"I don't require a babysitter," Aiden snapped, striding the length of his modern penthouse office. His assistant, Evelyn, remained steadfast, arms crossed as she confronted her recalcitrant boss.

  "It's not negotiable," she replied. "You've had several threats since the Sentinel launch. The board demands security. And so do I."

  Aiden let out a sharp breath, frustration emanating from him in waves. "Fine. Who is it?"

  The door swung open and Lucas Reid strode in.

  Tall and broad-shouldered, and radiating a sense of quiet command, Lucas moved with the confident air of a man used to danger. Dark eyes took in Aiden with detached appraisal, giving nothing away of what he was thinking. He wore a plain black tactical suit, the sort cut for function rather than style, and Aiden caught sight of the faint scars poking from his wrist—aftermaths of battles long since past.

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  "Lucas Reid," Evelyn presented. "Ex-military, best-of-the-best private security. He'll be watching over you from here on in."

  Lucas nodded. "Mr. Carter."

  Aiden raised an eyebrow. "You don't say much, do you?"

  "I say what's needed."

  Something in his voice—regulated, measured—both angered and fascinated Aiden. He didn't want to be tailed like some vulnerable target, but when he looked at Lucas, a flash of something unsaid went between them.

  This was going to be a challenge, and Aiden did not know if he welcomed it or feared it.