“Last-minute decision, and I’d rather if you keep it to yourself that I’m here. The others don’t need to know, and in fact, it will probably be safer if they don’t. Not sure any of them would be very pleased with me if they found out.” I can picture my brother absolutely losing his cool finding out that I’m in Chicago.

“Ahh, I see. Gone rogue on them. I get it, and we can chat about that when you get here. Listen, have you got somewhere to stay yet?” he asks.

“Not yet, but I guess I have the next hour to book somewhere. I’ve never been to Chicago before.” Which is the part I hate. When we travel in Europe, we just stay in our company suites in our own hotels. But in a way, it’s also like an information-gathering exercise on the competition.

“I’ll message you some good options. I’ve seen the inside of way too many hotels in this city doing my kind of job, so I know the difference between nice and fuck-no. I’ll let my front desk know you are coming, and we’ll talk soon.”

“Thanks, Ashton, appreciate it.” With that he hangs up the call, and my phone starts vibrating in my hand with links to hotels. I settle into looking through them and finally book The Four Seasons, which is rated the best and the most expensive, of course. Price matters in this industry, and I want a suite that I can work in, and everything is clean to the highest standards. I’m a bit of germaphobe, I know that, and I don’t need anything bothering me right now, so let’s just fix that problem straight up by booking the best.

Pulling up in front of the building that houses Ashton’s security company, it’s plain and doesn’t really stand out. In fine small print on the front door is the company name and an intercom system to buzz.

“Can I help you?” a man’s voice comes booming through the speaker after I have pushed the button.

“Forrest Taylor to see Ashton Taylor.” I stand and stare straight at the camera that I know is watching me right now.

There is silence for a moment, and then I hear locks disengaging on the door and the man is back on the speaker, telling me to enter.

The windows are all tinted very dark, and I can’t see into the building, but the moment I am through the front door, the foyer is much more friendly, and the man whose voice I heard is standing by the elevator and calling to me.

“This way, Mr. Taylor. Ashton is waiting for you on the top floor,” he says to me, not quite as blunt as he was on the speaker.

“Thank you,” I acknowledge as we enter the elevator together.