Page 7 of Over My Dead Boss
Noël — I mean Mr. Cyrus — looks at me with a grin upon his face, as if what is happening here is somehow amusing to him. Then he folds the bills up and takes a step closer, forcing my back flush against the door of my car. I look up at him as the cold metal presses against my shoulder, my (not-so-dead) boss closer to me than he probably should be.
“Here,” his low voice sends shivers down my spine, “this is for the cereal. So you don’t have to steal any more food,” he says with a strong Scottish accent, and slips the money under the exposed strap of my bra.
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Right, he isn’t trying to buy me. Maybe that conclusion was premature.
Mortified, I watch as he steps back and turns around. “But just so you know,” he adds while walking off, “you ought to charge a lot more than $200.”
Still unable to move, I take a deep breath and once the coast is clear, climb back into my car, Phoenix Cyrus’s money still stuck in my bra strap. As he gathers the wood for the fire in a big basket, I grab my phone and open the chat with Sienna.
Olivia: Found him. He’s alive.
Her answer comes right away.
Sienna: NO WAY! Tell me everything. Is he as dreamy as your delusional mind made him out to be???
Olivia: Even more so, and apparently he didNOTattempt to buy my services as a lady of the night just now.
Sienna: Right… I knew this would happen… you’ve lost it. What you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. Just come home, honey. We’ll have you committed and I’ll come and visit you every second day. Maybe more if your caretaker is cute.
Olivia: Thanks, but no. What do I do now? He just gave me money to buy groceries because he thinks I shoplifted earlier. I thought he was offering me money for… something else.
Sienna: Simple! Tell him you’re with the government and that you’re on an important mission. The safety of our country… nay, the world is at stake. And you need his manuscript to save everyone. Also, I was thinking maybeNachoisland?
This does not help,is what I am thinking as a message from my mom appears on the top of my screen as well.
Mom: Hey, my favorite problem-child. How are you? Can we call you on the weekend? Have you eaten today? How’s Sienna doing?
She always calls me that, her problem child. It’s her way of letting me know that she hopes I’ll stop being too responsible, and instead of worrying about them, worry about myself. I can’t help but sigh and shoot back a quick message so she won’t have to worry about me.
Olivia: All good, had a bagel, haven’t killed her yet. I’ll call you on Saturday. Hope you guys are good.
The sun, by now, is all but gone, as is Mr. Cyrus, and night is steadily approaching, the cold slowly creeping in. I stare at the broken window next to me and the shards of glass laying in the legroom of my car. This needs to be covered up if I’m going to spend the night out here. I need a plan. A plan to get the manuscript from the man.
Maybe Sienna was right. I might be losing it.
Suddenly, the gate opens once more and Phoenix Cyrus stands next to my car again. Two knocks on my window, now less gentle. I roll it down and give him my best smile. “Back so soon? I knew you’d be satisfied with my services.”
Little hooker humor to break the ice.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, making him appear a lot more threatening than I’d like in this already anxiety-inducing scenery.
The truth. Just tell him the truth. No good can come from lying.
“Are you some weird stalker?” he asks.
“NO!” I am quick to defend myself. “Well, technically, yes, but it’s not like it sounds. I can explain. I, uhh, I am Olivia and,” I swallow hard, “Isabella Yarbrough sent me to—”
“MOTHERF—!”
Before I have time to explain, Mr. Cyrus stomps off back to his mansion.
Bugger off or I’ll call the police,is the last thing I hear before the small door in the gate slams shut.
That could have gone worse. He could have murdered me, yet here I still am.
At least until the police arrive and put me in a cell for the night, which actually might be preferable to camping out in my car, exposed to the elements and wild animals. So again, I do what every good PI would do in my situation. I stay put. Once it’s entirely dark, and I am still not arrested, I decide to walk around for a bit and try to hash a view, which is nearly impossible since there appears to be no light in any of his rooms. When I get back to my car, I move my seat into the horizontal and drape the blanket I brought over me, only to find the paws of a giant wolf resting right on the window next to my face five minutes later. Shocked, I struggle to escape, but since there is nowhere to go, I just hang in the space between the seats until I hear a familiar, dark voice.
