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CHAPTER 8

CILLIAN

I arrive with Alistair at the family vault. This is where we keep all the art that will be auctioned in a week.

Ugh… We haven’t even gotten into the vault, and my stomach is already twisting into a knot, and my eyes are getting all watery.

Before, I used to come here every two weekends, but I haven’t been back since my grandfather passed.

And don’t get me wrong, I still love this place, but now it has become one of the places where I feel my grandfather’s absence the most… where it is the most obvious, I guess.

We have barely passed the lobby when we are welcomed by Astrid, a cheerful brunette in her late fifties wearing a vintage Chanel suit and enough sparkling diamonds to blind a sniper.

Grandfather used to call her ‘the Christmas tree.’

“Cillian, my darling!” Astrid says, kissing my cheeks twice.

“Good to see you again, Astrid,” I say, and her gaze drifts past my shoulder, landing on Alistair.

She scans him from head to toe, and by the ‘I wanna eat you up’ stare she has, I can tell she likes what she’s seeing.

Jeez, Astrid… you’ve gotta work on your poker face.

Then, she spots the black and blue infinity tattoo on the back of his left hand, and her eyes go from lust to shock.

“Oh, God… You’re one of the Eight!” she gasps, her hand flying to her chest where she literally clutches her pearls.

“Alistair Fitzwilliam.” He nods, making no move toward her. “A pleasure.”

“It is a true honor to meet you, Alistair,” Astrid breathes before looking back at me. “Cillian, I didn’t know you knew the Harknetts.”

“Of course I hired them. You, of all people, know exactly what we have locked in here, and we need the best to ensure the auction goes as safely as possible.”

“I love it!” She beams. “We should add a note to the invitations stating that the Harknetts will be in charge of the event’s security. Everyone will go wild.”

“I don’t think—”

“Lola!” Astrid cuts me off, hand flying up to flag down her assistant. “Please contact the printers immediately. Tell them to add a line to the invitations specifying that Harknett will be in charge of the event.”

What? No!

Why should that even be in the damn invitation?

“I really don’t—”

“OMG!” Lola freaks out, doing a few tiny jumps and claps. She takes out her phone and types while whispering, “Game-changer… absolute game-changer.”

I stare at her, completely bewildered.

What the hell is with these Harknetts?

I know I’m completely out of the loop when it comes to the security world, mostly because I despise bodyguards and everything associated with them, but this is ridiculous.

These guys aren’t bodyguards; they’re celebrities.

I glance over at Alistair, who is grinning at me.

Yeah… fucking celebrities.