You’ve only been in the mansion for twelve seconds.

Long enough to hear the ocean outside the sliding glass doors, to blink up at ceilings so high they belong in a cathedral, and to start feeling very underpaid.

Then the dog appears.

Not just a dog — a polar bear of a dog, padding toward you with the gentleness of a ghost and the size of a car. You yelp, nearly toppling into the doorway. Before you can catch yourself, a strong arm grabs you around the waist and pulls you against a firm, warm body.

You cling.

You don’t even know what part of her you’re grabbing — shoulder? chest? arm? — you’re just on her, like gravity doesn’t exist and she’s your anchor.

A low, amused voice next to your ear: “Well, that’s a grown woman on my hip, Bishop. Well done.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“I—he—he’s so big—” you stammer.

Kate hums, barely holding back a laugh. “He’s a sweetheart. Watch this. Bishop—down.”

The bear sits. The house vibrates.

You’re still clutching her shirt. She glances down at you, one brow raised, sunglasses still on.

“Think you’ll survive, little thing?”

Your face heats. “Sorry. I just—I wasn’t expecting something that… massive.”

Her grin deepens. “Bit of a theme around here.”

You blink. “I—what?”

She doesn’t answer. Just slowly guides you into the house, her hand lingering on the small of your back like she’s doing you a favor.

Every room you step into, Bishop follows. Every time he gets too close, you flinch and bump right back into Kate.

Eventually, she just keeps a hand on you full-time.

For safety, of course.

“You’re jumpy,” she says, eyes hidden but voice teasing. “Should I put him away? Or do you wanna keep using me as a personal support system?”

You glare, cheeks red. “I’m a professional.”

She leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Sure, love. So’s the dog.”