Page 18 of Heart Over Heels

She waved me off. “Any kind of penises. But many. What would you do?”

“Uh. Confiscate… them?”

She made a noncommittal noise and scribbled something. “Interesting,” she said.

The bartender slid a glass toward her, and she lifted it for a sip while I cleared my throat.

“I served ten years in the Marines. Five tours overseas. Led a squad through?—”

“Mercer,” she interrupted, brown eyes flicking up. “A man dressed as a banana is trying to start a fight with another man dressed as a gorilla. They are both very drunk. What do you do?”

“Separate them?” I tried. “Get backup if needed?”

Another scribble followed by a mumbled, “Mmhmm.”

I shifted on the stool.

This must have been a joke.

A gag.

Was I being pranked?

If I hadn’t been sent here and told to do this, I might have walked out. But even if this was satire to Colette, it was serious to me. I was more than qualified to watch the door at any club on either side of the Strip. Few civilians could pose the kind of threat I’d dealt with in the Middle East on a near-daily basis. I could handle this job, and I could handle this interview, if that’s what it actually was.

Puffing out my chest, I indicated the résumé stashed in her pocket.

“I have experience de-escalating volatile situations in combat zones. Hostile environments. High-pressure scenarios?—”

“Next question,” she cut in. “You’re working a private event. A guest offers you five hundred dollars to arm-wrestle him in the VIP suite.” She plucked the straw from her drink, swirled it, then took a sip. Over the rim of her glass, she told the bartender, “This is quite good.”

I glanced between them, waiting for her to circle back to the point. She didn’t.

“Is it against policy to take the money?” I asked slowly. “Like… isn’t that considered a bribe?”

She didn’t smile. Didn’t even twitch. “You know where you are, yes? You saw the sign?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “This is not the kind of place to make decisions based on ethics.”

Neither was the Basilica.

It was impossible not to compare the two.

While the Dollhouse flaunted its demons and dripped sin from its walls, the Basilica wrapped its corruption in white-feathered wings.

I’d expected more from the angels. A standard. A code. Something worth pledging allegiance to. But all I found were pretty lies and savage smiles. That was why the other guards felt so free to take liberties when Luxe wandered onto our turf. They weren’t bound by ethics. Neither was Antonella.

At least Colette was honest about it.

“I would politely decline,” I told her. “Suggest he spend that five hundred at the bar.”

I gave a nod toward the bartender in a subtle attempt to garner some approval. His responding frown was brief but definitive. Message received.

Colette made another scribble on her notepad. “I see.”

This situation was slipping through my fingers like a bad op. I leaned forward, doubling down on my efforts to salvage it. “I’m trained in multiple forms of hand-to-hand combat. I can handle high-threat individuals. I’ve got leadership skills. Logistics. Security planning. I’m reliable.”