Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
My entire apartment, it seemed, was a logistical nightmare and a danger to me and everyone in it.
“If anything, I was underplaying it,” Brock said, smirking. “I thought maybe time would have chilled him out a bit. Seems only to have reaffirmed his belief that everyone was in danger from unseen forces plotting our downfall. Though, objectively, that is the case with you.”
“Yeah, but I really don’t think anyone I know could, like, parachute onto my balcony or something like that.”
“I’m kind of with you on that one. Though I have an issue with that balcony as well, just for a different reason.”
“What reason?” I asked, looking over at it.
“Just that it is very high. And whoever slit your wrist clearly wants it to make it look like you want to end your life. So a balcony…”
“Oh,” I said, stomach sinking at the idea.
“I actually never go out to the railing,” I admitted. “Anyone who knows me would know that. I like being up high, but I get dizzy too close to the railing or the window.”
“That’s good to know,” he said.
“Do you think Lennon has some sort of method to prevent me from going over that balcony if someone tried to force me to?” I asked.
“I’m sure he does.”
And, boy, did he.
But it would involve actual construction that couldn’t be done for a few weeks, thanks to some scheduling difficulties.
“This is the best of the best that money can buy, Miss Coulter,” Lennon told me, even after I insisted he call me Miranda no less than three times.
“Money is not a factor,” I insisted. “Time, however…” I said, waving toward the balcony. “I’m sorry,” I said, sighing. “I’m just paranoid.”
“Paranoid is good,” Lennon insisted. “Paranoid keeps you alive. I understand your anxiousness to get the project done to both of our satisfaction. It is a complicated process, unfortunately, so it can’t be rushed. But my advice for the time being would include a specialty lock to that balcony to keep you or anyone else from being able to go out there. And Miss Coulter?” he called.
“Yes?”
“Don’t apologize for being concerned for your safety,” Lennon insisted.
Apologizing.
It was the hardest habit to shake, I’d found.
It was something you really had to work to avoid doing in the business world. If you paid close attention, men rarely apologized. Especially in business settings. No matter how wrong they might have been. Apologizing was a sign of weakness. So I worked hard never to do it.
Except, of course, sometimes everyone slipped up.
Especially after the week I’d had.
“I feel like this might be a good time to bring up the topic of a tracker.”
“A… tracker?” I asked, face scrunching. “Like a chip? Like for dogs?” I added.
“Just like that, yes, but not internal. Though, of course, those are available.”
“Of course,” I agreed, feeling like my head was spinning a bit.
Men parachuting onto balconies. Implanted tracking chips. It all just seemed so insane.
But the way Lennon talked about it said that it not only happened, but that it wasn’t even that rare. Which was kind of terrifying.
“So you want me to carry around a tracking dog tag,” I summarized.
“I want for us to be able to track your location at anytime while you are under our protection,” Lennon clarified.
“What does this tag look like? How will I carry it around? Wouldn’t my phone or my smartwatch do the same thing?”
“The thing is, Miss Coulter,” Lennon said, clasping his fingers together on the surface of the table, “if we are dealing with professionals here, they will know that both your phone and smartwatch can be tracked. They would, therefore, deactivate them. And then we would be in the dark.”
“Okay. What do these look like then?” I asked.
Lennon waved toward his man who was hovering a few feet away with a box that he handed to his boss.
“First, we have the keychain,” he said, producing a little leather circular-looking owl.
“There’s a tracker in this?” I asked, taking it from him.
“Yes. That is step one. You would typically have your keys on you.”
“Step one?”
“Yes. Step two is this little clip that you will put on every morning, hooked so it sits inside the waistband of your pants,” he told me, producing a little black circle with a hook for the top of your pants. “But since there is a lot of room for error with that, we also have step three,” he told me, going back into his box to grab a jewelry box.
I braced myself for the worst.
Jewelry was so subjective.
I was very particular.
Or as Cam would say, ‘impossible to shop for.’
Lennon popped the top off and passed the jewelry to me.
It was a piece of round rose gold with this very intricate, lacy, rose gold bow on top.
As far as jewelry went, it wasn’t exactly Tiffany. But it wasn’t off the shelf at some novelty shop, either.