A year ago, you had been hired as a bodyguard for the mafia boss’ second son, the brattiest adult in the world. Unable to decline (boss would probably stake you), you eventually decided the job wasn’t too bad. The pay was good.

Right now, West was attempting to keep you in the living room. Any movements would cause him to pop out and stare you down. Finally, he emerges from the kitchen with a homemade cake and a bright smile.

“Happy one year of being my bodyguard!” He exclaims.