Page 22 of Less

Knock. Knock.

The sharp sound cuts him off.

His head snaps toward the door instantly.

Professional again.

Guarded.

The shift is so fast it’s almost jarring.

He moves toward the entrance and opens it just a crack, blocking most of the doorway with his body.

I hear a man’s voice outside.

“Ah—this is Miss Perkins’ room?”

“It is,” Less replies calmly. “I’m her bodyguard.”

A beat.

“I assume you are Mr. Carter,” Less says.

“Indeed, I am. Matthew Carter.” The man chuckles warmly. “You’re the Sigma man, then? Nice to meet you, I’m sure. Now, Miss Perkins?”

I paste on my best professional smile as Less opens the door a little wider.

But he still doesn’t step aside.

Interesting.

Matthew Carter is older than I expected—mid-fifties maybe—with silver hair and the kind of confident posture that screams money and power.

He’s dressed impeccably in a dark tuxedo jacket and looks genuinely pleased to see me.

“Miss Perkins,” he says warmly. “Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you for having me, Mr. Carter,” I reply politely.

“I’ve been looking forward to this performance all week.”

“I’m honored.”

He glances between Less and me with amused curiosity.

“Your theatre company insisted on security,” he says lightly. “Apparently, you’re quite valuable.”

I don’t know how to react to that.

Less doesn’t laugh.

Doesn’t even smile.

“Security precautions are necessary,” he says evenly.

Carter raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course, of course. I’m not complaining.”