Page 37 of Resting Grump Face
When they’re finished, Sienna lets out a sigh, crosses her arms, and leans back in her chair. “All that praise and then they collectively go and choose meatloaf over me.”
“I guess they would do anything for loaf,” I say and watch as Guy almost chokes on a lump of potato.
“Meatloaf, that is,” he coughs with a grin that highlights the gentle crow’s feet around his eyes.
For the next hour or two, I sit and chat with the wrinkle of seniors (or whatever you call a group of old people). Robyn tells me about the death of her fourth husband (though I have a feeling, she might be pulling my leg), Paige invites me to their weekly knitting group, Guy asks me to attend the play his theatre group is going to perform, and Earnest inquires if he can finish my lunch when he notices that I have barely touched it. All the while, Sienna pouts, her eyes fixed on me.
I could probably get used to this.
My phone rings again. It’s Bruce, probably calling to see if I have made any progress with my PR consultant plan yet. As it turns out, I have. So I put the phone away and get out of my chair.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” I explain, “but Sienna and I should really get going. We have some business to attend to after all.”
14
SIENNA
Rule #3: Do not get caught.
It sounds simple. It really is simple, if you think about it, and yet I was dumb enough to let it happen. I violated rule number three, and this is what I get for it. That’s why I have that rule in the first place, to prevent the repercussions from my own (once in a while, possibly, less than ideal) actions, to avoid having to spend an entire day with Mr. You’re Abducting Me So I’m Abducting You Right Back.
It could have been so easy. Observe him from a safe distance, gather some information, spend only as much time as required during office hours with him, don’t get fired for at least two weeks, don’t murder him, maybe fix his image somehow against all odds, cash the reward, save Robyn, and live happily ever after (far away from him). Too bad the O-Team had to cross my plans.
Next time the remote refuses to work, I’ll refuse to help them. Backstabbing bunch of geriatrics.
“What are you waiting for?” Ryker closes the button on his suit. His hands are veiny, and big, and gorgeous, and life is unfair.
“A slow death,” I answer.
“All in due time. For now, you’re coming with me. You get to spend the entire weekend with me so you can ask all the questions you want, and find out everything you need to… how did you put it?Be able to properly do your job?”
“I would love to, unfortunately there is that other thing I was planning to do and I’m really looking forward to that, so…”
He glares at me while pushing his chair back under the table. “And what would that be?”
“Getting a lobotomy,” I say, and follow it up with a pained wail. Robyn just kicked me under the table. Hard. I really wish her heels were less pointy. I double down in defiance. “Besides, I neither know how to play golf, nor would I be allowed entrance in a strip club, and I’d hate to ruinallof your weekend plans.”
Would I though?I mean, he’s clearly asking for it. Okay, that sounds bad. Even in my head. But it does seem like he actually wants to start our little game early. So why shouldn’t I make money to save Robyn right away? Fuck.
Ryker crosses his arms and stares at me.
“Fine,” I say. “It’s not like you don’t deserve what’s coming to you.”Me,I think. “I’ll be on the clock, starting now. The terms of the contract that I sent you apply.”
If I make it to next Friday, I’d receive my first paycheck. $5000. That alone would go a long way.
Ryker leaves without a comment, and everyone is looking at me. Somewhat defeated, I get up, say goodbye to my cat, and follow my new client. I look down at my baggy hoodie, yoga pants and fuzzy socks in boots.Could be worse,I think to myself. At least they are my good yoga pants. Sure, I could run up to my apartment and put on some proper clothes, matching underwear, and makeup, but that would just give him the wrong idea. It would look like I am making myself pretty specifically for him, which would send the wrong signals entirely. We can’t have that. Instead, I only fix my hair a little and try to catch up.
Ryker is chatting with Paul when I do.
“Ah, there comes your date,” Paul exclaims in a good mood when he sees me. “I was just telling your boyfriend about my plan to rename this place ‘Tomorrow’s Compost’. All that’s missing is a slide from our roof to the cemetery across the street.”
“I’d take that slide right into an early grave before I’d be his girlfriend, Paul.”
“And I’d be happy to grease the slide before she gets on it.” Ryker chuckles and bids our receptionist goodbye before we leave for his car. I’m not sure I like this cheerful side of him.
He checks his watch, then tells his driver to take us to some place called ‘The Wiggle Room’.
“I thought I told you, women aren’t allowed entrance in most of these establishments unless they work there, which isnotpart of the contract I sent you,” I say and look around the inside of his car. There’s a minibar, a TV screen, and probably a year’s supply of condoms. I mean, I don’t see any, but it would just make sense. I bet his dates are quite impressed by a car like this.
