“Part of the job,” I say easily.
“I’d think your job would involve some distance.”
Alicia’s hand curls around her cup. “Richard.”
He raises both hands slightly. “I’m just saying—it’s unusual, isn’t it? Security sticking this close?”
Jessica lets out a laugh a beat too loud, glancing around like she’s aware of the audience. “You two must be starving. We can find another table?—”
“No need,” Alicia says smoothly. “We were just finishing.”
The steel in her tone is unmistakable.
I reach for the check, but Richard beats me to it, sliding his card toward the waiter as if he’s reclaiming territory. “I’ll get this.”
“Not necessary,” I tell him.
“I insist. To thank you for your service.”
It’s not about gratitude.
It’s about control.
About reminding me where I stand.
Alicia opens her mouth, then stops. The tension thickens, stretching tight between all of us.
“Thank you,” she says finally.
But her eyes are anything but grateful.
Richard nods, satisfied, and Jessica’s expression softens, as if she’s relieved the conversation survived without voices rising and heads turning.
Outside, the wind has picked up, carrying the edge of rain.
Alicia slips her arm through mine as we walk toward the corner. Her hand is steady, but I can feel the faint tremor beneath it. Adrenaline. Residual tension.
“He’s jealous,” I say.
“No. Not jealous. He’s just an asshole.”
“That too.”
She glances up at me, eyes still stormy. “You handled that well.”
“Years of practice staying calm under fire.”
“I noticed.”
We stop beside her car. The sunlight glimmers in her hair, and for a heartbeat, the world goes still again.
“I hate that he still gets to me,” she admits quietly.
“He doesn’t get to you. He just tries.”
Her lips curve faintly. “You’re good at this.”
“It’s my job,” I say. “And maybe something more.”