Chapter 5 Professional Standards #2
“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.
He walked back to his briefcase, claws tapping against the floor with each step.
“You’ve gone soft, Brok. You used to train in blizzards while other people hid indoors drinking hot chocolate.
Now you’re turning down the contract of a lifetime for what?
A bunny with anxiety and a woman who makes cookies? You’ve lost your edge.”
My jaw clenched hard enough to make my teeth ache. “My edge is fine. Tell the Minotaur I’m unavailable due to a prior tactical commitment.”
With a simple flick of his fingers, Grix snapped his briefcase shut.
The projections vanished instantly, leaving only empty air where financial security had been floating moments before.
The room seemed darker without the blue glow.
Another flick, and Grix’s repertoire of magical files floated from the counter, into his waiting arms.
“Fine,” he rumbled, already toeing on his expensive loafers. “But don’t come crying to me when the Rabbit has a complete mental breakdown mid-squat and ruins your completion stats. I can’t scrub a failure from your record, Brok. Once it’s there, it’s permanent. It follows you forever.”
He paused at the threshold, one hand on the doorframe. “Oh, and Brok?”
“What?”
“Good luck.” He looked back at me, expression unreadable. Then he smirked, showing all his teeth. “You’re going to need it.”
With a final sneer, Grix left the apartment, the door slamming shut behind him.
I grimaced. That hadn’t gone well at all.
Kobolds never wished anyone ‘luck’. They believed luck was for leprechauns or faerie creatures.
A part of me couldn’t help but agree. However, at this point, I wouldn’t refuse help from anyone.
My phone buzzed against the counter, snapping me out of my trance. I picked it up and stared at the screen. Three texts from Barnaby had arrived while I’d been talking to Grix.
Barnaby (5:45 AM): I bought new sneakers! They light up when I jump! Is that professional? Will they intimidate the Rottweilers?
Barnaby (5:47 AM): Does coffee count as a carb if I think about sugar while drinking it? Or is it the thought that counts as the carb?
Barnaby (5:50 AM): I’m scared of the hill today, Brok. Please don’t yell at me. My feelings are very sensitive this morning.
I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Asterion would never text me about light-up sneakers. He would never need me the way Barnaby did, with that desperate, genuine vulnerability that made you want to help despite every logical reason not to. And he certainly didn’t know a chocolatier who could make protein taste like actual joy.
I grabbed my gym bag from beside the door and carefully placed the white box inside, tucking it into a side pocket where it wouldn’t get crushed. It was time to work, but for the first time in years, I was looking forward to more than just the cardio.