I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again like some kind of broken animatronic stuck between factory settings.
The words Vivienne had just said were still processing through my brain at dial-up internet speeds. Something about not wanting to be seen with the help but not minding being seen with me specifically.
Which was possibly the most complicated non-confession confession I'd ever heard.
And I'd served drinks to politicians for two years. I knew verbal gymnastics when I heard them.
"Vivienne—"
My phone exploded with noise.
Not a text buzz. A full ringtone. Which meant someone was actually calling me instead of sending a message like a normal human in the twenty-first century.
I pulled it out. Cassidy's name flashed across the screen with a contact photo she'd somehow changed to a picture of herself flipping off the camera.
I looked at Vivienne. Her expression had shifted from vulnerable to annoyed in approximately 0.3 seconds. Record time.
