"Sir, I have received word about your rejection of every single security detail recommendation I gave. . . Well let me get straight to the point, why?" Jack Crawford mused. He was on the other side of the large varnished oak desk, decorated with nothing more than piles of paper, dossiers and silver fountain pens, each engraved with an alluring cursive of the owner's name.
Jack looked straight at the back of the leather seat. It was faced so, to overlook the vast glints of glass and metal of the city. Large neon and luminous signs, lambent against the glass panels that separates the seated man from the appealing jump of the city.
"Please Jack, were alone, Will would be fine." Will waved off, as he turned the leather upholstered seat to face the older man.
The older man gave the younger a sincere smile as a positive gesture. Will was never the type of man to really indulge in the formalities, he liked it simple, mundane even.
"Fine, Will, what don't you like about the candidates? They are the best of the best—" The older man was about to give a litany of reasons to pick from the lot, but was abruptly cut off by his employer.
"But none of them is one for me. I can afford all of them combined Jack, that won't be a problem, you know that. But you have to understand the limits. . . My standards." Will uttered distant and almost uncaring.
"And what standards would that be?" Jack raised a brow, a quizzical look marking his face.
"My gut feeling." Will gave an amused smile, a glint reflecting in his eyes, reminiscent of the shimmer beyond the glass. The man rarely smiled but if he did it was quite a sight.
"You're. . . Gut feeling?" This statement confused the head security even more. Nothing was as resilient as Will's take on his . . . 'Gut feeling', intuition should be a proper term but the informality of the conversation plunged both of their vocabularies.
"Have you ever fished, Jack?" It was Will's turn to query, as he stood up to walk the curve to Jack.
"A few times, yes." Jack replied, with Will already before him.
"Then you know that putting bait on the hook doesn't guarantee a catch, and fishing in the day won't get you a lot of catch. But with those risks in mind you usually find the best fish in the lot. Think of this as the same situation, only the fish biting the bait isn't the fish that I've been looking for. . . So I throw it back to the river." Will elaborated as he loosened his tie, the one he hated oh so much dubbing it as 'fussy and a waste of time', but still wore it as a curtesy to his assistant Beverly, who berated him to wear it.
". . . Ok, I understand where your coming from. But rejecting them without giving a second glance is impulsive. You should at least try some of them out, you can't walk around defenceless on the street!" Jack bellowed, giving his worrisome point.
"I'm not defenceless, I have a gun and I don't walk around the street, I drive. Stop worrying, I'll be fine. If anything I don't even see the point of taking on new security details."
"That isn't a comforting thought, Will. Look, I'm responsible for your safety. You have to understand that it's my job to be worried, and getting you the best protection is a part of it. I can't alway be with you, because I'm handling other matters. . . I'm giving you a mandate, I'll give you two days to choose a bodyguard. If you don't, I will." Jack emphasised every word of the last phrase, as he threw a brand new dossier of candidates on the desk. He left the penthouse office with a strut and stood in the open elevator. Pressing in the last button for the basement level parking lot, which was about forty floors down.
As soon as Jack was out of sight, Will gave a long sigh, before presuming to pop the top two buttons of his suit open. Will never liked the constricting force of a suit or his styled up hair that made him look far too professional for his liking. If he were to dress himself every morning, he'd prefer to wear baggy jeans, a pair of trainers or boots, a grey t-shirt or a checkered button up with his curly hair loose and his large glasses evading the direct glare of eye to eye contact that he hates so much. It was simple and functional.
He ran his hand through his hair, which was still slightly stiff with the gel. He slumped down to his reclining chair and half-heartedly skimmed through the piles and piles of dossiers starting from the oldest entry to the latest.
Most of the résumés were . . . Plain. The standard hand to hand combat training, gun proficiency and had at least a four to five year experience as a personal security detail. There wasn't a unique or eye catching factor about them.
Simply speaking he didn't find them the least bit interesting to even hire. His leniency to simply not hire due to boredom was very evident enough with the number of personal staff he holds in his house. Which was none so to speak.
He likes the isolation and the comfort of privacy enough to risk his own life for it. He didn't care for the glitz and glamour of a millionaire's life style, but he did enjoy some of the luxuries it brought. The only thing he despises is the constant entail of the paparazzi. He hated the attention his amassed wealth has cursed him with.
He flipped through the last four files, immediately rejecting the one he had on hand. A prissy looking man with a condescending look on his face. He had an interesting file, with a psychiatric degree and an unfinished medical degree.
"Fredrick Chilton?" He muttered, before throwing the file to the end of the table that was filled with rejected candidates.
"Huh." He voiced as he held the only dossier that seemed to have value. It was the second to the last résumé from the latest candidate list. It was oddly thick compared to the others and held more than a few high profile names.
The candidate has a similar psychiatric degree to Chilton, except the candidate had finished his medical degree. He was a former surgeon and former psychiatrist. Proficient in more than six languages, Lithuanian, French, English, Italian and Japanese are some of the examples of his verbal fluency. He was of Lithuanian origin and was trained in more than five martial arts and was a sharp shooter. It could be said the man was over qualified for the job.
The man tickled Will's interest. It didn't help that the man had an exoticism about him. High cheek bones, blonde slicked back hair and maroon eyes.
In simple words, this one certainly got his eye.