Inside that box were the last ‘Protein Bites’ from the taste-testing session. I had no plans to eat them. They were meant for Barnaby, and until Tuesday, there wouldn’t be any more sweets coming our way.
That was what I kept telling myself, anyway.
The truth was more complicated. The truth was that those protein bites tasted like her kitchen smelled—warm and welcoming and completely unlike anything in my sterile space. Every time I looked at that box, I thought about the way she’d handed it to me. Not with fear, but with a challenge in her eyes.
Greece would be beautiful, almost perfect. I could picture it now. Olive oil dripping over fresh fish. The Aegean Sea glittering under an endless blue sky. Traininga client who actually wanted to be trained, who wouldn’t cry or panic or eat pastries behind my back.
But those sunny shores paled in comparison toThe Cocoa Bean. I thought about the smell of vanilla and dark chocolate that hit me every time I pushed open the door. The way the bell jangled, bright and cheerful in the quiet street. The way Hazel had looked at me when I’d helped Barnaby after his small choking incident. Not with fear or intimidation, but with genuine interest. Like she saw something in me worth understanding.
Like she sawme, not just the glamor.
“If I go to Greece, who trains Barnaby?” I asked gruffly.
“Who cares?” Grix waved a dismissive hand through one of the projections. It rippled like disturbed water. “Someone else will take the contract. There are plenty of trainers who’d kill to take a crack at the Osterhase’s pre-Easter routine. It doesn’t have to be you. Don’t let a mediocre client drag your stats down, Brok. You’re better than this.”
The silence grew heavy. The walls felt like they were closing in.
“No.”
Grix stared at me in disbelief, completely losing his interest in his beloved espresso. “Excuse me? Did you hear the part about the private beach? And the villa? And the Poseidon-patented glamor?”
I shrugged, affecting nonchalance I didn’t feel. “Pass. Tell Asterion I’m unavailable. He’s a narcissist.”
“He’s a client!”
So was Barnaby, but that wasn’t what this conversation was really about. After everything Barnaby had done, I could have dropped his contract one hundred times if I’d wanted to. But I didn’t.
“I worked a consultation with Asterion in ’98,” I told Grix. “He spends three hours looking in mirrors after every session and skips leg day because ‘hooves don’t need calves.’ He doesn’t want a trainer. He wants an audience. He wants someone to watch him flex and tell him he’s magnificent. I don’t get paid to clap.”
“So what?” Grix screeched, his impressively high voice echoing off the bare walls. “Take the money and let him pose! Since when do you care about the client’s emotional well-being? Since when do you care about anything except results?”
“I have professional standards, Grix.”
“Professional standards?” Grix hopped down from the barstool, claws resuming their tapping as he walked over to where I stood. “I don’t buy it.”
A kobold’s nose was almost as sharp as that of an orc. Instantly, he noticed the white box. “Is that thing filled with cookies? You don’t eat cookies, Brok. You eat sadness and unseasoned chicken breast. Your idea of a cheat meal is adding black pepper to your tilapia.”
Yes, but I changed when I met the beautiful chocolatier who challenged everything I believed in. If I told Grix that, he’d have my hide. “It’s a nutritional supplement,” I said, instead. “Custom formulated. Good protein, no junk.”
“Uh-huh.” Grix walked right up to the box, standing on his toes to peer at it. He sniffed dramatically, nostrils flaring. “Smells like cocoa. And feelings. Does the ‘formulator’ of this supplement come with the contract? Is she part of the package deal?”
My shoulders went rigid. Of course he had guessed. He was too clever not to. That was what made him such a good agent. But I still refused to back down. “The nutritionist is part of the plan to get Barnaby back in shape. She makes healthier options for his stress-eating problem.”
Grix looked up at me, his stare entirely too knowing. “Is that a fact? Because if you’re staying for a girl, Brok, that’s messy. Humans are squishy. They break. They ask questions about feelings and futures and things that don’t have simple answers. Have you thought about what happens when she tries to see past the glamor?”
Something twisted in my gut at that. The idea of Hazel being hurt because of it made my hands curl into fists. There was a reason the glamor existed, and protecting humanity was part of it.
But how could I explain to Grix something I didn’t understand myself? How could I explain that sometimes, I felt like she was magical, too? Because nothing else explained this strange feeling, the bubbling fog that threatened to cloud my senses whenever I was around her.
In the end, I settled for an excuse. “I’m staying because I finish what I start. I signed a contract with Barnaby. I will deliver a fit Rabbit to the finish line. I don’t abandon missions because the terrain gets difficult. That’s not the orc way.”
“And the girl?”
“She’s essential to the mission.”
It wasn’t a lie. But it also wasn’t the whole truth, and we both knew it.
Grix searched my face for a long moment. He looked at the white box. He looked at me. He looked around at my bare, organized space. Then he sighed, a long, rattling sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest.
