Page 17 of Tyson
Pride swelled in my chest. Completely inappropriate, possessive pride. My girl was smart. Prepared. Already thinking three steps ahead even while she played at chaos.
Not my girl. Not yet.
"What about communication?" I asked, voice rougher than intended.
"I've got everyone on speed dial." She pulled out her phone, showing me. "Plus Find My Friends with Mandy, Tanya, and Thor.”
“That’s good.”
She shoved the phone back in her pocket. "Point is, I'm not helpless. I don't need someone dictating every move."
"Never said you were helpless." I picked up my ruined protocol sheet, smoothing it against the table. "But you could be safer. We could work together on that."
"Like a team? Not you ordering and me obeying?"
"Do you ever obey?" It slipped out before I could stop it. Flirtation mixing with frustration.
A slow grin spread across her face. Wicked. Knowing. "Oh, I can be a good girl. Though it depends on how nicely someone asks. And what's in it for me."
Fuck. She was actually going to kill me. Standing there with that bratty smile and challenge in her eyes, practically daring me to show her exactly what was in it for good girls who followed directions.
"What would make you feel safer without feeling trapped?" I asked instead.
She blinked again, that surprise flashing back. "You're serious. You actually want my input."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because most people—" She shook her head. "Never mind. Okay. Let me think."
She hopped up on the counter, legs swinging as she considered. I tried not to notice how the action made her jeans ride lower, revealing the angel wing tattoos on her hips. Tried not to imagine tracing them with my tongue.
Failed miserably.
"Cameras in the art," she said suddenly. "I've got all these weird sculptures and paintings. Nobody looks twice at them. We could hide cameras inside, get angles people wouldn't expect."
Brilliant. I nodded encouragement.
"And instead of scheduled checks, what about random ones? Like, I roll dice each morning, whatever number comes up is how many hours between checks. Harder to pattern."
"Smart. What else?"
She was warming to the topic now, that defensive bristle smoothing out as she realized I genuinely valued her ideas.
"Panic buttons are fine but make them look like something else. Maybe built into jewelry? I wear enough weird shit that no one would notice another ring or bracelet."
"I can work with that."
We spent the next few minutes redesigning security together. Her suggestions were clever, creative, completely outside standard protocol. And better for it. She knew this space, knew herself, knew what she could actually maintain versus what would make her feel caged
Before too long, we'd redesigned everything. Lena had pulled out a cherry lollipop from somewhere—probably specifically to torture me—and was gesturing with it as she explained her ideas.
"See, if we put a camera in that gargoyle's eyes"—she pointed to a grotesque sculpture perched on a high shelf—"we'd get the whole entrance plus anyone trying to come through the back hall."
I nodded, trying to focus on security angles instead of how her tongue swirled around the candy. Red staining her lips. Little kitten licks that were absolutely, one hundred percent intentional.
"Makes sense," I managed, voice steady despite my jeans feeling two sizes too small. "What about the piercing station?"
She pulled the lollipop out with an obscene pop. "Already thought of that. Tanya's got this creepy Victorian doll collection on display. Perfect hiding spots."
