As if on cue, the screen illuminated. The footage showed a distant part of the property where a deer was sniffing the fence.
“Like so,” Kid said with a smile.
“Perfect. And what’s the story on the electric wiring for the fence?”
“Going to tackle that tomorrow with Hud. Plan is to get up bright and early, and hopefully have it wired and good to go by noon.”
“Nice.”
“Forty-eight hours from now, we’ll be well on our way to having this place fortified.”
“I still don’t like all those windows, though. A sniper from anywhere around here could put a round through them.”
He grinned. “Nope—they’re bulletproof. Royal chalet, remember? I’ve been in touch with Candara’s head of security, and he’s been giving me all the details. There are even controls to dim the glass so it’s opaque.”
“No shit? They thought of everything.”
After I spoke, my eyes tracked to the dining room camera. Kid, sensing where I was looking, did the same.
“How’s the royal pain in the ass?” he asked.
“We struck a little deal. She’s eating. So, that’s something.”
Kid shook his head. “This really how it’s going to be for the next however long?”
I’d been wondering the same thing. “Maybe. But a job’s a job, you know? Whatever it is, we do it and we do it well—even if that involves putting up with someone like her.”
My gaze lingered on Victoria. There was no way in hell to look at her without noticing her beauty.
Was that the case? Was the issue with Victoria a simple matter of her being rich and beautiful and knowing that women like her got anything they wanted?
Didn’t matter.
A job was a job.
11
VICTORIA
Maybe it was the spaghetti.
I had to admit that it’d been pretty damn good. The perfectly cooked and spiced meat, and the fresh garlic bread, both had hit the spot. Then again, Pyke had been right that I hadn’t had anything to eat yesterday other than an apple.
Whatever it was, spaghetti or not, I woke up the next morning with one thing on my mind.
Mom.
She was long gone, but even so, she’d appear in my mind like a ghost, always there to guide me whenever I was feeling lost or in conflict. That morning, I needed her like crazy.
I thought about where I was, and who I was there with. As I lay in bed thinking, I realized that I was being a total bitch to the men. Mom wouldn’t have liked that one bit. She might’ve been a queen, but a lesson she’d imparted to me from a young age was that I wasn’t better than anyone else. Didn’t matter if someone was a princess or a chauffeur or a café worker or anything else— they all had worth and dignity as human beings.
The guys downstairs made it easy for me to convince myself that I didn’t like them. They were brash and crude and not at all the sort of people with whom I’d ever willingly associate. However, they were just doing their job—a job that involved protecting me and putting their lives on the line if need be. I was being a total brat to them for no good reason other than that they were there.
The anger drained out of me bit by bit as the sun began to rise in the east and fill the bedroom with gorgeous pink and orange light. By the time I sat up, I felt better. Another thing Mom always told me was that anger and bitterness were heavy burdens to bear. She was right—as soon as I let them go, I felt lighter, ready to take on the day.
Most importantly, I felt ready to make things right with my protectors.
I leaned over and checked my phone, it was a little after six. No doubt the guys were the rise-and-shine nice and early types. I sprang out of bed and threw on some jeans and a T-shirt, stepping into my sneakers on the way out, and bounded down the stairs.