The sound of somebody knocking on the door to my brownstone had me scowling.

I stood in my bathroom, fighting with the clasp on my bracelet, still not done with my makeup or my hair. I was already running behind, and I didn’t have time to go entertaining any early morning visitors.

Not that I ever really got any of those.

There was another knock, and I swore, moving out of the bathroom and hurrying for the stairs.

Who in the world went around knocking on doors at eight in the morning anyway?

I didn’t know but was already putting together a nice little, please leave before I kill you, I didn’t have my coffee yet speech when the knock came again.

Polite.

Firm.

Which was what I would try to be when I opened the door.

I reached the bottom of the stairs, the bracelet still fighting me like a bitch. My under-caffeinated brain was colluding against me, and my fingers seemed to be covered with butter.

Giving it up, I dropped the bracelet into the small interior pocket of my two-piece pantsuit. At the door, I peered through the peephole.

I didn’t recognize the man on the other side.

Young, brown hair, fairly tall.

He was wearing a suit, too, so he wasn’t here with some package from the UPS.

My dad’s warning whispered to life in the back of my brain, and instead of opening the door, I reached for the intercom button.

I was showing caution. Dad should be proud.

“May I help you?” I said into the intercom.

From where I stood watching him, I could see as he turned his head toward the speaker.

He pushed the button to reply back.

“I’m here to see Mila Golding. I’m her new bodyguard.”

I gaped at the door.

Bodyguard?

Throwing caution to the wind, I jerked open the door and looked him over from head to toe.

Tall, good-looking – younger than me, if I had to guess – but the muscles under his suit looked pretty impressive, and he met my eyes levelly as I continued to stare at him.

“Did you say bodyguard?” I demanded.

“Yes.” He flashed an ID badge at me, and I grabbed it, pulling it up so I could scrutinize it.

It only took about five seconds to figure out what was going on.

Steadman Security.

Great.

That was the firm my father used.

“I’m Mila, and I didn’t hire a bodyguard,” I said flatly, holding the ID badge out and hoping he’d take the hint and just leave.

He rattled off the name of his employer instead, and I wanted to grab my hair and rip it out. “Yes, yes,” I said, cutting in with an impatient wave of my hand. “I’m familiar with the firm, but I don’t want you here.”

He blinked, a thick fridge of lashes falling over his pale green eyes – very pretty eyes, I couldn’t help but notice.

“Steadman was hired to provide–”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “They weren’t hired by me. Go back to them and tell them I said thanks but no thanks.”

“I’ve been sent here at the direction of my employer, Ms. Golding,” he said politely, as if I hadn’t said a single word. “My name’s Liam Finnegan, and I–”

“Liam,” I said, nodding. I’d been needing a name. “Okay, listen, Liam. About your employer, you just go back to them and tell them I refused.”

He cocked his head, studying me. “I can do that, but I’ll just lose my job, and they’ll send somebody else out here. Steadman Security has been hired–”

“Yeah, yeah.” I lifted a hand to curtail his argument even as I tried to process what he’d said.

He’d lose his job.

They’d send somebody else.

In other words, I had to get Dad to pull his watchdogs off.

Blowing out a breath, I stepped aside. “I’ll let you come in. For now. I plan on getting this straightened out, then you can go back and have them assign you to guard somebody who actually wants and needs your service.”

He said nothing as he came inside, his eyes scanning what he could see of my home before he turned back to me.

“Aren’t you going to start checking my closets to see if there’s a boogeyman hiding in there?” I said sourly. My head was starting to hurt and since I still hadn’t had coffee, I wasn’t running late—I was late. And now I had an unwanted bodyguard who’d probably affix himself to my ass. I suspected the day – and my headache – would only get worse.

“I don’t think that’s necessary, although I can do a walkthrough if you like.” He delivered the comment without blinking an eye.

I glared at him. “I don’t like. I don’t want you here.”

“As you’ve said.” He gave me a polite nod.

Huffing out a sigh, I turned my back on him. “I need coffee.”

I’d overslept, something I hated. I hadn’t had time for my normal, leisurely breakfast or the one – sometimes two – cups of coffee I drank while skimming the paper.

I could smell the coffee from outside the kitchen. My automatic timer had worked better than my alarm clock this time around, and the coffee was already brewed and piping hot. I turned off the heating element as I reached for a cup.

I was tempted to ignore my ‘bodyguard,’ but in the end, manners won out. Barely.

“Do you want some coffee?” I asked, my voice stilted.

“No, ma’am. Thank you.”

I poured myself a cup and turned to face him, eying him over the rim of my cup as I took in his measure.

“Mila,” I said after a few seconds.

“Ma’am?” His brows rose slightly over his eyes.

Once more, I found myself admiring the pretty pale green. Snap out of it, Mila, I told myself.

“Call me Mila,” I said, emphasizing my name. “I don’t respond to ma’am, okay?”

His only response was a faint incline of his head, but I couldn’t tell if that was an agreement or not.

Sighing, I shook my head and focused on my coffee.

I needed a lot of caffeine in me if I was going to get through today.