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“I'll need to assess your home, your day-to-day routine, your son's school. If there's an actual threat, we need to identify it.”

“And if there's not?”

“Then you'll have peace of mind.”

Something protective stirs in me as I study her, something I haven't felt in years. I push it down. This is a job, I remind myself. Just another job.

She looks at me with those honey-brown eyes, asking, “So, can you help us?” I know this couldn’t be any more different.

“Yes,” I say, against my better judgment. “I can help.”

And the relief in her smile hits me like a punch to the gut. Somehow, it feels like a foretelling of how the next few months will be.

3

WREN

I've forgotten how tall Sean Langston is.

My eyes linger on the strain of his shirt against his forearms as he leans forward, examining the sample serums on the area table.

He’s broader than I remember. My younger self would never have believed he could be even hotter.

I try not to stare at him for fear of him catching my eyes and reading my lewd thoughts when I should be more bothered about the PR nightmare I’m entrenched in.

But Sean Langston has always been very attractive to me. I remember telling Jen once during a drunken night years ago, that her dad was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

It remains true even now. The years have passed, for sure, and the salt-and-pepper buzz cut he spots only enhances his sharp jawline. His blue eyes are intense with the experience and mysteries of a man who has seen the goodness and darkness of life.

He’s wearing black. A long-sleeved shirt rolled up to the elbows, dark jeans, boots that make a heavy sound every time he moves. He looks like he belongs in a gritty action film,not sitting in my office, examining lemon-scented candles and sample serums.

Jen warned me. “Don’t let the gruff thing fool you,” she said. “He’s got a soft heart buried somewhere under all that muscle.”

I don’t see soft. I see sharp. Controlled. Alert. And altogether too handsome.

Our eyes meet. His stare remains unreadable. I have the feeling he’s analyzing me, trying to figure out if I’m still familiar or changed beyond recognition.

I stand, needing space from his direct gaze. “Are you ready for the tour?”

He nods. No smile. Just that unreadable stare.

I walk ahead, heels clicking on polished concrete floors. The office hums with motion. Employees glance as we pass, the curiosity in their eyes unhidden.

“This is our main floor. Marketing to the left, product dev to the right.”

He glances around, eyes scanning everything. Not saying much.

We stop in front of a glass wall that overlooks our R&D lab. Raj is inside, bent over a beaker, scribbling something in a notebook. His lab coat is open, shirt wrinkled, thick glasses sliding down his nose. Classic Raj.

“Raj,” I say, tapping the glass.

Raj looks up with a frown. He walks out into the hallway seconds later.

“Is this Jen’s dad?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Jen’s dad. Security consultant,” Sean says before I can answer.