5
Professional Standards
Brok
Human fairy tales liked to pretend vampires were the original blood-sucking monsters of nightmare. Having personally met a vampire, I knew better. The nosferatu couldn’t hold a candle to a kobold.
Grix strolled into my apartment like he owned the place. Given how much of my income he controlled, that wasn’t entirely inaccurate. He was barely three feet tall, wearing a bespoke Italian suit that cost more than most humans made in a decade. The tailoring around his tail alone was a marvel of engineering. He carried a dragon-hide briefcase almost as big as he was, its polished scales gleaming under my lights.
Grix kicked off his loafers and padded across the floor, claws tapping a steady rhythm against the stone. “Nice place. Smells like disinfectant, testosterone, and loneliness. Very on-brand for you, Brok.” He spun to face me, scaly eyes glittering. “And I’m happy to see you’re aspunctual as ever.”
“I am disciplined. But you already knew that. So why the need for this sudden meeting?”
After he’d texted me during the taste test at Hazel’s shop, we’d agreed to meet at my apartment. It wasn’t the first time he’d visited, but no matter how many times he did, it never stopped being a little funny.
My furniture was minimalist by any human standard, but still sturdy and made for an orc. Every counter dwarfed him. Even the shoe stand was taller. But he never seemed to mind.
He made a beeline for the kitchen and moved toward the espresso machine in the far corner. Unless he took some kind of magical growth potion in the next ten seconds, he definitely wouldn’t be able to reach it. But he likely didn’t intend to try.
With a sigh, I pulled out the espresso grounds, focusing on the familiar ritual instead of the migraine already pulsing at the back of my skull. “Coffee?”
“Double shot. No sugar.” Grix hopped onto one of the barstools at my kitchen island, feet swinging above the floor. “I need to vibrate. I have seventeen meetings today, and six of them are with entities that communicate primarily through screaming.”
I pulled the shot while Grix opened his briefcase with a dramatic flourish. Holographic charts spread across the countertop, glowing soft blue in the sparse room. They hovered in the air, displaying graphs with the kind ofdetail that would make human accountants weep. The technology was illegal in the human world, but kobolds excelled at skirting the law.
Grix rubbed his scaly hands together with real enthusiasm. “To address your question… I had a look at your numbers. An early quarterly review, if you will. Your portfolio is solid, Brok. Very solid. The Halloween contract? Flawless execution. The Headless Horseman gave you a five-star rating on LinkedGrim. Said you were ‘terrifyingly professional’ and ‘made him feel like a god of intimidation.’ That’s good press.”
I handed him the tiny espresso cup, humming under my breath. “He’s a good client. He appreciates intimidation. He understands the value of structure. And he pays on time.”
“He pays in pumpkin seeds and localized terror.” Grix sipped his coffee and shuddered as the caffeine hit his system. “But the exchange rate is good. The Underworld market is bullish right now. Fear is valuable currency. Which brings us to the current contract. The Spring Campaign.”
I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. The silence pressed against my eardrums. I already knew where this conversation was going, and I was not going to enjoy it.
“Barnaby.”
Grix sighed like I’d just told him he had a terminal disease. He swiped the display with one claw, revealing a chart with a red line dipping dangerously low over the past few weeks. “The Osterhase is a distressed asset, Brok. High maintenance. Low compliance. I’m looking at the weekly reports from your smartwatch data. He missed three cardio sessions last week? This isn’t looking good.”
“I’m handling it. You don’t need to worry.”
“I don’t worry,” he sneered, as if the mere concept was beneath him. Which, it probably was. “Look, Brok, I get it. It’s a steady gig. The Easter Bunny is a Top Five Holiday Entity. Having him on your resume looks good for the ‘softer’ demographic. Parents love that you’re training a bunny. Makes you seem approachable instead of terrifying. But the ROI is tanking. You’re spending more time managing his emotional breakdowns than actually training his body. And frankly? His likes on FaeBook have dropped significantly. You’re too elite for this nonsense.”
Grix tapped the counter. A new projection appeared in the blue glow, a massive, bull-headed humanoid rotating slowly in the air above us. His muscles rippled with every rotation, and his horns gleamed in a silent threat. I recognized him immediately. “Asterion.”
Grix gestured at the rotating figure like a game show host revealing the grand prize. “The Minotaur. He’s gearing up for the Labyrinth Season in Crete. Big touristattraction. Very lucrative. He needs an agility coach. Someone who understands mass management in tight spaces. Someone who can teach him to pivot without impaling terrified tourists through stone walls.”
I studied the display, watching it rotate in the sparse room. Asterion was seven feet of pure muscle and natural aggression. Built for power, for domination, for crushing enemies beneath his hooves.
A week ago, I would have been interested. I would have already been mentally calculating training protocols. Now… I wasn’t so sure.
My lack of enthusiasm didn’t intimidate Grix. If anything, it made him even more excited. “He’ll pay you twice what the Rabbit is paying, and cover your severance fees. Plus a villa on the Mediterranean. Private beach. Olives. Sunshine. And here’s the kicker. Asterion serves Poseidon, his patron. The Sea God’s magic is strong enough to keep entire armies hidden. You could walk around Athens in a tank top and your glamor wouldn’t even flicker. It would keep for years, even after you finish the contract.”
It was too good to be true.
Asterion was already fit. I wouldn’t have to worry about him crying during lunges or having panic attacks before cardio sessions. The location was warm and beautiful. The money was incredible. The post-contract glamor was nothing to sneeze at. Barnaby was powerful,but even he couldn’t keep me safe from the human eye when I didn’t work for him.
Grix leaned forward on the barstool, feet still dangling. “He’s waiting for an answer. He knows you’re the best trainer on the market. He wants the ‘Orc Method.’ He wants the prestige of being trained by Brok of the Iron Steppe. This is career-defining, my friend. This is the kind of contract that sets you up for life.”
My gaze drifted across the kitchen. Past the supplement bottles lined up like soldiers. Past the meal prep containers stacked in neat rows in the fridge. Landing on a small white cardboard box sitting next to my protein shaker.
