Prologue

Amy

"And tonight I want you to behave yourselves, understand?" my father admonishes, looking at me sternly across the breakfast table. "Especially you, Amy. Your brother is only eleven, but you're almost an adult. I guess it's to be expected of you."

"She's fifteen, Ed," Ma speaks up, refilling Dad's coffee. "She's still a kid, too."

Dad waves it off gruffly and stares at his mobile phone again. "I knew it would come from you. You weren't any better at that age, according to what your parents say. I was already earning money and taking responsibility at that age."

Ah yes, the same old story. I really can't listen to it any more. You have to know that my father's father, my grandfather, whom I never met, abandoned his wife and children when my father was fifteen. My father's mother then suffered from depression, drank her liver to death and could hardly work, so my father had to take care of his younger siblings and somehow also his mother at an early age. As he says, he then probably went out to work after school until late at night to make ends meet. I mean, sure, I'm sorry and all that, but hey, it gets on your nerves when you hear that for the thousandth time, and I'm not him.

"At fifteen, you're pretty much an adult," he adds.

"Oh, and why doesn't anyone treat me like this here?" I ask. "Everything is prescribed for me here. Amy, do this, Amy, do that ... If I want to stay out late at night, they say I'm too young."

"Life is not all going out and partying, young lady. And even as an adult, sometimes you have to do what you're told."

"Especially when they work for you, huh? I really feel sorry for your slaves sometimes."

"These are not slaves, but excellently paid employees."

"With a boss who doesn't tolerate any opinion but his own," I mutter, and that prompts Dad to look up from his mobile phone after all.

With a warning look.

"Careful, young lady. Don't push it too far..."

I poke listlessly at my breakfast cereal. "Isn't it true ..."

Because it is. You have to know that my dad is quite successful. Doing what? Alarm systems. More precisely, with general security technology. He probably pulled his business out of the ground back then and turned it into a million-dollar company in no time. Today, Benkow Security equips the most expensive mansions and largest companies in New York and all of America. Soon, even a branch office is to open in Europe. Well, our family is not short of money. But neither is our father, who often confuses his family with his employees. The commanding tone he actually always adopts is quite annoying, and he always expects everyone to do exactly what he says, "preferably by yesterday". Nobody can tell me that he is any different as a boss!

Whereas ...

"It's funny that you're kissing that guy's ass like that," I mutter to myself.

Loud enough, though, that my ma looks at me directly, punishingly.

"Don't use that kind of language at the table, Amy," she reprimands me immediately. "Your brother is sitting next to you, and he's only ..."

Yes, yes, I don't even notice the rest any more. My dear innocent brother ... who, by the way, doesn't notice anything of the discussion here because he has his headphones on and is busy with his tablet while eating his sandwich. I should allow myself that! By the way, I'm willing to bet that the songs Carl listens to contain expressions other than ass.

Anyway, my comment has caused Dad to look up from his mobile phone again. He now looks at me with narrowed eyes.

"I'm not kissing anyone's ass, young lady," he clarifies.

"Sounds different somehow," I reply defiantly. "I mean, you own the shop, and ..."

"This place is a multi-million dollar enterprise that gave your brother and you a carefree childhood in a fifteen million dollar mansion in the Hamptons and ..."

Yes, yes, the villa.

The jail ...

Prison, because this damn thing is as good as a high-security prison. Dad is rich and has a company for security technology. Of course, this technology is also used in our home. It looks like this: When you want to enter the house, you first have to enter a code at the door. Then there is an additional security check by fingerprint, and the iris is also scanned. It's not unusual for me to get dizzy from that, but no one here cares. Then a door opens and automatically closes again behind you. Afterwards, you must not forget to confirm who you are by entering a PIN for the alarm system. Otherwise the alarm will go off. And how! The reason I know this so well is that it happens to me quite often that I forget to do this. Oh, and if you want to open a window, you have to enter a code first, otherwise the same thing happens in green. There are cameras on every corner, even in the bathroom. They used to be in my room too, but I protested later and Dad had them taken down. But to this day I still don't really believe it.

Do I really need to mention that my dear father can control all this security technology from his mobile phone while on the move? For him, this has the unbeatable advantage that he can see exactly who from his family leaves the house when and who does what when. Well, and if he doesn't want me to go out because I'm grounded again, he just changes the codes. Well, is the jail really so exaggerated now?

"You've never invited an applicant home before," I say after Dad has stopped talking. I didn't even catch what else he said.

"Applicant? Young lady, Nathan Wood is not just any applicant! Nathan Wood is CEO at one of the largest security technology companies in Edinburgh. If I really want to make my dream of opening a branch in Europe come true, then I need this very man - as my CEO. Hence the invitation to have dinner with us."

"A Scotsman?" I ask incredulously. "Does he come in a kilt then?" I giggle silly as I automatically think of what he might be wearing under his kilt.

Dad looks at me warningly. "I'll say it again, young lady: behave yourself. If you scare Wood away and it makes me ..."

"Then why don't you just let me stay in my room or go away for a while," I say and finish my orange juice. Challengingly, I look at Dad. "And that would solve the problem. Well?"

Dad shakes his head gruffly. "Out of the question," he says, turning back to his mobile phone. "We're going to face Wood as what we are: a family."

"Yes, beautiful family," I meow, getting up and ducking into my room to pack my things for school. "A wife, two kids and their boss ..."

But Dad doesn't hear that anymore. Or doesn't want to hear it.

"You think all this is really funny, don't you?" I grumble at my brother in the evening. Not that he's the least bit interested. He hardly ever looks up from his smartphone. Carl spends practically the whole day in front of a screen. Smartphone, laptop, tablet or TV, something is always on. But I don't want to sit in front of my computer for five minutes without being disturbed and update my Tumblr blog.

No, of course there is always something for me to do. And I'm talking about things that are normally done by the household staff, like taking out the rubbish or putting the dishwasher away. No nonsense, my father has instructed that such things should be left for me. And yes, we really don't have very few domestic servants. Not a whole army, but a housekeeper, Dolores, who comes at seven in the morning and leaves at four, a cook, a gardener and a pool boy. But the latter only come twice a week, so they are not permanent employees.

But anyway, that's not what I wanted to tell you. Where was I? Oh yes, Carl ...

My brother only rolls his eyes briefly and then devotes himself to his smartphone again. He shouldn't even have a Twitter account yet. I've read up on it. But I'm getting off the subject again.

"What are you upset about now?" he asks, bored.

"About our dear father making a big fuss over this Scotsman."

What do I have against Scots? Well, actually the question is quite simple to answer. Nothing at all. It's just that my dad gets on my nerves. He's not the least bit interested in what I'm doing and how I'm doing. The main thing is that I dance to his tune. But for this Scottish superman, we're all supposed to act like it's a perfect world.

It really sucks.

Carl shrugs. "He promised me I could go to Comic-Con with Stoner if I played along. I'd be a fool to let that slip through my fingers."

"What?" I stare at him. This isn't happening now, is it? My little brother got himself bought. With tickets to the comic convention. Honestly? I'm actually not even that upset that he bagged himself the tickets. I'm annoyed that I'm going away empty-handed. Hell, as an older person, I should be the one in control of this stuff. But I'm not like that. I don't just think about myself, but ... Oh, who am I trying to tell?

But then the doorbell rings and it is finally too late to renegotiate. Shit, damn it.

"Amy," I hear my mother call from the bedroom. "Your father and I aren't quite ready yet. Will you open the door, please?"

I briefly toy with the idea of refusing. But what good would that do? At the most, my brother can suck up to my father even more. And that is really the last thing I need. Who knows, maybe I'll be able to get something out of my old man after all if I take part in his little smear theatre.

In any case, it's worth a try.

So I run downstairs and open the door. By the way, Dad has turned off the alarm system for tonight. Funny, huh? He's probably afraid of embarrassing himself if it accidentally goes off for some reason. It's kind of his calling card around here.

"Welcome to Casa Benkow," I announce - and actually the saying should go on, but suddenly I have forgotten how language works.

Why? Quite simple.

Before me stands a god.

Not literally, of course. But the man standing on our doorstep could easily be one.

Tall - and when I say tall, I mean really tall. Easily ninety-one, and two-thirds of it leg. Are trousers that tight actually legal? And how does this guy still manage to look respectable?

His hair is dark blond and slightly wavy, his eyes a light grey-blue and - wow! - he has incredibly long eyelashes.

Oh ... and did I mention that he is old enough to be my father?

Good God - why does he look so good anyway?

"Hey," he says. "You must be Mr. Benkow's daughter." He holds out his free hand to me - in the other he holds a bouquet of flowers, and tucked under his arm is a bottle of wine. "I'm Nathan Wood, but my friends call me Nat."

"Nat," I repeat lamely, staring at him until I realise what I'm doing. My cheeks burn as I finally grab his hand and shake it. "I ... Yeah, I'm Ed's ... I mean I'm my dad's daughter." No! No! No! No! "I'm Amy."

"Hi, Amy." His smile seems genuine. Honest. I can't remember the last time an adult looked at me like that. Just not like I'm an annoying little kid. He pulls his hand away from me (have I really been holding it all this time? Peeeeeinlich!), pulls a pink rose from the bouquet and hands it to me. "Nice to meet you."

"I ... am pleased too," I stammer and accept the flower. Has anyone ever given me flowers before? I don't think so. But I'm pretty sure that Nathan Wood is my absolute favourite person from now on.

"May I come in, perhaps?"

It takes a moment for his words to make sense to me. But his lips are also a real distraction. Rather narrow, but ... I don't know. I just can't stop staring at his mouth.

Until I realise what he just asked.

Oh God, I'm getting worse and worse. If I go on like this, he'll think I'm a complete idiot. Although it's probably already too late to prevent that. I would like to sink into the ground, but that wouldn't make things any better now, would it?

I take a deep breath. "But yes ... sure, come on in, Mr. Wood. My father will kill me if I scare you away. He practically talks about nothing else and..." Stop! My mouth is once again a lot faster than my mind - as usual.

"Is that so?" He grins amusedly and my heart almost stops. "But you can call me Nathan - or Nat."

"Really?" I beam at him. "Sure!"

Fuck, Amy, get a grip! Unless a miracle happens, this guy's gonna be Dad's CEO soon! He's... what? Mid-thirties? Late thirties? Holy shit!

I step aside and finally let him in. He is still smiling as he steps past me into the house. I am almost relieved when at that moment my father comes down the stairs.

"Nathan," he calls, spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome. "At last we meet in person. Welcome to my humble home!"

I suppress a snort. Our house may be many things, but one thing it is certainly not is modest.

Quite the opposite. I would even describe it as rather ostentatious. You have to imagine it as practically consisting of a good two-thirds glass. The fact that it still doesn't turn into an incubator in the summer is only because we have a real high-tech air-conditioning system. The latest of the latest - that's all my father can afford.

In any case, anything that isn't made of glass is made of some kind of expensive tropical wood, for which the rainforests are cut down, and concrete. Like the stairs my dad is literally floating down right now. It's a totally stupid thing, and one of us is going to break his neck one day because it doesn't have a railing. But it looks stylish and makes an impression, and that's enough for my dad.

"Mr. Benkow, I am pleased too."

"Let's skip the formalities," my father replies, extending his hand to his guest as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. "I'm Ed."

"Nathan. You really do live quite splendidly here. I've only ever been to New York City, but the Hamptons are really a dream."

"Yes, and incredibly expensive," says my father, modest as ever. "But it's worth every penny, considering how close we are to New York City here. Gorgeous surroundings, and you're in the city in no time."

He leads Nathan Wood into the large living area. Meanwhile, I stay behind in the entrance area and take a deep breath. Well, this can be a cheerful evening ...

"Amy, dear, will you pass the potatoes, please?"

My mother doesn't even look at me as she reaches out for the bowl of potatoes. Instead, she is glued to Nathan Wood's lips. He's been playing solo entertainer for over an hour. Funny - that's usually my dad's job. He likes to hear himself talk, and does so extensively. But unlike him, what Nathan Wood has to say is actually interesting. Even for me. And that despite the fact that it's about security technology! There are things ...

"... the iris recognition was not programmed correctly, which is why the same error occurred again and again. This almost drove the family crazy until someone finally realised what was really going on."

"Iris recognition is the last shit."

There is a clatter as my father drops his fork on the plate. Everyone stares at me. Wait, did I just say that out loud?

"Amy," my mother hisses. "Behave yourself! What do you want our guest to think?"

Nathan Wood waves it off. "No, you go ahead, Mrs. Benkow. I'm interested in this. What exactly is wrong with iris recognition, Amy?"

"It always makes me dizzy," I reply truthfully after a moment's hesitation. And why not? I mean, I can't do any worse now, can I?

My father obviously sees it differently. "That's really enough, Amy! It's all in your head!"

But Nathan Wood shakes his head. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. At any rate, it's not the first time I've heard that. In Europe, smartphones equipped with iris recognition even have warnings to that effect. However, there is a lack of studies so far to get to the bottom of this side effect."

"Really?" Dad looks sceptical, but doesn't want to let it show now. He really seems to care a lot about getting Nathan Wood as CEO. Which clearly shows how successful Nathan must be. Otherwise Dad would never, ever go to such lengths - and above all he would never leave such a trail of slime.

Nathan continues, and again everyone sitting around the table with him is riveted. Only I barely catch a word, just watch his lips move.

Am I dreaming, or did he really just take me seriously? That has never happened to me before.

I stare at him. My heart pounds and a whole swarm of butterflies flutters up in my stomach.

I swallow as I realise what these clear reactions of my body to Nathan Wood mean.

Heavens, I think I have a serious problem.

A bloody serious problem.

1.

Amy

Five years later.

"I'm telling you, I'm through for the day. One more day like this and you can commit me."

Annoyed, I pull my headset off my head, lean back on my desk chair and pull my mobile phone out of my pocket. It's already seven o'clock and I haven't received any messages. Well, why should anyone else write to me? Since I've been working in my dad's company, I don't have a private life any more anyway. And therefore no time for friends and any activities.

But it's not always so stressful. This has only been going on for a short time. After a large number of burglaries in private homes in Manhattan - the police assume that criminal gangs are behind them - the rich property owners in the city have become afraid and decided to upgrade their security. Well, Dad can be pleased, because almost all of them are turning to the market leader Benkow Security.

And since I've been in the order desk for a while now, where the lines are glowing hot, I naturally get to feel that first with the others here.

The others - these are my colleagues who sit at the phones with me here in the open-plan office at Benkow Security's headquarters on the sixteenth floor of a skyscraper. One of them is Judy, she has the seat directly opposite me. We usually start and finish work together, so we've become a bit of friends. Judy is a few years older than me and has been working for my father for quite a while. Originally, I think she worked here while she was studying, but since she dropped out at some point, she switched to full-time. Anyway, Judy is one of the few people here who doesn't care that I'm my father's daughter. Most of the others are bothered by it. Some let it show more, some less.

Yes, it may be that I often just imagine it. I mean, when someone hardly notices me or even doesn't notice me at all, I think it's because I'm Boss's daughter. It's possible that I tell myself that and that the real reason is that here, in such a huge corporate headquarters in the Big Apple, hardly anyone notices anyone else anyway. I don't know. But some people definitely don't like the fact that I work here, and it's a mystery to me why. After all, I don't get any extra sausage or anything like that. Quite the opposite. If they knew what rank I have in the hierarchy here in my father's eyes ...

"What do you say we go for a drink?" Judy asks over the low partition wall that is attached to all the tables here. The pieces are only high enough for people to look at each other while sitting, but they prevent the other staff members' phone conversations from coming over too much when you talk on the phone with your head slightly tilted.

I think about it for a moment, but then shrug my shoulders. "Sure, why not?" I say, although I'm actually pretty exhausted. But I don't really want to go home yet either.

I log out, shut down my computer and take my bag.

"Don't worry so much about the others," Judy says as we walk side by side in the corridor to the lifts. "They just have to put up with working with the boss's daughter. That's life."

At first I am taken aback, but that quickly subsides. If there's one thing I should know by now, it's that Judy is the duty mind reader, so to speak. Seriously, she always guesses what you are thinking. That has given me the creeps on more than one occasion. In the meantime, however, I have become so used to it that I always forget.

"Now don't give me that mind-reading stuff again," she says before I can reply. "I can't help it if people can tell what's going on in that pretty head of yours."

"You can't tell anything from my face," I contradict. "My dad always says I'm a closed book.

"Well, then your dad obviously doesn't know you."

"There's something to that."

We reach the lifts - and of course I get smacked again when I press the button.

"Ow, damn it!", I curse and wave my hand wildly. "This fucking building is going to kill me one day. No matter what I touch in here, I always get smacked."

Judy laughs. "You're just loaded."

We get into the lift, which already has a few other people in it, and off we go down.

When we arrive downstairs a few minutes later and leave the building, we are greeted by cool evening air outside. It's March and the weather has been rainy for a few days. Now it's only drizzling a little, so Judy doesn't even open her umbrella and I don't regret not taking one at all. We don't run either, we don't have far to go anyway. Taylor's - the bar where we often go for a drink after work - is only a few metres away on the same side of the street.

When we enter, the shop is already quite full and we also discover some colleagues. A small group has gathered in front of the bar. They are standing there with their beer bottles in their hands and are quite engrossed in conversation.

Judy cranes her neck to look for a free table and finds one. "There's something free at the back," she calls out, nodding at me. "Go ahead and save us seats. What are you drinking?" Then she waves me off. "Oh, what am I even asking you Coke addict?"

I laugh and fight my way to the table. Once there, I settle down with a sigh. The chairs are quite comfortable here, and the whole atmosphere is nice. It's all lounge style, and the colours are dominated by brown, beige and a very dark Bordeaux red. The armchairs are littered with motley cushions and the spotlights mounted in the dark ceiling panels spread a subdued light.

It's not long before Judy comes to the table with my Coke and her OJ and sits down opposite me.

We take a sip, then look at me.

"So, to get back to the topic: The people here have nothing against you. But when the boss's daughter starts a new job, everyone is always a bit reserved."

"But I already started six months ago. And besides, I'm a normal employee too."

"Well, but you're not just anyone."

Sighing, I roll my eyes. "Yes, I know who I am. The daughter of the big boss himself. But I'm still doing a normal apprenticeship here. And that's why I'm going through all the levels. At first I was in purchasing, then in active sales, now in order taking ..."

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Bildmaterialien: fztommy/Shutterstock; kiuikson/Shutterstock; Cookie Studio/Shutterstock
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 05.08.2023
ISBN: 978-3-7554-4874-7

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