Chapter 1 #2
I don't stand. Don't extend my hand. Just lean back in my chair and let her come to me.
I need to test how she responds to someone who doesn't accommodate her expectations.
Margot warned me she negotiated everything—even scenes.
If I let her take control in the first thirty seconds, I'll spend the rest of this protection detail fighting for it.
She crosses the room, extends her hand. "Mr. Pascal. Thank you for seeing me on short notice."
I look at her hand for a beat too long before taking it. Make her wait for acknowledgment. Her handshake is firm, practiced. Years of boardroom negotiations where showing weakness gets you eaten alive.
"Sit." Not a request. I gesture to the chair across from me.
Simone sits with deliberate control. Back straight, ankles crossed, purse in her lap. Every movement is measured, calculated. Pure executive polish.
It's the same performance she probably brings to private rooms thinking it makes her look strong.
"You've been getting photographs," I say. A direct statement, no softening. "Someone's been watching you scene. Documenting it. Sending the evidence to prove they can reach you anywhere."
Color rises in her cheeks. "I wouldn't phrase it quite that way."
"No?" I lean forward, invade her space across the table. "How would you phrase it, Ms. LaCroix? Someone's been politely observing your private activities? Respectfully documenting your time at the club?"
Her jaw tightens. "I'm being threatened. That's why I'm here."
"You're being hunted. There's a difference." I pull up the file on my tablet. "First delivery. When and where?"
"Over a week ago. My office at LaCroix Petroleum. Unmarked envelope."
"Second?"
"My penthouse. The next day."
"And you didn't think that pattern was worth mentioning to Dominion's security after the first delivery?
" I let the question hang. She's processing being called out.
"Someone sends a photo to your work showing you bound and vulnerable, then another picture shows up at your home the next day, and you just kept showing up to the club like nothing was wrong? "
"I didn't want to overreact."
"You didn't want to admit you were scared." I hold her gaze. "Third delivery?"
Her mouth tightens. "My gym. A few days ago. Someone got into my locker while I was training."
The pattern shows escalation. Starting with her professional space, moving to her residential building, then infiltrating her private gym locker. Each delivery is more invasive than the last, proving they can reach her anywhere.
I pull up Dominion's attendance logs on my tablet, cross-reference with the photo timestamps. "And during this period of escalating threats, you attended the club multiple times. Last visit was recently."
Her face flushes. "I didn't think I should let them control my life."
"You didn't think at all." I lean forward. "Someone's documenting your scenes and you kept showing up to give them more material. That's not brave, Ms. LaCroix. That's stupid."
"The overt threats started yesterday," I add. "Text overlay on the photographs. Specific language about control, submission, what they know about you."
Her jaw works but she maintains composure. "The last message said I'd learn what real control feels like. Soon."
"Which means the timeline's compressing." I lean back in my chair. "Whoever's doing this is moving from surveillance to action. The documentation period is over. Now comes the part where they make you scream."
Her face goes pale. The reality's hitting now. Better this happens here than when she's already in their crosshairs.
"You think they're going to try something."
"I think they've been telling you exactly what they're going to do.
The question is when and how." I pull up the file on my tablet.
"Which is why you're here. Because someone who knows exactly where Dominion's cameras don't reach has been documenting your scenes for weeks.
They know your patterns, your vulnerabilities, your psychological triggers.
They know what makes you submit and what makes you fight.
That knowledge makes them dangerous in ways a simple physical threat wouldn't be. "
"So what do you recommend?"
"I don't recommend anything. I tell you how this works.
" I lean back. No room for negotiation here.
"You move into a secure location tonight.
The guest house on my family's property.
You don't go anywhere without me. Your schedule, your movements, your decisions all run through me. No exceptions, no negotiation."
Her eyes narrow. "I'm only submissive at the club, Mr. Pascal."
I snort. "Right. That's why you're sitting there with dilated pupils and shallow breathing while I tell you how your life's going to work from now on."
Color floods her face.
"I run a company," she continues, trying to regain ground. "I have board meetings, investor calls, site inspections that can't be rescheduled."
"Then they get rescheduled or they happen with me standing in the room watching.
" I hold her gaze. No room for negotiation here.
"You came to Rapier Strategic because someone's hunting you.
That means your life is now my operational priority, and I don't give a fuck about your board meetings.
Either you accept my authority over your safety or you walk out that door and see how long you last on your own. "
"You're very direct."
"I'm very tired of watching people get killed because they thought they knew better than the professional trying to keep them alive.
" I stand, move around the table. Invade her space.
Let her feel the difference between corporate posturing and actual dominance.
"So let's be clear about something right now.
You're not in a boardroom. You're not negotiating a contract.
You're sitting in front of someone who's seen exactly what happens when stalkers escalate from photographs to action. Your choice."
She stands as well. Meets me with that corporate CEO spine, trying to match my energy. "And if I don't like your protocols?"
I smile. Not the friendly kind. "Then you're welcome to find someone else who'll accommodate your preferences while you're getting stalked. I'm sure there's a firm out there that'll let you keep running your company exactly like you want while someone's planning how to make you scream."
Color drains from her face.
"That's what you're not getting."
I step closer. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
Close enough that she can't pretend this is just business.
Her breath catches. Just enough that I hear it.
She goes perfectly still, like something in her recognizes the space between us as territory she doesn't control.
"Whoever's doing this has studied you. They know what you're chasing.
They know what makes you fight. They've documented every moment you perform in those private rooms, and now they're going to use that knowledge to break you.
Unless you actually surrender that control to someone who knows what the fuck they're doing. "
Her breath catches. Eyes dark, unfocused. Arousal despite her best efforts to maintain control.
There it is. Her body responding even when her mind won't surrender.
Simone's fingers tighten on her purse. She's trying to regain control, trying to find her footing. "What exactly does moving into your guest house entail?"
"It means your life belongs to me until we neutralize the threat.
" I don't step back, don't give her space to breathe.
"It's a private two-bedroom structure on the family property.
You get your own bedroom but I'll be in the house with you.
My room is on the ground floor. Security protocols include scheduled check-ins, an approved visitor list, no unauthorized departures.
Every professional commitment gets vetted.
Every meeting gets assessed. Every decision about your safety runs through me, and you don't question it. "
"For how long?"
"Until I say otherwise." Simple. Direct. "Could be a week. Could be a month. Depends how quickly we trace the security breach and locate your stalker."
She swallows. The professional facade is cracking now, fear bleeding through despite her best efforts. "And you're certain this is necessary?"
"I'm certain that someone who knows exactly where Dominion's cameras don't reach has been documenting your scenes for weeks.
" I let that sink in. "I'm certain their threats are escalating.
I'm certain they're preparing to move from watching you scene to making you scream.
What I'm not certain of is whether you're ready to stop playing at submission and actually surrender control to someone who can keep you alive. "
A direct hit. She inhales sharply, pupils dilate. The words land exactly where I aimed them.
"When do we start?" Her voice is quieter now. Still trying for defiance but it's threaded with something that sounds like need.
"We already started." I step back, move to the conference table. Pull up the contract on my tablet.
I slide the tablet across to her. "It's a standard Rapier Strategic executive protection contract.
Thirty-day initial term with an option to extend.
I have full operational authority over your security protocols.
You agree to follow my directives regarding your safety without negotiation, without delay, without your corporate bullshit getting in the way. "
She scans the screen, frowning. "I don't think that's how the contract reads."
"That's how I read it." I lean against the table.
"You can sign or you can walk. Once you sign, I control the security decisions.
No negotiation. Your schedule belongs to me.
Your movements belong to me. Your safety belongs to me.
And you don't get to negotiate, test boundaries, or pull that bratty submissive routine you probably use in private rooms. Clear? "
She stares at me. Processing what I'm actually offering. Not just protection. Absolute authority. Complete control.
Her hand shakes slightly as she picks up the stylus.
She signs.
"Good girl." I take the tablet back. The words feel right.
"Now here's how this works. You go back to your office with two of my operatives as escort.
You handle any immediate business that can't wait, then they bring you to the mansion by seven this evening.
You pack light because you won't need much. Understood?"
"I have meetings tomorrow."
"Send me your calendar, contact lists, and communication records from the past month. I'll review them tonight and tell you which meetings happen and which ones get rescheduled." I pull out my phone, send a text summoning the operatives. "You don't make that decision anymore. I do."
She opens her mouth. Closes it. The reality of what she just agreed to is settling in.
"How do I send you that information?"
"I'll text you the secure server credentials." I don't look up from my phone. "Upload everything within the next two hours. I want time to review before you arrive."
"And if I have questions before then?"
"You don't." I pocket my phone. "You have instructions. Follow them. Your operatives will be downstairs in five minutes. Don't keep them waiting."
Her jaw works like she wants to argue. Wants to push back, test boundaries, see if I'm serious about this absolute authority thing.
I step into her space. Close enough that she can feel my presence, close enough that she can't pretend this is still a business transaction.
"Let me be very clear about something, Ms. LaCroix.
" My voice drops, goes quiet and dangerous.
"You signed that contract thinking you'd still get to negotiate, still get to push, still get to play your corporate power games.
You're wrong. The moment you signed, your life became my operational priority, and I don't compromise on keeping people alive.
You want to test me? You want to see if I'm serious?
Go ahead. But understand that every time you push, every time you fight, you're making it easier for whoever's hunting you to find an opening. "
Her breath catches. Pupils blown wide, color high in her cheeks. Aroused despite trying to maintain control.
"Seven o'clock," I say. "Don't be late."
I step back. The dismissal is clear.
She stands slowly, trying to regain her footing. For a moment she just stands there, trying to find some semblance of the control she walked in here with. Then she turns and walks toward the door, spine straight, shoulders back, every bit the CEO.
Right up until she reaches the doorway and glances back.
Looking for permission. Looking for approval. Looking for confirmation that she made the right choice. I hold her gaze until she looks away and then disappears into the hallway.
I turn back to my desk. Simone's walking out of the building now, heading back to her office and the operatives are with her.
Remy appears at my shoulder. "You sure about this?"
"No." I turn back toward my office. "But we took the case. Now we see it through."
"She's going to fight you every step."
"Good." I pull up the security protocols for the guest house on my computer. "I don't do gentle."
Remy's laugh is dark. "This is going to be a goddamn disaster."
It might be a disaster. I don't know yet, but it's definitely dangerous.
Because Simone LaCroix is exactly the kind of client who makes protection details complicated. Bratty, entitled, used to getting her way through force of will and business intimidation.
But underneath that polish is fear. Vulnerability. The kind that comes when someone weaponizes what you give in spaces you thought were safe.
The stalker's been documenting Simone's private scenes. Planning how to use that knowledge to break her.
My phone buzzes with a message from the operatives. They’re with her leaving the building, heading back to her office. She's following instructions.
For now.
I pull up the guest house security feeds, start running diagnostics on the cameras, motion sensors, perimeter alarms. Everything needs to be operational before Simone arrives tonight. No gaps, no blind spots, no vulnerabilities for whoever's hunting her to exploit.
Because once she's under my protection, she becomes my responsibility. My operational priority. And I don't lose people I'm responsible for.