“If you apologize one more time, we’re about to have our first big fight.” I block the elevator’s sensor so Parker can exit first.

I’m not sure why it’s now she’s apologizing. Of all the things that happened today, a Secret Service escort home from the airport was weird, but definitely not at the top of the list. I’d say signing an NDA on the fly after texting a photo of it to my lawyer and hearing about my upcoming wedding in the late summer after technically getting engaged twenty minutes earlier were at the top.

But when I gaze down my hallway and find an agent standing at the door to my apartment, I realize this apology was given in advance.

“Ignore him,” Parker whispers from my side. “Apparently, I still need a babysitter.”

Approaching my door, I fumble for the key, but the agent turns the knob for me.

Okay, now this might be a lot. “Have you been in my apartment?”

“Sir.” The bald, clean shaven guy nods. “I’m Agent Samuels. I’ll be lead on Ms. Montgomery’s detail. It was a routine sweep, I assure you.”

Agent Samuels steps back, allowing us to enter. We’re barely inside when he lifts his hand, speaking into a radio tucked into the sleeve of his suit. “Bolter and Charming are secure.”

Parker flings her head back but I shut the door before she can say anything. “Bolter?”

I raise my shoulders in a shrug. “Guess they know about the getaway car. They’re a little accurate with both of them.”

“Who said you were charming?” she asks, dragging her face away from the door.

“Would you like names or numbers or both?” I smirk. “Besides, my brand isn’t exactly based on running away. Welcome home, bolter. Hope you stick around this bachelor pad.”

“I wouldn’t exactly use bachelor pad to describe something that looks like it should be in Architectural Digest.” Parker slips off her coat, and I go to take it from her, but she bypasses me, opening the closet and reaching in for a hanger.

The move makes me smile, like she’s already making herself at home.

I usually throw mine on the bench where her bag is, but instead, I do the same before I follow Parker deeper into the apartment where she now stands in the living room.

“Can I remind you I just picked you up from the White House?”

“That belongs to the taxpayers.” Parker lifts her head at the high ceilings. “You probably pay a lot of taxes. Or I guess, depending on who you ask, not enough.”

I rock on my heels. “Good money comes with my kind of work.”

“Better make sure that prenup is ironclad, Fitzy.” Parker winks.

I step into the kitchen, flipping on a light. “I’m not insulting you by making you sign something.”

“You should. I did.”