Page 36 of The Barn: Frost and Q
No counting turkeys or juggling marmots or booping the snoots of porcupines or whatever stupid fucking idea their stupid fucking new head of entertainment had come up with.
Why the hell did they even have a head of entertainment?
Weren’t they supposed to have meetings about that sort of thing?
That seemed like a fairly major deal for him not to have approved.
He punched Boone’s number, the man answering immediately. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Not so loud. Why the fuck did we hire a person to be in charge of entertainment? How come no one asked me about this?”
“Uh… You did the background check, honey.”
“Don’t you honey me,” he snarled. “I didn’t approve hiring someone to be a master of entertainment. Master of Ceremony. Whatever the fuck it is?”
“It’s more like a cruise director. Like Julie onLove Boat.”
“Oh fuck that. We’re all gay, all on the dirt, and well directed. And you’re not that old to know that show. Why isn’t Carson doing it? It’s his goddamn job.”
“Carson’s an owner like you and like me, and we voted on it, and majority rules.”
“I didn’t vote.” Surely, he would have remembered that.
“Maybe if you would come to a meeting?—”
“What, you need me there to tell you this is a stupid goddamn idea? I would have thought you could have figured this out all on your own. I am not going to approve of having some kind of marmot juggling competition on my watch! That’s animal abuse.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Have you been sleeping? Are you having a stroke? Maybe there’s gunpowder leeching into your brain.”
No one was allowed to joke about stroke things with him. It was too fucking soon. Eighty years from now would be too soon. “Fuck you, asshole. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.”
“You are in a mood. What the hell is wrong?” Boone wasn’t allowed to sound concerned about him. No way.
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m mad at you. I’m mad at all of you for hiring somebody without my say-so too. I deserve a vote.” He slammed down the phone, then texted almost immediately.
And don’t you tell Frost that I need him because you all can just FUCK OFF
Too late
God, Boone could text at lightning speed. Now he was going to have to deal with Frost being all sympathetic or buck up buttercup, one of the two, and he didn’t want that.
He didn’t want anything but some respect from his fellow fucking owners.
Sure enough, his door buzzed, and he blinked, trying to get past the stars in front of his eyes. He poked his phone, buzzing the door open, and Frost strode in, searching the room for him.
“Hey, baby. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is I want some damn respect around this place.” He slapped his hands on the chair arms, but that jolted his neck, which made his head throb, and he gagged.
“What happened? Whose ass do I need to kick?”
Okay, that was new. Different. More like the Frost before the kidnapping.
“Everyone’s. Yours too. Entertainment director? What the fuck?”
Frost paused for just a moment, then strolled to the kitchen to grab a beer out of the fridge. On close inspection, it looked as though Frost had been chopping wood. Apparently in college, Frost had been on a collegiate timber sports team. Timber sports, for fuck’s sake. So he used chopping to exercise.
It was a damn fine look for him. If his head wasn’t banging and clanging…
