While we were on one of our first tours, years back, I had a photo of her pinned up in my barracks; a modelling shot, cut out of a magazine one of the guys got sent. Every goddamn day, I woke up to Briar Saint’s pretty face smiling down at me.
And now I’m here, in her house.
She’s nothing like I imagined. In my photograph, she was smiling brightly on a beach, eating an ice cream. I always pictured her to be bubbly. Sweet.
The woman standing in front of me is certainly notbubbly.She’s pure ice. She’s wearing a white leather miniskirt and stilettos in her own house, and her eyes are cold and sharp as she assesses us. She looks like a woman who doesn’t take any shit.
I only realise I’m staring when she takes the opportunity to do the same. I can feel her eyes trailing the side of my face. It’s probably the first time she’s seen a scar so bad. In the industry, celebrities call their plastic surgeon every time they get a paper cut. When my face got sliced open, all I had to fix me up was Matt, crouched in the bottom of a dripping, damp cave, sewing up my face without anaesthetic while I bit my tongue to pieces to stop myself from yelling. I know he feels bad about how shitty it looks, but honestly, I’m lucky the damn thing healed at all.
I glance out of a window as an excuse to turn my head away. “Your house has too many windows,” I blurt out.
She raises an eyebrow. “Okay,” she says slowly.
I feel my face reddening. I nod awkwardly and step past her, scanning the ceiling for good CCTV spots.
She follows me. “What did you do in the army?”
“We were SAS. Special forces.”
“And that’s how you met? You were in the same… squadron? Troop?”
“Patrol,” I grunt. “We worked in a four-person patrol.”
“You three?” She looks between Matt and Kenta. “Who was the last person?”
“Damon didn’t make it.”
She freezes. “He died?”
I nod, trying not to think about it.
She’s quiet for a minute. We walk into the next room. Kenta and Matt start arguing about blackout blinds. I can feel her cold blue eyes on me, like lasers melting through my skin.
“What does the SAS do?” She asks suddenly.
“Lots of things. We mostly focussed on counter-terrorism.”
She opens her mouth to ask another question, but I cut her off. “How come your agency didn’t give you better security? You had, what, one guard?”
Her lips press together. “Money. They like to cut corners.”
I frown. “Security isn’t something you can skimp on. Your life is always more important than money.”
She tilts her head. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said about me in weeks.”
Something about her voice makes me think she’s not joking.
Kenta steps forward, scanning his notebook. “Okay, I think we have everything. I’ll put in an order for the new equipment.” He smiles at Briar. “So, what do you think? You want to sign the contract?”
She hesitates, pursing her red lips. I’m suddenly nervous. I don’t know what I’m going to do if she says no. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to sleep at night, knowing that she’s in here all alone with perverts climbing in through her bedroom windows.
To my surprise, she looks up at me, her ponytail flicking over her shoulder. “What do you think, Glen?” She asks quietly. “Doyouthink I need all this?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “I do. I’m sorry.”
She nods firmly. “Then, yes. Let’s sign the paperwork.”
“Great,” Kenta says brightly. “Don’t worry. We can be very discreet. You won’t even know that we’re here.”
