The study was filled with the glow of a late afternoon sun, casting long shadows over the mahogany table where a stack of dossiers lay spread open. You sat across from Ace, who leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes scanning the profiles with the precision of a hunter evaluating prey.

Mikey perched on a smaller chair beside you, legs swinging as he pouted. “I don’t need a nanny,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “I can take care of myself.”

Ace smirked, his focus still on the papers. “That so, little boss? And who’s going to drive you to safety if things go south?”

Mikey frowned, his stubbornness faltering slightly. “Mom can.”

You gave Ace a pointed look. “He has a point.”

Ace set the file in his hands down, his gaze meeting yours. “And what happens when they come for you too?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it—a barely veiled fear.

You sighed, reaching for another file. “Fine. Let’s find someone who can keep up with your insane standards.”

Ace leaned forward, flipping open another dossier. “Not just mine. Ours.”

The first profile showed a woman with impeccable credentials—former special ops, trained in multiple martial arts, and fluent in five languages. You raised an eyebrow. “She’s basically a female James Bond.”

“She’s overqualified,” Mikey muttered, squinting at the photo.

Ace chuckled, shaking his head. “Overqualified is exactly what we need.”

Another candidate caught your eye—a young man with a military background and a list of tech skills that rivaled most intelligence agencies. “This one could hack into the Pentagon.”

The next profile revealed a woman with a sharp, no-nonsense gaze. Her list of qualifications was long: evasive driving, combat training, and advanced first aid. You tapped the paper. “What about her?”

Ace studied the photo for a moment before nodding. “She’s a contender.”

Mikey huffed, slumping back in his chair. “As long as she doesn’t boss me around.”

Ace’s smirk returned as he ruffled Mikey’s hair. “You’re going to have to get used to that, little boss."