Get It, Queen

Chapter 1

Dean

The sharp ring of my phone cuts through the silence of my office. I glance at the caller ID, eyebrow arching at the unfamiliar number. Probably another client with a "discreet" request. I press the speaker button, leaning back in my chair.

"Brock speaking."

"Dean? Holy shit, it is you!" A familiar voice booms through the speaker, catching me off guard. "It's Runyan. Runyan Saffridge. Remember me, you uptight bastard?"

I can't help but smirk. "Run-yon? That you? Damn, it's been what, fifteen years?"

"Closer to twenty, you prick. How the hell are ya?"

I adjust my collar, a habit I've never shaken. "Still breathing. What's got you calling out of the blue?"

"Can't a guy check in on his old boarding school buddy?"

"Sure, if that guy isn't you. What's the angle, Runyan?"

He laughs, the sound bringing back memories of late-night pranks and shared cigarettes behind the dorms. "Alright, you got me. I've got a proposition for you."

I lean forward, intrigued despite myself. "I'm listening."

"How'd you like to get out of that DC fishbowl? I'm talking a change of scenery. Fresh air, ocean views, and enough privacy to make even your paranoid ass feel secure."

"You trying to sell me a timeshare?"

"Better. I'm inviting you to Breezy Point. It's this exclusive little slice of heaven in Splendor Valley. I'm the mayor now, if you can believe it."

I snort. "You? In charge of anything? Now I know you're bullshitting me."

"Look it up, asshole. We've got twenty estates, private beaches, and enough security to make Fort Knox look like a 7-Eleven."

I pull up a search on my computer, scrolling through the results. Well, I'll be damned. He's not lying.

I lean back in my chair, fingers flying over the keyboard as I dig into this Breezy Point place. The more I uncover, the more my eyebrows climb.

"Jesus, Runyan. This place is like Fort Knox meets the Hamptons."

His laugh crackles through the speaker. "Told ya, didn't I? But keep reading, it gets better."

I scroll through images of sprawling estates perched on cliffs, private beaches that stretch for miles without a soul in sight. The village itself looks like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, if Rockwell had a thing for billionaires.

"Twenty estates, you said?"

"Yep. Each one with its own slice of paradise. And get this – we've got a helipad and a private runway. How's that sound for your, uh, sensitive clientele?"

I pause, my hand automatically going to adjust my collar. "You're not bullshitting me about the security, right?"

"Dean, my man, we've got enough tech to make the NSA jealous. Plus, the natural geography? It's a goddamn fortress."

I pull up a satellite view, and he's not wrong. The place is practically an island, connected to the mainland by a narrow strip of land.

"Alright, color me interested. But what's the catch?"

"Catch? There's no catch. Well, maybe one tiny one."

I groan. "Here we go."

"You gotta get your ass down here ASAP. I've got a spot opening up, but it won't last long. These places are hotter than a two-dollar pistol."

I glance at my watch, then at the stack of files on my desk. The thought of escaping this fishbowl, as Runyan called it, is suddenly very appealing.

"When's the next flight?"

"Hot damn! That's what I'm talking about!" I can practically hear his grin through the phone. "I'll text you the details."

I'm already on my feet, grabbing my go-bag from under the desk. "You better not be yanking my chain, Runyan."

"Would I lie to you?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

His laughter follows me out the door as I head out of my office.

I stride out of my office, go-bag in hand, my mind already racing with the possibilities Runyan's offer presents. DC's been feeling like a straightjacket lately, every move watched, every conversation potentially bugged. For a guy in my line of work, it's a fucking nightmare.

As I pass by my secretary's desk, I catch her eye. "Sandra, I'm heading out. Clear my schedule for the next few days."

She looks up, startled. "But sir, you have that meeting with the—"

"Cancel it," I cut her off, my tone brooking no argument. "Anything urgent, route it to my secure line."

Sandra nods, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in my determined stance. "Of course, Mr. Brock. Will you need any travel arrangements?"

"No, I've got it covered." I adjust my collar, a habit I can't seem to shake. "And Sandra? Not a word about where I'm going. To anyone."

Her cheeks color slightly as she nods again. "Understood, sir. Have a safe trip."

As I make my way through the office, I can feel eyes on me. It's not an uncommon occurrence—being 6'2" with wavy reddish-blond hair and sea-blue eyes tends to draw attention. But today, it grates on my nerves. Too many eyes, too many ears. That's the problem with DC.

In the elevator, a young intern practically trips over herself trying to make room for me. I give her a curt nod, my mind already on Breezy Point and its promise of privacy.

Stepping out onto the bustling DC street, I hail a cab with a sharp whistle. As I slide into the backseat, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror. The J. Crew look suits me, I'll admit, but there's a hardness in my eyes that no amount of preppy clothing can soften.

"Reagan National," I tell the driver, then lean back, my long legs cramped in the small space.

As we weave through traffic, I pull out my phone and read through the flight arrangements Runyan has made for me.

This Breezy Point better be everything he promised. A clandestine HQ with a private helipad and airplane runway? It sounds too good to be true. But if it pans out, it could be exactly what I need to take The Brock Group to the next level.

I smirk to myself, thinking of the look on my old man's face when I tell him about this move. Garith Brock, former Pinkerton man, always harping on about the importance of staying under the radar. Well, Pop, it doesn't get more under the radar than a billionaire's playground in the middle of nowhere.

As the cab pulls up to the airport, I feel a surge of anticipation. It's been a long time since anything's caught me by surprise, but leave it to Runyan fucking Saffridge to pull it off.

The private jet touches down with a gentle bump, and I resist the urge to adjust my collar. Breezy Point. Time to see if Runyan's promises hold water.

As I step off the plane, the salt-tinged air hits me. It's a far cry from DC's smog-filled atmosphere. A stewardess approaches, all professional smiles and crisp uniform.

"Mr. Brock, we've handed your belongings to your companion," she says, gesturing behind me.

I nod, not bothering to correct her assumption. The blonde trailing me isn't exactly a companion, but her presence is necessary.

"Thanks," I mutter, striding towards the terminal.

The click of heels behind me confirms my companion's keeping pace. We're almost at the pickup area when a whirlwind of dark hair and long limbs comes barreling around the corner.

"Shit!" The woman collides with me, her papers scattering across the polished floor.

I steady myself, more annoyed than hurt. "Watch where you're going," I snap.

She's already on her knees, scrambling to gather her documents. "Sorry, sorry! I'm late for a flight and—"

We step around her, not interested in excuses.

As we walk away, I hear the woman call out, "Have a nice day!" Her cheery tone grates on my nerves.

"Christ," I mutter. "I hope that ditzy broad isn't a permanent fixture here."

We push through the doors to the pickup area, and I spot Runyan immediately. Hard to miss him, really. He's leaning against a sleek black SUV, grinning like he's won the lottery.

"Dean fucking Brock!" he bellows, arms wide. "Welcome to paradise, you miserable bastard!"

I can't help but smirk. "Still as subtle as a sledgehammer, I see."

Runyan laughs, clapping me on the back. "And you're still a cold fish. Some things never change." His eyes flick to my blonde chaperone. "And who's this vision?"

"Classified," I say flatly.

Runyan's eyebrows shoot up, but he recovers quickly. "Right, right. Your mysterious ways and all that jazz." He opens the car door. "Hop in, both of you. Let me give you the grand tour."

As we slide into the plush leather seats, I can't help but think about the woman at the airport. If Breezy Point is full of scatterbrained idiots like her, Runyan and I are going to have words.

As Runyan guides us through Breezy Point, I can't help but be impressed. The place is a fucking masterpiece of exclusivity and discretion.

"And here's Main Street," Runyan announces, gesturing to a quaint stretch of pastel-colored buildings. "We've got everything from gourmet cafes to high-end boutiques. All the comforts of civilization without the riffraff."

I nod, taking it all in. "Not bad, Run. But I'm more interested in the security setup."

He grins, tapping the side of his nose. "Thought you might be. We've got state-of-the-art surveillance systems, facial recognition, the works. Plus, our natural geography is a security wet dream."

"And the estate?" I ask, adjusting my collar.

"Saving the best for last, my friend."

We pull up to a sprawling mansion perched on a cliff overlooking the bay. It's a modern marvel of glass and steel, all clean lines and sharp angles.

"Holy shit," I mutter, despite myself.

Runyan's grin widens. "Wait till you see inside."

The interior is just as impressive. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer panoramic views of the ocean, and the open floor plan practically screams 'power move'.

"So, what do you think?" Runyan asks, leaning against a sleek kitchen island. "Perfect for your clandestine operations, right?"

I arch an eyebrow. "You've done your homework."

He shrugs. "Had to make sure I was pitching to the right guy. This place isn't just a home, Dean. It's a fortress. Private helipad, secure communications, the works."

"And what's in it for you?" I ask, never one to beat around the bush.

Runyan chuckles. "Always suspicious. Look, having The Brock Group here? It's a win-win. You get your secure HQ, and Breezy Point gets an added layer of protection. Plus, let's be real, your presence alone will boost property values."

I can't argue with his logic, but something still nags at me. "Why me, Run? You've got billionaires knocking down your door, I'm sure."

He looks me straight in the eye, all traces of joviality gone. "Because I trust you, Dean. We may have been punk-ass kids back in the day, but I always knew you had integrity. This place... it's special. I need someone who gets that."

I nod slowly, processing his words. It's odd, sure, but I can't deny the appeal. A secure base of operations, away from prying eyes and ears? It's exactly what I need.

"Alright," I say finally. "I'm in."

Runyan's face splits into a grin. "Hot damn! Welcome to Breezy Point, you uptight bastard."

As we shake hands, I can't help but feel like I've just stepped into a new chapter. One with a hell of a view.