“At any rate, Ms. Evans,” he says briskly, “I’m going to need you to sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
I practically growl at him, my patience seeping out as I also wrestle with my hair. “An NDA? Why?”
“For obvious reasons.”
“And if I don’t?”
I don’t know why I’m arguing with him over this. I mean, of course I’ll sign an NDA, if it makes them comfortable, and I have no doubt that most islanders would band together to try to let them have as much privacy as they want.
But everything that comes out of his mouth pisses me off.
He looks behind him briefly at Isaac and Giles, who are similarly stone-faced, dressed in camo gear like it’s no big deal, their rappelling ropes leading back into the trees.
Then Harrison looks back to me. “If you don’t sign the NDA, things will get very difficult for you.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Does it sound like a threat?”
“Everything you say sounds like a threat,” I grumble. “Yes, of course I’ll sign it.”
“And have your mother sign it.”
“Yes.” I sigh loudly at that. I don’t know how that is going to go down. I’ll probably just have to forge her signature or something. It’ll be hard enough to explain why there’s a giant security gate going up, plus secret agent men in trees and officers patrolling in boats. She doesn’t leave the house very often, usually just goes for walks in the neighborhood when she’s feeling especially energetic or aggravated, but throwing all of this stuff into the mix isn’t going to be easy. I’m going to have to have a real talk with her and hope she listens and learns that the royals are not the enemy.
God, I hope they aren’t the enemy.
Harrison’s face remains forever grim. “British Columbia has a privacy act that protects people from the media, that specifically creates the right to sue if privacy is being invaded. That’s one reason why they chose this place instead of anywhere else. Keep that in mind.”
“Are you done for real now? Can I at least go home?”
He nods. “Sure. Might want to take a shower too.”
“What does that mean?” This guy gets worse and worse.
“Your hair,” he says, nodding at my gooey, frazzled blond mess. I make a mental note to get a blowout for the next time I see him.
Then, to my surprise, he fucking smirks. “I’ll be seeing you later to drop off the papers.”
He turns, gives the other men a nod as he opens the door to his SUV, and gets in.
The men begin to go up into the trees again.
Harrison drives out of the driveway, giving me just enough space for the Garbage Pail to sneak through.
I start the car and rev the engine to make the small hill that goes up the driveway, and I’m bouncing forward, glaring at Harrison as I go.
By the time I’m parked in my spot, I’m livid. Having the royals next door isn’t going to be fun at all, not if Harrison is going to be running the show.
I head into the house, and this time Liza comes barreling toward me, her tail wagging, tongue hanging out of her mouth. Judging by how excited/desperate she is and the silence in the house, my mother is asleep and Liza needs to go out.
I quickly take her through the woods and down the steps to the dock, stopping at the top just in time to watch a small dark speedboat slowly cruise past me.
I wave at the man, who then stops the boat and stares back at me.
He doesn’t wave back.
Instead, he presses into his earpiece and says something I can’t make out. He’s wearing glasses identical to Harrison’s, so I can’t see his expression, but I know he’s looking at me the whole time. Finally, after a staring contest that must go on for minutes, he looks away and the boat continues on.
I head back to the house with Liza, hating the fact that even being outside on our property is starting to make me feel watched, judged, and overall uncomfortable. Once I’m inside, I find myself pulling the curtains and blinds closed, and it dawns on me that I’m one step closer to turning into my mother.
It’s just after dinner, with my mother still sleeping (don’t worry, I checked on her), when there’s a knock at the front door. Liza starts barking like crazy, which scares the shit out of me, and I’m an angry barrel of nerves by the time I rip open the door.
No surprise, it’s Harrison. It won’t get dark here until ten at night, but even so I’d bet he’ll still be wearing his sunglasses.
He doesn’t have any papers in his hands, though.
“Yes?” I say to him.
“Are you busy?” he asks me.
Now my brows are raised. “Am I busy?”
“The Duke and Duchess of Fairfax request your company.”