"Send me your calendar, contact lists, and communication records from the past month. I'll review them tonight and tellyou which meetings happen and which ones get rescheduled." I pull out my phone, send a text summoning the operatives. "You don't make that decision anymore. I do."
She opens her mouth. Closes it. The reality of what she just agreed to is settling in.
"How do I send you that information?"
"I'll text you the secure server credentials." I don't look up from my phone. "Upload everything within the next two hours. I want time to review before you arrive."
"And if I have questions before then?"
"You don't." I pocket my phone. "You have instructions. Follow them. Your operatives will be downstairs in five minutes. Don't keep them waiting."
Her jaw works like she wants to argue. Wants to push back, test boundaries, see if I'm serious about this absolute authority thing.
I step into her space. Close enough that she can feel my presence, close enough that she can't pretend this is still a business transaction.
"Let me be very clear about something, Ms. LaCroix." My voice drops, goes quiet and dangerous. "You signed that contract thinking you'd still get to negotiate, still get to push, still get to play your corporate power games. You're wrong. The moment you signed, your life became my operational priority, and I don't compromise on keeping people alive. You want to test me? You want to see if I'm serious? Go ahead. But understand that every time you push, every time you fight, you're making it easier for whoever's hunting you to find an opening."
Her breath catches. Pupils blown wide, color high in her cheeks. Aroused despite trying to maintain control.
"Seven o'clock," I say. "Don't be late."
I step back. The dismissal is clear.
She stands slowly, trying to regain her footing. For a moment she just stands there, trying to find some semblance of the control she walked in here with. Then she turns and walks toward the door, spine straight, shoulders back, every bit the CEO.
Right up until she reaches the doorway and glances back.
Looking for permission. Looking for approval. Looking for confirmation that she made the right choice. I hold her gaze until she looks away and then disappears into the hallway.
I turn back to my desk. Simone's walking out of the building now, heading back to her office and the operatives are with her.
Remy appears at my shoulder. "You sure about this?"
"No." I turn back toward my office. "But we took the case. Now we see it through."
"She's going to fight you every step."
"Good." I pull up the security protocols for the guest house on my computer. "I don't do gentle."
Remy's laugh is dark. "This is going to be a goddamn disaster."
It might be a disaster. I don't know yet, but it's definitely dangerous.
Because Simone LaCroix is exactly the kind of client who makes protection details complicated. Bratty, entitled, used to getting her way through force of will and business intimidation.
But underneath that polish is fear. Vulnerability. The kind that comes when someone weaponizes what you give in spaces you thought were safe.
The stalker's been documenting Simone's private scenes. Planning how to use that knowledge to break her.
My phone buzzes with a message from the operatives. They’re with her leaving the building, heading back to her office. She's following instructions.
For now.
I pull up the guest house security feeds, start running diagnostics on the cameras, motion sensors, perimeter alarms. Everything needs to be operational before Simone arrives tonight. No gaps, no blind spots, no vulnerabilities for whoever's hunting her to exploit.
Because once she's under my protection, she becomes my responsibility. My operational priority. And I don't lose people I'm responsible for.
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