Probably both.
Which is a fucking problem, Marcus.
But suddenly I realize that I'm standing in the room with her father, just the two of us again. Cocking a brow at Reginald, I wait for him to say something.
"As you can see," he begins, circling his desk and sitting in the massive chair behind it, lording over things like he's a fucking king, "I require quite a bit of assistance. Cilento, the man I spoke to your employer about, is quite adamant. He'll be sending more people to harm Lila. I have no doubt. Still, this is hardly the best foot to start on. As such..."
He reaches into his desk, pulling out something small and a fountain pen that's gilded with gold trim. I want to roll my eyes, but I'm hung up on what he said.
This Cilento asshole is looking to harm Lila. He's made threats before, but nothing physical yet, and no attempts, according to the files at least.
I will not let some mafioso touch a hair on Lila's head, and not for the first time, I'm wondering what connection Reginald has to the guy in the first place.
But I'm not supposed to ask. Don't be concerned with thewhy, just thewhat, as Boss always says.
"Allow me to offer a signing bonus as a show of appreciation." I look up from staring at the middle distance to Reginald tearing the small check free of its book. "And if all is still settled, I will return the paperwork, and you can begin tomorrow."
Walking up to the desk, I snatch the check out of Rich Boy's hands, glancing at it.Another fifteen thousand. Like it's nothing.
And the truth is, he didn't need to offer it. Once I saw Lila, one thing was abundantly clear.
"Tomorrow morning, bright and early. I'll be here."
I turn on my heel and stride out of the room. I need some fresh fucking air because there were too many red flags for me to have agreed to that job.
But I did. And I'd do it again because Lila isn't getting harmed, touched, or even looked at funny on my watch.
That girl—that bratty little heiress with an ass for days—is mine now.
2
Lila
My father is infuriating. I've done everything I can to get him to listen to me, and he'sstillinsisting on a bodyguard and house arrest? Seriously?
"Ugh!" I throw my hands up, flopping face-first into my bed. I made it through dinner, still trying to get that man to listen to me, and nothing. "Just let me live my life!"
The words are muffled by the bed, and I can taste the fabric against my lips. I'm not going to be able to breathe like this, so I flop over, my stare going to the ceiling.
This is so stupid. Father won't even tell me why Cilento is doing this—vague nonsense about going after a company doing good in the world. He's hiding something from me.
My heart is beating too quickly, and I know I'm too worked up to sleep. I have little choice, however. I know that Dominick is outside.
Father's usual security guard is set to watch over me until thatotherguy arrives. He's hated having to split his personal guard between himself and me.
I've hated beingwatchedlike a damn hawk all the time. I can barely get a pee in without someone sticking their nose in.
Thoughts churn through my head like a whirling cotton candy machine. That's what Ishouldbe doing—out with the few friends I have from college.
A few of us stayed close after graduation, and going to the local arcade bar near campus is a tradition. It has fair-like games and food, and with it being summer, the back patio will be open.
I haven't gonesincegraduation.
For the past two years, I've been an intern at my father's company, where I've been forced to follow him around and "learn the business."
Except he doesn't really care if I learn anything. It's just supposed to appear that way. In reality, my future has already been decided.
And I hate every bit of it.
