Page 50 of Protecting Love

His steps faltered. “What?”

“Chicks like a trim beard.”

“I trimmed it two days ago.”

He didn’t need to do it daily. Hell, half the time he didn’t want to do it at all.

He didn’t miss shaving daily, that was for sure, but his facial hair didn’t grow that fast and thankfully there wasn’t any white in it.

Not like there were touches of it on the sides of his head.

The minute he had a gray beard, it was gone.

“Just saying,” Ian said.

He wasn’t going to take the word of a sixteen-year-old who didn’t even have a girlfriend.

Or not that he knew of.

“Bye,” he said, walking past his son, then out the door.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, checked to see if their driver was here for him, then got in the elevator and was out the door. The back door of the black sedan was being held for him.

He was still getting used to this shit.

“We’re going to get Paris now?” Marcus asked.

“We are.”

“Thanks again for getting me this job,” Marcus said. “This is the best retirement gig going.”

He’d rather be riding shotgun with the recently retired NYPD patrol officer, but it was what it was.

West had one sedan, one SUV. Marcus actually got to take the Mercedes home with him on the weekends to be on call rather than their other driver who would pick up the SUV.

Since Colin lived two blocks over and had no place to store the car, he walked over to get it when needed or was called after hours.

“I’m glad you were willing. Didn’t think Billy had that many connections, but when he brought it up a few weeks ago, I thought why not.”

Billy was a detective he’d worked with when he was at the bureau.

It never hurts to have more than one person on the payroll with connections in this area. That was how West worked and it’s what he was going to continue to do.

Marcus also had some contacts, and he’d keep that in his pocket to call on if needed.

While Marcus was driving, Fletcher texted Paris to say they were five minutes out.

Her reply was quick that she was in the lobby and waiting.

“Just pull in front. Paris is ready,” he said.

When Marcus came to a stop, Fletcher got out before the driver, kept the back door open and made sure he didn’t let his mouth hang open when she strutted out in her black dress.

Short sleeve, but off the shoulder, fitted to her waist, her hips, straight to the floor with a long slit that her leg kept popping out of as she walked.

Her blonde hair was straight, sleek, shiny, a side part and tucked behind one ear.

There was a black clutch in her hand, black heeled sandals on her feet.