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Glenn gave me a little nod. “She’s earned it.”
“Where is it?” I asked.
“I think what you want to know is ‘Who is it?’”
“Nope,” I said. “I definitely want to know where.”
“Because this client,” Glenn went on, his voice reminding me of how people talk to their dogs before they give them treats, “is really, really famous.”
We didn’t protect a lot of famous people at Glenn Schultz Executive Protection. If we’d been based in LA, that would have been different. But we were based in Houston—so we got mostly oil executives and business people. The occasional entertainer coming through town. I once did some remote location assessments for Dolly Parton, and she sent me a lovely thank-you note.
But that was about it.
I looked at Glenn’s face. He was suppressing a smile.
He was actually excited. And Glenn never got excited about anything.
He went on. “This particular assignment happens to take place in the great state of Texas—”
“Texas?!” I demanded.
Glenn ignored me. “Just right here in our friendly hometown of Houston, so—”
“Houston?!” I scooted my chair back.
In eight years of receiving assignments, I had never once protested a location. That’s just not how this job works. You don’t care where you go. You go where they send you. It’s fine.
But.
It had been a rough month.
Let’s just say I was right on the verge of doing something unprofessional.
But then Glenn told us who the principal was.
Pulling his lips back into a very pleased-with-himself smile, as if this good news would cancel out any bad news that might ever happen again, Glenn did his big reveal. “The principal for this one,” he said, clicking the remote for the whiteboard and flashing a movie poster up for us all to see, “is Jack Stapleton.”
The whole room gasped.
Robby launched into a coughing fit.
Kelly let out a shriek like she was at a Beatles concert.
And that’s when, despite everything I had just decided about how getting myself to London would be the answer to all my problems, I said, “You know what? I quit.”
