The silent master

Elias's "office" wasn't a room; it was a cathedral of glass and humming servers at the heart of the estate. The temperature was precisely sixty-eight degrees.

​Elias sat behind a desk made of a single slab of translucent obsidian. He didn't look up as Jax entered. He was typing with a rhythmic, frantic speed, his eyes reflecting the blue light of three floating monitors.

​"Sit," Elias commanded. He didn't point to a chair.

​Jax looked around. There were no chairs on his side of the desk. He remained standing, his arms crossed over his chest, his presence taking up enough space for three men. "I prefer to stand."

​The typing stopped. Elias looked up, his grey eyes narrowed behind thin-rimmed glasses Jax hadn't seen earlier. "In this house, preference is a luxury you've forfeited. If I tell you to sit, you find a way to lower your center of gravity. However..." He leaned back, his slight frame disappearing into the shadows of his chair. "Since you're so fond of your height, let's discuss how you'll be using it."

​Elias swiped a hand across the air, and a holographic display projected a list between them.

​"The terms of your 'employment' are non-negotiable," Elias said. "Rule one: You are my shadow, but you are a silent one. You do not speak to my guests, my board, or my competitors unless I specifically address you. You are a ghost with a pulse."

​Jax's jaw tightened so hard it ached. "You want a bodyguard. Just say it."

​"I want an extension of my will," Elias corrected softly. "Rule two: Total accessibility. You sleep in the suite connected to mine. If I have a nightmare, if I have an idea at 3:00 AM, if I require a glass of water-you are there. You do not leave the grounds without my express permission."

​"I'm an assistant, not a butler," Jax spat. "And I'm certainly not a servant."

​Elias stood up. He walked around the obsidian desk, his movements fluid and strangely graceful for someone so fragile-looking. He stopped inches from Jax. The top of his head barely reached Jax's chin. The scent of sandalwood and something metallic-like a computer cooling system-wafted off him.

​"You are whatever I need you to be, Jaxson," Elias whispered. "Forty-two million dollars buys a lot of 'whatever.' Rule three: Physical boundaries. You do not touch me. Not to guide me through a crowd, not to steady me, not for any reason unless my life is in immediate, verifiable danger. Do you understand?"

​Jax looked down at him. From this close, he could see the slight tremor in Elias's fingers, hidden in the folds of his sweater. The man was a bundle of raw nerves wrapped in a billion-dollar ego.

​"Understood," Jax gritted out.

​"Good. Rule four: You will attend the solstice gala with me tomorrow night. You will wear the suit I've laid out for you. You will stand exactly two paces behind my left shoulder. You will look intimidating, you will stay silent, and you will not let anyone-anyone-get within three feet of me."

​Elias turned his back, returning to his desk as if Jax had already ceased to exist. "Dismissed. Go find the kitchen. You look like you require a staggering amount of calories to maintain that much useless muscle."

​Jax turned and walked out, the automatic glass doors hissing shut behind him. He made it halfway down the hallway before he slammed his fist into the reinforced wall. The sting in his knuckles was the only thing that felt real.

​He had survived IEDs in the desert and hostile takeovers in Manhattan. But standing two paces behind a man who looked like a stiff breeze could break him?

​That was going to be the hardest mission of his life.