Three minutes later, when I was back in my chair and digging the pads of my fingers into my temples, Margaret stepped in silently, wrinkled smile pulling tightas she placed a coffee on my desk.
“I’m putting you on a ban after this one.” She quipped as she sat it down.
I gripped the mug in my hands and lifted it, my smile barely a smile at all.“Sure, Margs.”
She rounded the table and clapped me on the back. Her way of saying goodjob. But it didn’t feel like a win. Not yet.
As the door clicked shut when she left, I cracked my knuckles and opened thelaptop again, the glare from the screen slicing through the low light of the office. I went straight for my emails, because life was already hard enough today. The usual load piled into my inbox, status updates, client requests, another accounting report I’ll pretend to skim later. But one subject line stared back at me like a neon sign in the dead of night.
Re: Incident Report: Jamie Radcliffe.
My jaw tightened as I clicked it open. I’d already read it, but some sick part ofme wanted to go through it again, like pressing on a bruise. My fingers drummed on the desk as I reread the clinical phrasing from the girls' agency.
Mr. Radcliffe’s behaviour was predatory, unprofessional, and severelyimpacted Miss Holland’s mental well-being. She no longer feels safe, even within the confines of her own home.
They didn’t mince their words. It was all there in black and white, every wayI’d unknowingly let this happen, and I hated every word of it. Not because it was untrue, but because it was. Because it happened on my watch and I’d let someone else down.
The memory of Lana hit me like a sucker punch. Her voice echoed, scared andbroken. And what did I do? I said nothing. Did nothing.
Until it was too late.
That was why I started this company. Why I poured every ounce of myself intomaking sure no one else had to feel whatshe felt. What I felt. And yet, here I was. Another person’s trust was shattered because I fucked up.
I scrolled down the email, the details sitting heavy on my chest like a barbell Icouldn’t quite bench. She’d been stuck with Jamie for two years. And for those years, everything seemed perfect. I didn’t hear a fucking peep from her or her agency. Until he turned out to be the exact thing she needed protection from.
I leaned back, exhaling hard, but the weight in my chest didn’t shift. I neverpaid much attention to the name Cora Holland before. I’m not exactly plugged into the influencer scene, or any scene, really. I kept my nose out of my clients’ personal lives unless I needed to know. And Cora? She was just another name on a file. Another life we were protecting.
But now? Now I knew a lot more about the internets angel that I'd ever wanted to.
My phone buzzed, snapping me back to the present. A new email notificationslid into view.
Urgent: Replacement Protection Needed for Cora Holland.
I snorted, rubbing my face with both hands. “No shit.”
The email was short and demanding. They needed someone solid. A realprofessional. Someone “not an asshole,” their exact words. Like it was that simple.
And it should have been. But now it was like this whole thing was a trap, and Iwas second-guessing every person I’d ever hired. I thought Jamie was solid, too, and look how that turned out.
I stared at the email, the cursor blinking like it was mocking me. I could assignsomeone else to her, someone with a clean record, one of my top guys. I wondered if Meg would take a break from training and watch over her until I found someone spotless.
But what if that wasn’t enough? What if this happened again?
I shook my head.
No.
Not this time. Not with her.
I closed the email and opened a separate program, one I didn’t advertise to myclients. It was a little… off the books. Something I had built years ago for when I needed answers fast and didn’t feel like waiting for bureaucracy to catch up. I typed in her name and watched as the software did its magic, piecing together scraps of data from places people thought were private.
Her address I knew. But what I need was—
Her schedule.
I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “Gotcha.”
Reaching for the phone on my desk, I left my office and headed for the elevator, tapping twice on Margarets desk as I passed her. “Cancel my nineo’clock,”
