Or KGB. Whatever.
Finally we come through a door into a large room where there are other people. They walk around with their iPads in front of them, apparently holding videoconferences as they walk. Somehow they don’t even bump into each other, which is pretty impressive. I can barely walk and chew gum at the same time, as my mother likes to tell me.
“Wow,” I hear myself say.
Dahlia glances over her shoulder, grinning at me. “Oh, you haven’t been here since we finished the rehab, have you? It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? August says we could take a direct artillery strike!”
“Congratulations!” I reply, not sure if that’s the right thing to say.
But she doesn’t even notice my discomfort. She’s pretty into it, I can tell. As we cut a diagonal line across the room, I see her smiling at the different areas: a few desks, an assortment of punching bags, and stick things that are probably made for hitting. A bunch of super buffed-out guys and girls in sky-blue shirts and charcoal-gray pants that probably have some hidden compartments or something in them for weapons and poison darts.
“Okay, Bunny,” Dahlia rolls her eyes as she pulls out a chair at the small corporate kitchen. I know this is not the real kitchen, because that thing is like seriously gourmet. This is just a secondary kitchen, the sort your employees would use to make themselves energy drinks and stuff.
“Okay, what?” I ask, taking the seat across from her. It feels so good to get off my feet, I could practically cry.
She points at me with one finger, stabbing at the air a few times.
“You can stop judging me now,” she informs me.
“I’m not judging you,” I lie.
She holds her hands out as though supporting an imaginary scale model of the room between her palms.
“I know this can all seem like… a lot," she continues. “But it’s for a purpose. Not just for defense, but it really makes people feel comfortable, you know? People who are in trouble. People who are afraid for their lives, Bunny.”
I shrug uncomfortably. Glancing around, I see what she means. I mean, if I were a foreign ambassador who needed a protection detail, I probably would be impressed by this kind of display.
“Is that what you guys are doing these days? Saving lives?” I ask, seriously interested.
“The most serious jobs,” she nods. “The foreign stuff. But it’s not all life-or-death. There’s a lot of stuff that’s practically just schmoozing and networking.”
“What does schmoozing and networking pay?”
She squints and smiles grimly, clearly concerned that I am about to ask her for a job. Which I’m not. The thought had not even crossed my mind.
Until she mentioned it.
“It’s all about helping people out,” she continues, trying not to sound patronizing because she knows I hate that. “August does them a favor, and eventually they’ll do him a favor. A whole bunch of people helping each other out with… whatever. Not always life or death or national security stuff. Just whatever.”
“It doesn’t sound that hard to me, really. I’d say I’m a natural at it. The networking and schmoozing part.”
Dahlia squints at me, tipping her head to the side like she does. She narrows her eyes for a couple of beats and then purses her lips.
“I suppose you are a very outgoing and… charming person,” she finally admits.
I spread my hands in front of me. “Right? I mean, that’s what I’m always saying. The guys at the restaurant just love me. Love me! All except Nick, of course. But he is sort of a jerk, right?”
She sucks on the inside of her cheek.
“But that doesn’t really bother me,” I continue breezily. “Like I always say, it’s all about getting along. You know what I mean, right? They say it’s about who you know.”
“Who says that?” she asks suspiciously.
“You know… people.”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. She must still be nursing because her boobs are absolutely monumental. Now is probably not a good time to bring that up.
“And what do they say that about?”