Page 38 of The Bodyguard Affair
“Oh, definitely licorice allsorts,” she says with far too much enthusiasm.
I let out a rather violent cough. “Wait, what? Those old people candies?”
“Excuse you! They’re amazing, colorful, and cute. You never know what you’re getting with each handful.”
“Either death, depression, or decay, but with sprinkles. Do you wash them down with a glass of prune juice?”
Her gaze rivets down to me as she tosses her hair to one side, exposing her bare neck. “Wow, Nolan Crosby. You are a savage.”
“Sorry, this has me questioning who you are, what you stand for, and what I got myself into.”
That teases a snort out of her. “Well, now is your opportunity to find out more. Ask me anything.”
“What do you do for fun?” I ask.
“Work,” she says, which sounds familiar. “When I’m not at work, I’m at home recovering with snacks and a blanket.”
“No hobbies?”
“Well, I used to write as my hobby. And after Ted took Lars back, I did some volunteering at a farm outside the city that takes in rescue dogs that are at risk of being euthanized at the shelter—dogs like Lars. They’ve got a bunch of other animals, too, like goats and pigs. But I haven’t been back in a month or so. Things have gotten really busy.”
Picturing her swarmed by a cluster of needy rescue animals tugs at my heart more than it should. Maybe even more so than my memory of her feeding Lars cheese slices in her living room. “Rescue dogs? That sounds like a lot of fun. What did you do there?”
“Mostly just walk them, pet them, play with them. It was pretty relaxed.”
The thought of going there makes me smile. I could use some time with dogs. “Maybe we can go sometime.”
“Sure. I’d like that.”
I turn to face Andi on her bed. “Why do you work so much? Passion?”
“Passion originally. That’s why I got into politics. I studied political science in school. When I was in my master’s program, Eric came to speak at my school when he was first elected as the leader of the DPP. He talked about the importance of voting and all that stuff people roll their eyes about. The world had kind of gone to shit; at least that’s how it felt. And the way he spoke about unity and fighting for what’s right for the average person, I don’t know what it was, but he wasn’t like all the other politicians talking out of their ass just to get some votes. He was genuine. Someone who really believed in helping people, especially marginalized people. I wanted to be part of that. Part of change, all that idealistic stuff you think you can do when you’re twenty years old,” she explains, her hopeful tone transitioning to jaded toward the end.
“I don’t think it’s idealistic. Eric has made a massive impact. You can see it by how popular he is.”
“True. Anyway, my goal was to be on the communications team doing things like messaging, drafting talking points, writing speeches and press releases. But when that didn’t work out, I took the job with Gretchen. When you met me, I’d just started a week or so before. Things hadn’t gotten crazy yet, so I was still really into writing.”
“You’re not writing anymore?” I ask.
“Unless the odd chapter or idea here and there counts, no. I don’t have much time anymore.”
The thought of her no longer writing makes me sad. “You’re really talented, by the way. I never got a chance to tell you that.”
“You read my book?” She peeks down at me, brows raised in pure surprise.
“I’m not done yet. But I had to read it for the internalinvestigation. Though seeing as we’redatingnow, another guy on the team will take over the investigation.” It feels good to admit that. The last thing I wanted was for her to find out I was reading the book behind her back. “I provided all my notes, all of which come up with nothing compromising, security-wise. So hopefully all this speculation will be over soon.”
She’s quiet for a moment before speaking again. “I never got the chance to thank you, by the way.”
“For what?”
“You were the first person to believe in me. In my writing.”
“I’m sure that’s not true—”
“It is. You encouraged me to publish without even reading a word. Up until then, I was too terrified of what people would think to even consider it. It meant everything to me. If it weren’t for you, I never would have taken the leap.”
“You would have,” I assure her, though the thought of me being the only person to encourage her makes me really sad.
