He huffs a laugh under his breath. “Right. Do you know what the penalty is for wasting police time, Miss Saint?”
“What? I didn’t waste your time, this is your damn job!”
He gives me a nasty look. “And I’m sure the paparazzi who photographed our cars coming onto your property just happened to be hanging outside your house at four AM on a Tuesday morning?”
I’m gobsmacked. “Probably! It’s not my fault they make their living by invading my privacy! If I set all of this up, how exactly did I get a pile of come in my bed?!”
He shrugs. “You got your boyfriend to do it? I don’t know, ma’am, but I do know that my officers don’t appreciate being used in your publicity stunts.”
I gape at him.
There’s a scuffle behind me. Rodriguez and Julie both step out of the kitchen, whispering to each other. I snap my mouth shut and wave them to the door. “You. Both. Out. I’ll send you your severances. Enjoy unemployment.”
Julie runs a hand through her platinum curls. “C’mon, Briar,” she wheedles. “It was just a mistake. How was I supposed to know one of your creepy fans would try and break in tonight?”
I stare her down. Julie has been my PR manager for the last eight years. She’s a typical rich Chelsea girl: blonde, always made up, and constantly draped in a fur coat. During her time working for me, I’ve almost fired her about fifty times, but she somehow always manages to worm her way back into my life.
She apparently finds my silence encouraging, grabbing my hand. “Listen, will you forgive me if I get you a new security team?” Rodriguez looks hurt.
“No,” I tell her.
“But—”
“You got me this security team,” I point out. “And then you slept with my security team. So, no, I’m not letting you pick out my new guards.” I shake her off me. “You’re fired. Get out.”
She pouts. “But—”
My last fibre of control snaps. “For God’s sake, will everyone just get the Hell out of my house!” I shout. I’m shaking. The Polaroid drops out of my hand and flutters to the carpet.
There’s a few seconds of silence, then the front door opens, and everyone starts to file out. I swallow hard, feeling tears roll down my cheeks. I lift a hand to swipe them away.
There’s a sudden flash of light. I look up, and see the policeman facing me in the doorway, holding his phone up and snapping a nice little shot of my breakdown. He flashes me a smarmy grin. “‘Preciate it, Briar Saint.”
I step forward to grab the phone out of his hand, but he slams the door shut behind him.
I stare at the door for a second, breathing hard. Then all of the energy drains out of me, and I sink to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees. The Polaroid lies on the floor by my elbow. The note on the back stares up at me.
Soon, we’ll be sleeping next to each other forever.
I bury my face in my hands. I’m so screwed.
CHAPTER TWO
MATT
I sit back in my chair, glaring at the file in front of me. “No. No way in Hell. Absolutely not. I’m never doing another celebrity case again.”
Our boss, a petite blonde woman named Colette, glares at me. “You haven’t even met the girl,” she points out.
“Don’t need to,” I say simply. “I’m not doing it.”
My partner Kenta pushes his cup of coffee across the desk. “Drink that and stop complaining,” he mutters, reaching for the cafetière to pour a new mug. He looks half-asleep, his white shirt crumpled and his long, dark hair falling around his face. As I watch, he scoops the loose strands back, tying them into a neat ponytail. I bite back a rude comment and pick up the coffee.
To be honest, I really need the caffeine. It’s five in the morning, and the rest of London’s Angel Security headquarters is silent and empty. I should still be in bed, but instead, our deranged boss called us all in for an emergency meeting.
A massive hand stretches over my shoulder and nabs the coffee cup right before it touches my lips. My other partner, Glen, heaves his huge body down into the chair on my other side. At six foot six, he can barely fit his legs under the table.
Colette glares at him. “You’re late.”
“Aye,” he agrees, taking a leisurely sip and smacking his lips. “That I am.” He runs a large-knuckled hand through his thick hair and stretches. The pink dawn light filtering through the large windows catches on his face, lighting up the mangled scar cutting down the side of his cheek.