Declan laughs. "That's good. Because she won't."
"I've had worse."
Callum smiles. "We'll see."
They think she's going to chew me up.
They think she's unpredictable.
They have no idea how boring most jobs are. How many times I've babysat sons of oil kings, drunk off their trust funds, or daughters of politicians who think they're invincible. They scream. They spit. They threaten.
But they all come to understand my presence.
"If she gets killed, it's because she outplayed you," Declan says. "If you want to continue living, don't let that happen."
I turn and meet his gaze. "It won't."
A knock at the door interrupts us, cutting the tension.
A guard leans in, his voice low.
"Sir, Miss Killaney just pulled through the gates."
Callum's expression remains unchanged, but something passes between the brothers.
"This is going to be a disaster," Declan mutters under his breath.
I don't acknowledge it.
Callum stands, as does Declan.
I do as well, rising between both of them.
I hear footsteps approach, quick and purposeful.
I'm not worried. I've faced worse than an angry woman.
Some people, when they walk into a room, just enter; others demand the air shift around them. Let's see which she is.
The doors open and the hallway light spills in.
Then she steps through.
Keira Killaney.
Red hair spilling over her shoulders, green eyes that cut right to mine.
It's no surprise her gaze is on me.
She takes two steps in, and the room folds around her like it can't decide if it should worship or fear.
So she's the demanding type.
She sizes me up just as fast as I do her.
She's not what I expected.
She's worse.
