We pull up to the main entrance right on schedule. At least I can't be accused of tardiness.
Both operatives get out, one opening my door while the other retrieves my luggage from the back. I watch him pull out his phone and type quickly. Reporting to Luc, no doubt.
The front door opens before we reach it.
Luc.
He's changed since the meeting. Gone is the professional attire. Now he's in jeans and a black t-shirt that shows exactly how much time he spends staying in shape. Former Delta Force, indeed—every line of him screams dangerous capability.
His gaze sweeps over me, assessing, then shifts to the operatives. "Any trouble?"
The driver exchanges a look with his partner. A brief conversation follows—low voices, professional tone, the operative's gestures indicating locations. I catch fragments: "...questioned protocols..." "...dismissed escort..." "...standard resistance..."
My cheeks flush. I can imagine exactly what they're telling him.
The driver's voice rises slightly. "Nothing we couldn't handle, boss. Just standard client resistance to protection protocols."
Luc's mouth curves slightly. Not quite a smile. "I'm sure it was very standard."
My jaw tightens. "I wasn't any trouble."
"That's not what he said." Luc's attention returns to me. "He said you argued about security protocols, tried to dismiss your protection detail, and questioned their authority. Which tells me you wasted time testing boundaries instead of following commands."
"I don't take orders from?—"
"From the operatives assigned to keep you alive. Yes, I gathered that." He takes my luggage from the operative. "Thank you, gentlemen. I'll take it from here."
The operatives nod and head back to the SUV. I watch them drive away down the oak-lined drive.
Luc gestures toward the house. "This way."
"We need to talk." I don't move. "About boundaries. About how this arrangement is going to work. About the fact that I'm the client and you work for me."
"No." He shifts the suitcase to his other hand. "We don't need to talk about any of that. You signed the contract this morning giving me full operational authority over your security. That contract is legally binding. The conversation's over."
"The hell it is." I step forward, using every bit of boardroom presence I've cultivated over the years. "You don't get to talkto me like I'm some incompetent child. You don't get to make unilateral decisions about my life. And you certainly don't get to treat me with disrespect."
He looks at me for a long moment. Then he sets down the luggage and steps into my space with that same deliberate invasion that made my breath catch in his office.
"Let's get something straight right now, Simone." His voice is quiet, dangerous. "You're not in a boardroom. You're not negotiating with someone who gives a fuck about your ego or your corporate power plays. You're standing in front of someone whose job is to keep you alive, and you're going to either accept my authority or you're going to leave."
"I'm the client?—"
"You're the protected asset." He doesn't raise his voice—doesn't need to. The dominance rolls off him. "And the moment you became my protected asset, you stopped being in charge. That's how protection details work. That's how staying alive works. You want equal footing? You want mutual respect? Earn it by following my protocols instead of fighting me every step of the way."
My pulse is hammering. I should be furious. I am furious. But underneath the anger is something else. Something that recognized the absolute certainty in his voice.
"I don't take orders well." The words come out more breathless than I intend.
"I know." His mouth curves slightly—not quite a smile. "That's why this is going to be interesting."
He picks up the luggage again. "The guest house is out back. Two bedrooms, full kitchen, private entrance. You'll have your own space, but I'm here around the clock. Security cameras cover the perimeter, motion sensors on all access points. You don't go anywhere without me. You don't open doors or windowswithout checking with me first. You follow my commands without argument."
His gaze holds mine, waiting.
"That's completely unreasonable?—"
"That's how you stay alive." He starts walking toward a path that leads around the main house. "Now you can keep arguing and waste both our time, or you can accept reality. Your choice."
