Page 21 of The Revenge Agenda

“A list of what?”

“A list of reasons he should stay.”

Madden takes a moment to process. “In the nicest way possible, why the fuck would you do that?”

I remind myself to be patient with him. “A list of reasons to stay is generally a list created with the intent of making someone, well, stay.”

“I’m not talking about literally. I mean, what part of that sparkly brain of yours thought that emailing your mortal enemy at one on a work night was a smart thing to do?”

“Technically, it was at ten. Then he replied and told me not to reply, but he asked a question, and the whole thing was a confusing mess. I worry he might not be the best communicator, which isn’t a good quality for a boss.”

“Right. So what part of that sparkly brain of yours thought that emailing your mortal enemy for three hours on a work night was a smart thing to do?”

“Well, if I left it for tomorrow, I might have forgotten.”

“That sounds like a good thing to me.”

Okay, now I’m getting exasperated. “But then how would he have gotten my list?”

“Rush, he doesn’t need your list. If he wants to quit, he’ll quit.”

“But then he won’t have a job. And he’ll have to move home—does he even want to move home, Madden?”

“If he does or doesn’t, that damn sure isn’t any of your business.” He stifles a yawn. “Are you going to be able to let this go, or do I need to get up?”

“I’m unsure right now.”

Madden laughs and throws his pillow at me. “That’s a no. Come on, let’s go heckle.”

“Hmm … it’s been a while since we heckled.”

Madden throws off the covers and climbs out of bed, white ass pale in the moonlight streaming through the window.

Madden never wears clothes at home, only wears them out when absolutely necessary, and while I wish I had that confidence, I also really love clothes. Experimenting with fabrics that feel good and don’t make you sweat or itch or be suffocated by the material is fun.

It’s why I started designing. Not professionally—I couldn’t make it through my degree and am still strained by the debt the few courses I took left behind—but turning my passion into a career sounds way too stressful to me.

Christian did. Xander did too. I’ve never asked Molly if design is something he loves, but his job seems to make him happy. For me, I need the freedom to create, to be able to walk away from something that isn’t working and feel no pressure to go back before I’m ready. Knowing the clothes will be there, in six months’ time, exactly how I left them, is comforting.

“When you do wear clothes,” I ask Madden as I follow him down the stairs, “is there a material you prefer? I know you don’t like anything restrictive, but what about linen? Or are you a cotton man?”

“I’m an elastic gym shorts man, and that basically makes up my wardrobe.”

There’s nothing I hate worse than elastic pressing into my skin, but to each his own.

“You know what I don’t get,” Madden throws back over his shoulder. “Didn’t your ex-dickweed realize Hunter was going for a job at the same place as you? Why would he let that happen?”

“You’re asking me to understand why someone did something?” I’ve already tried to make sense of that and only been able to come to two theories: either he was cockier about cheating than I thought, or, more likely, I never actually mentioned where I worked. I’m sure I might have talked about insurance at some point though? Maybe? Actually, I don’t think I did that either.

“Okay, taking bets,” Madden says. “Who is it going to be tonight, and what are they pimping?”

“Used car salesman Kent, and he’ll be offloading …” It’s been a while since we’ve seen mops. Or window cleaners. Last time was a saucepan set. “I’m going with tools.”

“Might want to get more specific there, champ. Tools is a broad category.”

“Fine. A, uh, multitool. It has a main purpose but has a way of measuring as well.”

“Ohhh, good one. I’m going to go with fine china.”

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