Page 25 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“And I handled it. For now. But it would help if I had, say, a dedicated workspace with a server room and a cooling system so I could stop borrowing company time. And a salary to replace the one I’m making now.”

I’d asked around, and the salary she was demanding from me was significantly higher than what White Spring was paying her. But we all knew once she finally committed, I’d pay it. I’d have to increase the other guys’ pay, too, but so long as we brought in as much business as I expected, it wouldn’t be an issue.

“The server room is in progress,” I said. “I ordered the equipment you asked for. You’d better come use it, or I’ll find someone else to play with it.”

“Mmm.” She sounded amused. She was probably toying with me anyway. White Spring had more resources than we did, and she was likely building up her black book before she cut her strings. She’d come to work with us once she was confident her contacts were in place. “I’ll call when I have a name.”

She hung up.

Lance and I frowned at each other across the worktable. Three defense correspondents. London or DC. We’d have a name within days, and then we’d know who’d had access to my military file and decided to write about it.

“Good,” Lance said. “That’s progress.”

“It’s a start.” I pocketed my phone and headed toward the forward cabin.

Gwen was scribbling in her notebook, but she hadn’t put down enough ink to convince me she’d kept at it the entire time we were on the phone.

I sat, keeping my eyes on her.

When she looked up, she tilted her head and spoke slowly. “Is that about the Crécy Defense Review piece?”

How did she know?

Her gaze dropped to her notebook, then rose again. “I was checking you guys out before dinner, and found it.”

She’d known when she sat next to me at the restaurant. She’d known about the Pendragon funding, my wealth, all of it, and she’d still listened when I went on about vineyards and wine choices. I’d proven every single thing about that story right: I was a spoiled rich brat whose daddy bought him a security company.

And what was I doing now, to show how much I wasn’t in my father’s pocket? I was flying her in daddy’s jet to daddy’s fucking cottage in Cornwall.

Fuck.

“I’m not bringing it up to…” She closed her notebook. “I just thought you should know that I know, so you don’t have to sneak around about it. Is the woman you were talking to going to find out who wrote it?”

“That’s the plan.” My voice came out flat. Professional. Because I was a professional, whether my father was my silent minority partner or not.

Lance, back on the divan, didn’t come to my rescue for once.

Who gives a shit? She’s a client.

It doesn’t matter.

Remember that, Penn. It doesn’t matter.

“The article is being handled,” I said. “Morganna’s researching the journalist, but it’s not relevant to the current operation.”

Except it was the entire reason Lance had proposed this protection assignment in the first place. It was why we were on this trip.

I stared out the window at the spotty clouds below us and at the sun on the ocean. Just because my father was helping me spin up the company didn’t mean we were beholden to him. We weren’t mercenaries operating without the government oversight Pendragon had. He wouldn’t ask us to go off-books, and he wouldn’t send one of his State Department friends to ask, either.

He wouldn’t.

Except he might.

Our work was solid, and that wouldn’t change. But articles in fucking Crécy weren’t helping.

I was excellent at my job. I’d graduated top of my class at the Academy because I worked my ass off. I’d made it through BUD/S, despite all the nepo baby insults they threw at me—maybe because of it—because that was the one place I knew my father had no sway. At Pendragon, I’d led our team on Task Force Legacy, and I’d done a good fucking job.

My father’s position and money might have opened doors, but I was my own man. I’d earned the respect of better men than me by working harder than anyone else.