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“She was wearing a Lacie tee,” I grind out. Margot’s not even in the room anymore, so I don’t know why I just said that. It doesn’t matter. Dionne knew what she was doing when she walked into the café this morning. And like an idiot, I walked right in to her trap. If I have any regrets, it’s that I didn’t recognize her plan sooner. Maybe I could have turned it around on her.
Sitting up on the bed, I check the time on my terminal. One thirty. Unfortunately, the day is nowhere near over.
Margot strides back into the room, her ruby lips formed in a thin line. “We’re holding interviews this afternoon.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Uh, for what, exactly? My therapist?”
She rolls her eyes at me and scoffs, “No, silly. For your new bodyguard. We talked about this on the bus. The past twenty-four hours have shown me just how badly you need one.”
I need a holiday, not a minder. But once Margot’s made up her mind, there’s no changing it.
“To keep me from running off, you mean,” I mutter.
She pauses by the TV screen floating on the wall and waves her hand through it. It dissolves, leaving behind only a beige wall. “Don’t watch the news, please. And yes. I mean—no. No, not to keep you from running off. To keep an eye on you. To make sure you’re safe. It’s different.”
My eyebrows slam together as Margot moves to the window and throws open the blackout curtains. The warm sunshine feels both amazing and terrible at the same time, and I shield my eyes with my forearm.
“Let’s get room service,” she says, shutting down all further conversation.
Great. Time for more sparkling water and cucumber.
7XAVIAN
The last time I wore a suit was at my father’s funeral ten years ago, back before I was moved up from the farm team to the Toronto Reapers. Before I could even fill out a suit. Now, as I check myself for the third time in the mirror, I see that I not only fill out the suit, but I actually look damn good in it.
At six foot five, I’m on the shorter side for a Terran male, but thanks to a steady regimen of gym training, swimming, and bounty hunting across the universe, I’m also more muscular than other men of my species. It’s not that I’m cocky about my looks. No, it’s not quite that. But I’m not lacking in confidence, either. I run my fingers along the blond stubble on my face and debate shaving.
Does it matter? It’s an interview for a bodyguard position with a high-profile celebrity. If anything, a little scruff would probably make me look better, right? I leave my mane loose so it falls over my shoulders
Aiken announces himself by grumbling. Loudly.
“Yeah?” I say, spinning to face him. “What do you think? Professional enough?”
Aiken is leaning in my bedroom doorway. His beady eyes move up and down the length of my frame, taking in the slate gray suit I had tailored yesterday for the occasion. It wasn’t difficult finding a tailor on Latrixia with availability on such short notice. Turns out there aren’t many shindigs on the planet that require formal wear. But when I broke the news to Aiken that there was a job opening with the right amount of pay promised, he wasn’t too pleased.
An understatement. Even on a good day, Gorcian temperaments are something to fear, as they can change on a dime. They’re like the yellow traffic lights of the alien world; they can either be your most trusted ally or your most lethal foe. Good thing that no matter how many fights Aiken and I have been in together, he’s always in my corner.
“Meh,” he chuffs out, and I can’t help but grin. I approach and pat him affectionately on the shoulder.
“It’s just an interview, big guy. Might not even get it. Probably won’t, thanks to my resume. But even if I did, you know this changes nothing between us, right?”
He gives me a sidelong look and works his jaw, unmoving from the doorframe.
Right. Should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to win him over. We’ve been partners for a long time, but he and I have never been the best at communicating, either, and not just because of the language barrier. When we first met, we were in similar places, I guess. But now? As much as I love the guy, I can’t stomach this lifestyle anymore.
“Aik…” I start, but he lets out a dry snort and takes a step back.
“You do what you gotta do,” he mutters, then shuffles out of the doorway and disappears down the hall.
The guilt is immediate and overwhelming—until the image of the dead Slitheron’s body invades my memory. Ever since that night, I’ve been having nightmares about it. The sound of his bones crunching in Aiken’s fist. The way his body fell in a limp, lifeless pile next to the dumpster.
Adjusting my tie one last time in the mirror, I decide it’s time to get this over with. I hope to hell whoever is doing the interview isn’t a hard ass.
* * *
“So. Can you explain this gap in your resume, Mr. Melrose?” Margot asks as she folds her hands on the table.
She’s pretty, I’ll give her that, but she’s also frightening as all hell. With dark, thin eyebrows and precisely lined, bright red lips, everything about this woman screams perfection. Probably expects perfection from her employees, too. Great.
