE BILLIONAIRE - 9 JUNE, this Sunday!

I'm soooo excited about this first book in a new duet. And the best part is you don't have to wait forever to read to the end, becauuse the final part, SAVING THE BILLIONAIRE is out on 19 June.

Justin Trainer is the bodyguard, the man in black. He's sexy, funny, irreverent, brave and loyal to a fault. But don't take my word for it, see what reviewers are saying (and they're all from Goodreads - aw, thanks guys).

And keep scrolling down for an EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT!

1)
That beautiful bodyguard has brains too, he's not just muscle. As the suspense built and I was about to bite off my last nail I swiped my finger across my Kindle to turn the page. I also have to give the author a shout out for the entertaining inner dialogue and witty banter.

5 ***** Rosa Sharon, iScream Book Blog

#call-the-fire-dept-hot!


2)
From the first chapter the author had me hook, line and sinker. I read this book in almost one go as I could not put it down.

I really liked Trainer, I found him to be humorous and extremely likeable, not to mention hot. What a way to be introduced to her writing!

5 ***** Erin Lewis


3)
It makes you laugh, cry and also get a bit angry at parts but that’s what makes it soo gripping and not want to put it down.

5 ***** Claire Pengelly


4)
If you are a romance reader then you will have come across the tormented billionaire story and probably fallen in 'book-boyfriend' love with him, however have you ever paid any attention to his bodyguard? The silent man in the background, the keeper of his secrets, and the one who sees the man inside. If, like me, you had more of a crush on Taylor then Mr. Grey then you will love Justin Trainer, the man 'Guarding The Billionaire'.

5 ***** Mandy


5)
“So, you’re the bodyguard,” he sneers.
I somehow don't think we’re going to be buddies.
“Yep, and you’re the ***hole. I think we’ve gotten acquainted now.”

This so tells you about Trainer’s personality and the fun that you’ll have while reading. The book is full of everything - humor, suspense, action, love and more. It’s a great read and I can NOT wait for book 2!!!

5 ***** Lora


6)
Always a unique read from Jane Harvey-Berrick! I hadn't even read the blurb when I requested an ARC to read, I just trust her writing will thrill me to no end. Justin Trainer, ex-Marine going through a nasty divorce, is on close protection detail for billionaires. Rock stars, Saudi princes or agribusiness genius? He's guarded them all. Currently his boss is Devon Anderson, eccentric billionaire with a taste for the kinky. I found myself enthralled with Justin's story and how he perceives his boss, trying to maintain a straight face and his dignity was great comic relief.

5 ***** Anima


GUARDING THE BILLIONAIRE
... it's on KU! https://geni.us/GUARDINGBILLIONAIRE

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4...

And now you can make up your own mind with an extract from CHAPTER 3 - the bodyguard meets the billionaire...


* * * * *
I’m contemplating the meaning of life. Philosophical questions. You know, deep shit that you only find at the bottom of a cold bottle of Bud.

It’s the kind of peace that comes at the end of a long, tough job, and being able to relax for the first time in months.

I’ve only been back in New York for a few hours, and I’m fully appreciating the cool temperature and the cooler beer. These things matter when you’ve been working in an alcohol-free desert state. After Nabila won Saudi’s Next Top Model, I had three days to visit Lilly, then it was another top-paying job in Qatar for a month. Well, it was supposed to pay top dollar, but the op didn’t work out too well, or to use the official Marines term, it was completely FUBAR—fucked up beyond all recognition. I’m ready for some down time, but not too much.

Time to think doesn’t suit me—too many bad memories.

I did twelve years with the Marines before I decided to call it quits. It was another year before I was allowed to leave: lucky-thirteen. Joined the day I graduated high school and never wanted to do anything else. I did tours in Iraq, Afghanistan, Germany and Hawaii. That last one was really dangerous—a lot of hot women in bikinis could be considered a temptation to a married man.

But I never cheated. Not once. And leaving the Marines was supposed to be the start of a new life for me and Carla, a.k.a. Super Bitch.

The day I got home was the day she tossed me right back out again. I didn’t even get to kiss my daughter hello before I was kicked to the curb.

It was a good thing I had Mason on speed dial, because what else was I going to do? Get some night security job and bore everyone with stories about firefights I’ve known and loved?

The work is varied and rarely as dangerous as being a Marine. Pays a lot better than being a Jarhead, too.

So the target, um, client might change, but the job is pretty much the same in any country in the world, and there are only four lines in a bodyguard’s job description that matter:

Ensure the safety of the client.
Ensure areas are kept secure and all personnel have been approved.
Provide crowd control.
Observe location and situations for potential dangers.
To be good at my job, I need organizational skills, attention to detail and patience. I have two out of three of those.

I’ve been asked to score drugs and hookers. It’s easy to find out who’s providing that particular service: hotel concierges always know. I might not like it, but it comes with the territory.

Memories scroll across my brain, some better than others, none that I want to revisit.

I twist the cap off another bottle and get more comfortable on the hard hotel mattress while I watch a ball game.

I’ve also got a postcard next to me that I was planning to send to Lilly. It’s got a picture of a goofy-looking camel that will appeal to a six year-old’s sense of humor. I didn’t get to mail it before I flew home, but I think I’ll still send it.

I’ve been sending her postcards since before she could read. I just want her to know that wherever I am in the world, her old man is thinking of her.

The phone rings in the last innings of a Yankees game. I consider leaving it, but old habits die hard. I check the number and withhold a sigh.

“You checking up on me already, Mason? I’m touched.”

“I might have something for you.”

I sit up straighter. I could really use a new job. Lilly’s latest dental appointments, ballet classes, karate classes and upcoming summer camp costs have diminished my bank account, since most of my wages from Saudi are now padding out Lilly’s college fund. At this rate, she’ll be going to Harvard. But the last guy, the Qatari businessman went and died on me—natural causes—so Mason didn’t get paid which means I don’t get paid, and I’m out of work until something else comes in. I’d rather take an interesting job, but right now, I’ll consider almost anything. As long as I get this weekend to see my baby.

“What’s the job?”

“A new client. A businessman who’s just made his first billion. Hotshot entrepreneur, operating out of Manhattan. There have been some non-specific threats against him recently, to do with redundancies at a factory he bought in Michigan. Nothing serious, but now he’s in the super-rich league, he’ll need 24/7. You interested?”

Yeah, I’m interested. The Big Apple is only a couple of hours from where Lilly and the soon-to-be-ex live. I could see my baby more often. I’m certain Mason has that in mind, but no way I’m admitting it to him. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

“What’s the catch?”

Mason laughs.

“You don’t change, Trainer.”

Not true. I tried crunchy peanut butter. Once.

“Well, I don’t know that there is a catch. I’m still doing some deep background checks on him, and apart from some normal hijinks when he was a teenager, and the fact that he dropped out of his expensive private college—no reason given—I’m coming up empty. His name is Devon Miguel Anderson, single, twenty-nine years old, gay. That a problem?”

Shit! A baby-sitting job?

A guy that age with more money than everyone except Bill Gates and God—maybe. It’s a recipe for disaster. I can guess what’s coming: fast cars, fast dates, drugs and debauchery—all the kind of shit that is dangerous and difficult for the poor slob who’s hired to keep the fucker safe.

“It’s not what you think, Trainer,” says Mason, guessing my thoughts. “He needs personal protection and someone running point on security at his homes and office building. Just meet the man, then make up your own mind.”

Fair enough.

“Okay, give me the time and location.”

“Seventeen-hundred hours at his office on Monday. And you’ll need to sign an NDA before you speak to him.”

I shrug. The type of people I work for spit out Non-Disclosure Agreements like old chewing gum.

“Wait till you hear what he’s prepared to pay—plus dental and health for you and your family.”

Mason gives me a figure, and I whistle. It’s fifty percent more than I got working for Saudi royalty, and that was tax free. But the amount makes me nervous, too. Someone who pays that much must have something to hide. Is he trying to buy my silence?

Mason emails the NDA, gives me a downtown address and hangs up. I go back to the Yankees game. They’ve just lost. Again. Maybe this won’t be their year.

I check my watch, staring at the date. April 1st. Is it a sign?



On a dull Monday afternoon, I’m booted and suited and on my way to meet this Devon Miguel Anderson kid. Jeez, that name is a mouthful-and-a-half. Poor kid learning to John Hancock that.

I Googled him last night and found a lot of fluff stories, but not a single serious interview. All the usual stuff: so rich, so young; some about his family—upper middle class—his mom is a homemaker and his dad’s a stockbroker—figures; he’s got a sister who’s a freshman in an expensive private college. Sure, he does. These rich types keep the money in the family.

But there was nothing about his private life, nothing about who’s he’s been seen with or dated. Reading the reports, I wouldn’t even know that he was gay, and I wonder how Mason got that intel. I could ask him, but I doubt he’d tell me his source.

The twenty-story construction of DMA Solutions is almost new enough for me to leave handprints in the concrete, and I admit I’m impressed to see that Anderson owns the whole building. A classy receptionist in a tight-fitting gray suit gives me a security tag and sends me up to the top floor. From what I can see of the security guards and CCTV in the foyer, it’s a pretty tight ship.

Anderson’s assistant is waiting for me when the elevator doors open. Also in gray.

“This way, Mr. Trainer. I’m Ryan Parker, Mr. Anderson’s Personal Assistant. May I offer you refreshments? Tea, coffee, water?”

“No, thanks.”

He shows me into a large office, and I get my first look at the kid.

He’s taller than I expected, and I can tell by looking at him that he’s built of hard muscle. He obviously works out. His eyes are cool and assessing me as thoroughly as I’m assessing him. When he shakes hands, I can feel calluses.

His suit looks expensive. Hell, everything in his office looks expensive, from the original art on the walls, and a landscape that could be a Monet or a Manet or something that begins with M.

It’s subtle, no bling, but it’s there—the wealth and power. And the Lower Manhattan address overlooking Battery Park is worth a mint.

He points me to a seat and I take the chair opposite his desk. He may be young but I was wrong to call him a kid: there’s something about his eyes … they remind me of men I served with in Iraq, men who’d seen too much.

Interesting.

I wait for him to speak.

“Mason tells me I need personal protection and that you have experience in that area.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hasn’t asked me a question yet, but he’s watching my expression. I keep it parked in neutral. I can keep that shit up all day.

“My schedule is busy and it can change very quickly. I need someone who can be flexible. I understand you’re separated from your wife?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So 24/7 wouldn’t be a problem?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. There’ll be a month’s trial.”

He pauses, measuring my response. I don’t give one.

“I have live-in accommodation for employees at Wolf Point, and I spend most weekends at the Farm on Long Island.”

I’m guessing that by ‘Long Island’ he means The Hamptons.

“Any questions?”

Where the fuck is Wolf Point?

“No, sir.”

Yeah, I have a shit ton of questions, but none that people ever answer honestly. So I’ll wait to see for myself who the new client really is; what’s behind the businessman’s façade.

“When can you start?”

“Immediately, sir.”

“Good. Ryan will give you the details.”

He presses a button on his desk, and the assistant escorts me out.

That must be the quickest, goddamn job interview I’ve ever had. And now I’m really curious to see where the dude lives.

* * * * *

Meet the bodyguard on KU! https://geni.us/GUARDINGBILLIONAIRE

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4...


And believe me! It all kicks off when he gets there and finds his bosses 'meditation room'. More tomorrow!


Oh and one more thing, I'm trying to find my way around Goodreads a little more, so it would be great if you added my two forthcoming co-authored books to your TBR:

13 August FATHER FIGURE with Alana Albertson - angst, taboo, drama

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4...


13 September GYM OR CHOCOLATE with Stuart Reardon - romcom, girl power!

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4...