“Oh goodness. I know these are a no already, but, my Lord, just look at them.” She picks up a large, plastic-wrapped package of some name-brand cupcakes. The things are basically handfuls of sugar, begging to rot out the teeth of innocent children. And country music singers.
Still, this isn’t about denying her things.
“Like I said, make them a special snack.” I step past her and point to a similar package. “Here. These are wrapped individually. You’re more likely to only eat one rather than bingeing.”
“Makes sense.” Violet sets down her handful and reaches for the alternative.
Then she groans. “Goodness gracious. They’ve got chocolate and butterscotch.” She scoops them up and faces Manuel, as if they’ve been shopping together today. “Which one?”
“Neither,” he deadpans.
“Oh, I see how it is. Trying to impress the dietitian.” Violet sets the butterscotch cakes back on the shelf and tosses the chocolate in the cart. “Manuel, why don’t you be a dear and walk down the other aisle? You can meet us at the end. I just want to gossip with Luna without you hovering.”
The bodyguard doesn’t glance at her, gaze scanning the store. “No.”
Violet keeps a positive expression on her face, even as I watch a muscle in her jaw tic. “And why not?”
“My job is to protect you. I need to see you to protect you.”
“But I’m with Luna. My self-defense expert.” Flipping her fake brown hair over her shoulder, she affects a stage whisper. “She’s got a gun, you know?” Violet gives him an exaggerated wink.
I can hear the strain of him trying not to roll his eyes.
“I know.”
Good. Any decent security should be able to clock a holster, despite the weapon hiding under my jacket.
“Well then, I think she’s perfectly capable of protecting me for one aisle. Besides, it’s the feminine product aisle. I’m sure you don’t want to be there for that. You know, uterus, fallopian tubes, ovaries, periods. So gross.”
His stony face doesn’t change as he speaks. “I don’t care how heavy your flow is.”
Good thing I’m not expected to remain stoic because that has me snorting.
Violet gasps, then glares in her best attempt at fierceness. “You know nothing about my menstruation, Manuel!”
Again, I give the guy credit for not cracking.
My client turns back to me. “Are you still in the ooey-gooey honeymoon phase, where you can’t be separated from your man for more than a few minutes?”
“I don’t think I was ever in that phase.” I do my best to affect the same emotionless tone Manuel used, but Violet merely shakes her head at me.
“Well, that’s a bummer. You should work on that. Still, yay for me! Because I want you to come over tomorrow night. Just to hang out. As friends.”
My mind stutters over the request. “What?”
“I swear this isn’t because I don’t want to pay you for your expertise. If we end up talking about nutrition or self-defense, I’ll start the clock. But I’m thinking more of a wine-and-gossip situation. Please? You can say no. I know I’m a little much. That’s why Manuel won’t hug me.”
“I …”
Normally, I’m quicker than this. But I’ve never been invited to hang out by a client before. Sure, I’ve been gifted backstage passes or told my name was on a list at a hot new club. But those were more bonus gifts meant for me to use at my own discretion.
This is friendship.
And that’s a strange sensation.
Still, if I’ve learned one thing about Violet, it’s that she’s one hundred percent sincere. Almost to a fault. Which means this invite is real.
“Yes. I … yes, I would like that.”
