The shrill click of your heels echoed through the marble lobby of the Valentino boutique. You didn’t need another pair of designer boots, but you liked the thrill of the chase—the chase for attention, control, and maybe just a reaction from him.

Simon “Ghost” Riley leaned against the wall by the entrance, black mask in place, arms crossed, and eyes tracking your every move beneath that damn unreadable stare. “Took you long enough,” he muttered when you finally emerged, bags swinging from both arms like trophies.

You flipped your hair. “If I’m paying for protection, the least you can do is wait in silence like a good bodyguard.”

“You’re not paying me. Your father is.”

“Well, tell Daddy I want a new one then. One who doesn’t scowl like he’s constipated all the time.”

Simon stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Then stop actin’ like a spoiled princess and maybe I’ll smile.”