She doesn’t answer immediately.
Then, clipped and cool, “You could have phrased that better.”
“I don't do politics,” I say. “If you're looking for a more diplomatic response, I have a PR specialist you can speak to.”
That almost gets a response out of her before she catches it.
Instead, she narrows her eyes. “Do all bodyguards come with this much attitude, or did my family pay extra for the premium version?”
“Your family is definitely paying me premium,” I say. “But the attitude is free.”
She stares at me for a second, and I realize something I hadn't before. She is looking for a reason to make me the enemy. Because that would be easier. It would be simpler to make me the problem than it would be to accept that her father and brother did this to her out of a kind of fear, not simply to control her. It would be easier to make me an obstacle than to accept my protection.
I make a decision then.
I will not be her obstacle.
So I let the silence hang for a beat, then I say, “I know that you're angry, and you have every right to be.”
Her gaze sharpens.
“But don't let your anger make you stupid,” I continue.
“Are you calling me stupid?” she asks, her voice cold and hard.
“No,” I say. “I'm telling you not to let your pride make you stupid. They went about this the wrong way, yes. But getting yourself killed because you're too proud to work with me might be an effective punishment for your father and brother,” I say. “But you’d still be the dead one.”
Her eyes flash.
“That’s a vile thing to say,” she spits. “And I am not going to get myself killed to punish anyone.”
“Good,” I say. “Then let’s work together so you don't.”
Her mouth tightens. She’s caught, and she knows it. Anger is a valid response, but it’s not a strategy. And she’s too smart not to know that.
So instead of fighting me on the point, she changes tactics.
“What does that mean?” she asks, and her tone is sharper now, more precise. “Working together. What does that look like for you?”
“It means you tell me what you need to do,” I say. “We make a plan. I make it happen.”
“And if I need to do something you don’t approve of?” she presses. “Something that doesn’t fit into your neat little risk profile? What happens then?”
"We cross that bridge when we get to it," I say simply. "You're not the first reluctant client I've had, Caterina. I can make adjustments, as long as they don't compromise your safety."
She doesn't look convinced.
"And if they do?" she asks.
"Then we find another way to accomplish whatever it is you need to do," I say. "There is always a way."
"And if there isn't?" she asks, a challenge in her voice.
"Then you don't do it," I say, my own voice hardening slightly. "It may not be the response you want to hear, but it's the only one I can give you."
She looks away for a second, her gaze moving to the window, to the bright morning light that seems so at odds with the tension in the room.
For a second, I see something else in her face. Not anger, not irritation, but something else. Something I can't quite read.
