“Intense how?”
“Intense in the way that says he’s seen and heard all the crazy ass stories about shit that can happen in someone’s home if they don’t have it properly secured, so he is ultra-vigilant,” Brock explained. “He’s going to have a fucking field day with the balcony,” he added, shaking his head as he smirked.
“It’s a penthouse balcony,” I reminded him. “There’s not even a fire escape.”
“I guarantee you, he will have a story to strike the fear of God into you about it.”
Lennon, like Brock, screamed ex-military from the moment I laid eyes on him.
He was a giant of a man with dark skin, legs the size of tree trunks, and the biggest arms I’d ever seen.
He had a handsome face, all square jaw and a stern brow.
Everything about him was serious, but there was a slight kindness behind his brown eyes as well.
“Lennon, this is Miranda. Miranda, Lennon.”
“Miss Coulter,” Lennon said, giving me a handshake so firm I felt like my bones were crushing. That voice of his? So deep you could practically feel it reverberate through your chest when he spoke. “We need to talk about that balcony,” he said, making my head swivel in Brock’s direction, seeing his self-satisfied smile.
“Brock mentioned you would think it was problematic. I can’t imagine why. It’s a penthouse balcony with no access to lower levels.”
“It is, ma’am,” he said, nodding. “That does not mean that it is impenetrable. I have seen on more than one occasion, people in climbing gear or using window cleaning equipment, penetrate penthouse balconies.”
“I really don’t think anyone who is out to get me is anywhere near that highly trained,” I insisted.
“Ma’am, I am here for your safety. And I do not feel comfortable with your balcony or the access it has to your apartment,” he told me. “We can go over options to mitigate those dangers after my man here,” he said, waving to a guy who was loaded down with bags of equipment, “finishes setting up your cameras.”
“I thought you were exaggerating,” I told Brock as I moved in at his side while Lennon and his employee got to work, walking around my apartment, pointing to things with very grave faces.
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.”