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“It sounded like furniture got knocked over.”
Never heard anything that aggressive through his door. “You sure they were having sex?”
Frog peels her gaze off Luna, just to side-eye me. “It doesn’t take havingsex to know what sex sounds like.”
“I didn’t ask ‘cause you’re a virgin.” I hold her gaze for a half beat.
Her face flushes. “Sorry.” She sighs, then touches her radio. “The othersare making me touchier and more defensive.”
The othersare Epsilon bodyguards. Something we both have in common: SFE loves to jab us with hot pokers. They’ll mostly antagonize Frog when none of us on Omega are around, but we’ve caught ‘em enough. Banks went off on Novak not long ago, calling him a fucking coward, but us fighting Frog’s battles isn’t gonna help her with these pricks in the long run.
It might just make it worse.
They’ll say some shit about how she can’t even defend herself without backup, so how is she gonna protect a client? I’ve heard it all before.
Only it was said to me.
Add in the fact that Frog is only turning nineteen in December, a girl, and the boss’s little cousin, she has more tender spots they’ll poke at than me.
Just as I open my mouth to respond to her, my phone beeps.
Gut dropping, I dig my cell out of my pocket and glance at the text.
DAD
Wanna grab a bite to eat tonight?
My stomach churns. Normally I wouldn’t reply. I’m on-duty, but talking to my dad is now classified as asecurityoperation. So I quickly send a message.
I’m working now. I’ll let you know if I get off later.
He’s fast to reply.
Yeah, yeah, I see how it is. I’d choose to be chummy with Loren Hale over me too.
Shit.
I text back with one hand, telling him it’s not that. Just doing my job so I don’t get fired. I’ll talk to him later. And I pocket my phone.
My dad won’t divulgeanythingincriminatingif he thinks I’m personally close to Xander’s dad and the famous ones. There’s just no way. He’s too careful.
That article about Lo hating me—it needs to run.
Lo is the one hesitating. It’s why it hasn’t hit the press yet. He said he hated the first draft of the article. Well, he’s probably been through ten rounds of edits by now.
Feels like he’s stalling. For what? I dunno. I thought he’d love an opportunity to paint me as a cockroach online.
“Gabe eats like five pounds of tuna salad a day,” Frog continues talking about my old roommates. “Who eats that much tuna?”
“Maybe he’s a cat,” I say, mentally distracted and trying to focus.
Focus.
“Our resident cat lady would know,” Frog smiles over at Jane, who’s happily chatting Luna’s ear off about the cocktail hour.
Jane switches her sequined pumpkin purse from her left hip to her right for the fifth time. She’s been doing that all afternoon.Must be uncomfortable.Being that pregnant can’t be comfy. Her belly is swelled beneath a fuzzy Dalmatian print sweater and a peachy tulle skirt, and she perches her hand on her lower back like the heavy front load is bearing on her spine.
“Oh! What if we have the caterers serve different hors d'oeuvres in every dead-end of the maze?” Jane says excitedly, stopping to jot a note on her phone. “We can even have little tables along the pathways with petit fours.”
