"She was going to attack me," the girl grunted, arms folded as if personally offended by the universe. "That was not part of the job description."
Brandon stared at her in open disbelief.
He had hired her for one thing. One simple, humiliatingly easy thing, engineer a scene. Get Lyse and Levi into a public altercation. Capture something messy. Something ugly. Something that would fracture their shiny little narrative.
Instead, this gum-chewing menace had tracked him down, walked into his private club office like she owned the place, and was now demanding the rest of her payment.
"For the last time," Brandon said tightly, dragging a hand through his hair, "you were supposed to observe and create tension. Not provoke a street brawl."
She blew a bubble, let it pop lazily.
"It was also in my job description," she replied coolly, "to make sure I caught Lyse and Levi fighting."
"They didn't fight."
"Because your precious Lyse nearly broke my wrist."
Brandon blinked. "She what?"
