Chapter 4 – Rules

Milo stared at Nolan, who was still standing in front of him; he released his grip on Nolan's hand, then smiled, turning to look at Camille.

He then turned back to Nolan. Nolan Ashford looked younger than Milo had imagined, far too young to be qualified to guard anyone, let alone him. He was tall, and Milo liked him for that.

Milo blinked, then he licked his lower lip.

Then he scoffed. “I was not expecting someone younger; I was expecting someone bald, a bit short, or maybe, you know, with a very boring face, his arms bigger than yours, like, you know, bodyguard charm.” He smirked.

Camille made a sound behind him, somewhere between a sigh and trying to get Milo to stop acting like a child.

But Nolan didn’t even flinch; his expression didn’t even twitch; he just remained neutral.

Then, he spoke coolly. “That’s bad of you, Mr. Eves, not paying attention to your bodyguard’s profile; it's truly unprofessional.”

Milo arched a brow, his arms crossing.

“My age,” Nolan continued, stepping just slightly closer with the calm confidence of someone who didn’t need to raise his voice to make a point, “was clearly written there, and so was my height, and most especially...”

He paused, then watched Milo for a while.

Milo waited.

“...my experience,” Nolan finished smoothly. “But I suppose we all have our blind spots, don’t we?”

Milo didn’t respond right away; he hated how easily Nolan’s tone got under his skin. It didn't sound arrogant. It was worse. Calm, inevitable, and maybe pretentious.

He clicked his tongue and pivoted, walking back to his chair. “That file was boring as fuck, and I have a very short attention span for boring things, and I hope you aren't boring, but judging from this, I can see you are fun.” He smiled.

“I appreciate the kind words, Mr. Eves.” Nolan bowed a bit. “I’m used to that,” Nolan said simply.

“Used to what? Being underestimated?” Milo asked, lowering himself into his seat.

“Babysitting,” Nolan replied.

Camille stifled a cough that suspiciously sounded like a laugh; Milo turned to her, shooting her a glare, making her burst out.

He turned to Nolan again, lifting his chin. “Let’s get one thing clear, Mr. Ashford. I don’t like strangers in my space. I don’t like being watched, and I don’t like feeling like I'm controlled. So if you think you're going to follow me around like a shadow and tell me when to breathe, you can march back to wherever you came from.”

Nolan studied him for a long second. “Noted.”

“Noted?” Milo echoed, mocking. “That’s all?”

Nolan shrugged slightly. “It’s your space, Mr. Eves. But it’s my job to protect it and you. I don’t need to control you. I just need to be one step ahead of anything that could kill you or hurt you, and I hope this lasts for only the three months written in the contract.”

Milo stared at him.

Camille stepped in. “And on that note, I’ll leave you two to continue.” She walked quickly to the door and then turned back. “Oh, and don’t forget to bond quickly.” She opened the door, shutting it loudly.

“Camille—”

She opened the door again. “You’re welcome,” she said sweetly, and disappeared.

Milo looked back at Nolan. “Well? Are you going to stand there and brood all day, or do you know how to cook? Or maybe you can order me takeout; I'm hungry.”

“I’m here to protect you, not be your butler,” Nolan said.

“That’s not a no.” Milo smirked.

Nolan didn’t move. “Do you often test everyone who works for you, or am I special?”

Milo leaned forward, lacing his fingers. “Everyone. Especially the ones who wear black and look like they’ve killed someone with a pen.”

“I’ve never used office supplies for that,” Nolan said, stone-faced.

Milo blinked, and then he laughed.

The laugh escaped before he could catch it; it sounded loud and amused.

That, somehow, annoyed him more than Nolan's calm.

He cleared his throat and waved toward the other chair. “Fine, sit, Mr. Ashford.... Let’s talk about rules.”

Nolan pulled the chair back and sat, spine straight. His every movement was precise. Efficient. Like if it was practiced. “Mr. Eves, you should know the contract has rules, and this one you are to say doesn't...”

“Don't worry, it's nothing serious; it's something you can put up with or…” Milo leaned in. “You can't?” he smirked.

“Fine, I can, you pay me.”

“Now that's the spirit,” he smiled. “Rule number one,” Milo began, smiling and slowly whispering. “You don’t follow me to the bathroom; wait, you can't, and I don’t care what Camille told you.”

“Tsk, Mr. Eves, you really love thinking about stuff concerning the bathroom.” Nolan hissed.

“I don't care; just don't be a psychopath and follow me,” Milo said, pointing at Nolan, who just rolled his eyes at him. “Rule number two: no barging into my penthouse unless you’re invited. Unless there’s a bomb. And I mean an actual bomb, not a broken wine glass.”

“How do you expect me to know if there is an actual bomb?” Nolan raised his brows up at him.

“I don't care; just don't intrude.” Milo’s eyes narrowed. “Rule number three: you don’t get to talk to my clients. Or staff. Or, god forbid—my board.”

“I don’t speak unless I need to, and I don't need you reminding me about that.”

“Perfect,” Milo smiled. “I wish more people could understand like you.”

Nolan just shook his head, and then he asked, “Rule number four?”

Milo looked amused. “Ah. You’re good.” Milo leaned forward on his elbows. “Okay. Rule number four: no falling in love with me.”

Nolan blinked, then smiled; that was the first sincere smile—he was actually smiling.

Milo grinned wickedly. “That one’s for your safety, not mine.”

“I think I’ll survive the rule of four,” Nolan said blandly.

“Rude,” Milo muttered.

But he was still smiling.

“But I hope you read the contract because rule number two doesn't count,” Nolan whispered.

“Why?”

“You really didn't read the contract,” he whispered more to himself. “Because the contract reads, ‘We move in together.” Nolan smirked.