Curtis actually spoke up for her. First time ever. "Enough. Stop talking about her like that."
Gretchen's eyes went red in an instant, all wounded and pitiful, staring straight at him.
He looked away, visibly uncomfortable.
"Imogen, find somewhere to sit. I'll grab drinks."
When he turned to Gretchen, his voice went softer.
"What do you want? My treat."
Gretchen sniffled. "Then I want the large. And extra ice, don't forget."
He tapped her on the head.
"Extra ice? You were doubled over in pain last time, already forgot? I'm getting yours room temperature."
I watched his mouth curve up slightly as Gretchen whined back at him in that spoiled little voice.
He used to be that way with me. Then, bit by bit, it just stopped.
"You're gonna be a police officer, right? You're tough, you don't get sick. Not like Gretta—she's delicate. So just... let me worry less, okay?"
He'd said it like a joke, but I couldn't laugh.
Somehow, because of my dream, Curtis had decided I didn't need looking after.
The second he was gone, Gretchen didn't spare me a glance. She pulled out her phone and started an Instagram Live.
"That's right, if you come to our shop, I'll personally do your tattoo. Any design you want. Trust my skills, okay?"
She puffed out her cheeks in a cutesy pout, and a wave of new viewers flooded in.
"Wow, thank you for the gifts, everyone! But it'd be even better if you came in and got some work done!"
"What? You don't trust my technique? You want to see pictures of my past work?"
Her eyes darted sideways, landing squarely on my arm.
"Oh you guys are so lucky today—my very first client ever? She's right here in the shop. Want to see?"
She didn't register my warning look at all. She was already walking toward me, phone held up in my direction.
"Gretchen, get away from me!"
My reaction only made her look at me like I was being bizarre.
"What's your problem, are you paranoid? I just want to film the tattoo on your arm. Come on—say hi to everyone watching!"
Then, all fake sweetness, she introduced me:
"This client of ours? Her daddy was a police officer, and she's planning to inherit his badge number. So you'd all better watch what you say, okay!"
The chat exploded:
【She wants to be a cop and she has a tattoo? How's she passing the physical? Streamer, is your client pulling strings or what!】
【Show us show us! Who is this VIP! Is she prettier than you?】
Gretchen scoffed.
"Oh stop. Prettier than me? No way. See for yourselves!"
The camera was about to reach my face—my mind blanked and I flinched from the lens before I could think.
But Gretchen wouldn't let go, her acrylic nails hooking into my wrist, pinning me in place, and something in me snapped—I wrenched free and her phone sailed out in an arc, hit the floor screen-first, and shattered into pieces.
"Are you insane?!" Gretchen shrieked, scrambling to pick it up.
She always claimed her family had no money, yet she'd bought the latest model right after the college entrance exams. All those part-time shifts Curtis kept picking up suddenly made a lot more sense.
The screen was wrecked. Gretchen was livid, hand already swinging toward me.
Then the door opened, and Curtis walked in. In the same breath, her hand changed course, and she crumpled into helplessness.
"Curtis, she hit me! That phone was bought with every cent you earned from your part-time jobs!"
