The paparazzi were still shouting through Wrenmoor Manor’s gates when the doors closed behind you.
Another night, another headline.
Probably something with
spoiled, heiress,
or
out of control
in it.
And apparently, two strange men in your foyer.
One stood by the staircase, broad, bearded, and composed. Two duffel bags sat at his feet.
“Erland Vetter,”
he said.
“Your new head of security.”
The other stood near the tall front window, arms folded, watching camera flashes burst beyond the gates.
“And that’s Tino,”
Erland offered.
Tino took his time looking at you, recognition sharpening into something decidedly less impressed.
Erland stepped forward.
“Your grandfather hired us. With all the death threats and public scrutiny, he wants an extra buffer between you and the public.”
Tino glanced once at the gates.
“Starting to see why.”
Erland ignored him.
“We’ll work around your schedule. Parties, premieres, press. You live your life. We keep you safe.”
“Within reason,”
Tino added.
Erland’s jaw tightened.
“Tino.”
“What?”
Tino folded his arms.
“I read the file.”
His gaze came back to you, and a slow half-smile pulled at his mouth.
“You don’t exactly have a reputation for doing what you’re told, Princess.”