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“For how long?”
“For as long as I think you need it.”
“So never any privacy? There's always gonna be someone there?”
“For the most part, yes.”
“So how am I supposed to go about my business and let life do life with your paid goons all over me?” I ask.
I know I’m giving him a hard time about this, but... security detail? I’ve haven’t even had my first platinum single as a solo artist yet. To think I need this level of protection is looney tunes. Still, my gratitude deepens for the lengths my father will go through to keep me safe. A private security detail for the foreseeable future will not be cheap. And the knowledge that a highly trained professional will be by my side fills me with a renewed sense of hope. But fear still gnaws away at me, overshadowing my relief. I’m scared this time. Like petrified. Because being stalked, trolled and violated has been one of the biggest recurring themes in my life over the last few years. I don’t want this shit to continue. I don’t want security details and breeches to become my new normal. I love and trust my daddy to no end, but even being here with him right now, I don’t feel safe. I never feel safe anywhere, and my head stays on a swivel.
“Have you met the security team yet?” I ask.
“I’ve vetted them.”
“And you trust them?”
“I trust them to do what we’re paying them for.” A soft chuckle escapes me.
“I don’t,” I say.
“Chy,” my dad warns. I know he expects me to be a hard ass about this because I’m not one to give up her independence so easily.
“I’m just saying. We know someone who owns a world-wide security company.” Dad’s eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you call Adrian?” He gives me a pointed look. I correct myself.
“UncleAdrian. Why is he not in charge of my security?”
“UncleAdrian is a busy man. His services are tied up well in advance.”
“So, he’s not available? For me? For us?”
My father sighs. “Cheyanne, the team I’ve hired is excellent.”
“But I don’t know them, and I don’t trust them,” I blurt out. “I’m really scared this time, Daddy. Please, just call him. Tell him I need him.” My dad sighs. Then he relents.
“I’ll call a meeting with him,” Dad says. “You can tell him how much you need him yourself.”
