I toss the thick end over the thin one, tug it beneath my chin, and yank down on the silk tie. The material tightens around my neck, and a knot is formed. The constriction makes my skin itch. I grind my molars, staring at my reflection in the hotel mirror.
I bought this suit for Hannah Lovell's funeral years ago, but I never actually wore the jacket or tie. It's too small now, but it's only noticeable if I button the front. Seeing as I'll be in the Capitol today, I think I'm going to need the button. I sigh, fastening my FORECON pin to the lapel. It'll have to do.
I leave the bathroom, and cross the floor, knocking on the adjoining door.
"Come in!" Josephine calls.
I enter her suite, my attention instinctually drawn to the corners of the room. I glance out the window, seeing the sunrise behind District of Columbia's skyline. Tufts of clouds hang low over the historical ground, reflecting pink and purple. The Washington Monument pierces the vapor.
"Oh... my... God." Josephine steps into view, her eyes as round as a jade-colored moon. Her mouth is hanging open, and she's looking at me like we've never met. She gestures wildly, from my head to my feet. "You aren't just eye candy, my dear. You are the whole damn sweet shop."
I stare at her, my expression blank. "Are you referring to the suit?"
"I thought those fatigues were stapled to your ass!" she exclaims with a grin. "Have you seen yourself, Avocado? You should be wearing this every day."
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As of now, this is my eighth day guarding Josephine. I wish I could say our peace treaty lasted. She hasn't tried to strangle or drug me, but the attitude is nonstop. I don't think she can shut it off. Also, she won the coffee argument, although the woman doesn't need caffeine. She emits an energy level equivalent to that of a solar flare. I can't count how many times she's tried to throw something at my head—a banana, the remote, a makeup sponge—so this compliment has my suspicions rising.
"It's too small," I tell her.
"This isn't the nineties. Men's formalwear is supposed to be formfitting." Josephine reaches for my bicep, but peels her fingers back at the last second, respecting my personal space. "It's just... You can totally say no, but can I redo your tie?"
I nod, bracing myself for impact.
Despite her violent behavior, incessant sass, and lewd misconduct, I'm drawn to her on a visceral level. She breezes into the living area every morning—dressed, thank fuck—to make a pot of coffee, and I'm sad to say my eyes stay on her for a full ten seconds before I can rip them away. The way she smells, the way she hums, the way she acts when she thinks no one is looking... It all fascinates me. She fascinates me. I can't explain it. I want it to stop.
I've been doing everything in my power to keep her at a physical distance, but as her close protection officer, my job is to shield her with my body at a moment's notice. The death threats have slowed, and she only leaves the apartment for work and grocery runs, but public places aren't where my problems surface. It's when we're alone—in her space, surrounded by her things, with no one watching—that my struggle is most arduous.
