Page 75 of That Stranded Feeling
Yes. That’s what she is. If I can fix this, that is. I hope, anyway.
Summer was right. About everything. But particularly that I’ve overcorrected. If she’s been belittled by this over-indulged dickhead, it’s my fault. It’s my determination to distance myself from my parents’ lifestyle at all costs that’s led me to contemplate doing business with him.
Well, fuck that.
I’d rather work my ass off twenty-four hours a day for as long as it takes to find another way to fund the nonprofit.
Time for a re-correction. Or un-correction. Or anti-correction. Whatever the hell the opposite of overcorrection is.
Archie hauls himself out of the chair. “Who the hell is your girlfriend?”
“The amazing, courageous, beautiful woman with the dog.” I’ve never felt more pride in anything than in saying that sentence.
A patronizing grin forms on his face. “The maid? Or is she a server? The one wearing the dishrag?” He rests his hand on his belly and leans forward as he laughs. “Like to slum it with the staff, do you?”
Rage boils up from the tips of my toes to the top of my head and propels me forward. But Elliot puts a hand on my arm and holds me back. “Don’t punch him. He’s not worth it. And his lawyers are probably better than ours.”
My entire body is suddenly covered in a film of sweat—my face must be almost as red as Archie’s.
I jab a shaky finger at him. “You’ve been out of touch for so long you don’t even recognize good people anymore.” Spit dots the air in front of me. “Incredible people. People who are smart. Resourceful. And have beautiful souls. People who can change your life.”
My voice catches in my throat as my arms fall limp at my sides.
“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” Archie snorts. “We’re done here. And don’t bother approaching any of my friends—no one’s going to invest in you after they hear about this pathetic performance.”
“Friends?” I can’t help myself. “I doubt you have many real ones of those.”
He arcs around me, staying more than an arm’s length away, and heads for the door. “Good luck with your little business, boys.”
“Oh, please. Allow me.” He flinches as I lunge for the door handle. “It would give me no greater pleasure than to escort you off the premises.”
I sweep the door open and wave him through. As he passes in front of me, I snatch the cigar from between his thick fingers. “And learn some manners.”
Elliot looks around, grabs a potted fern from a nearby bookshelf, and holds it out to me. I jab the cigar out in the soil.
Archie’s eyebrows shoot up his furious purple forehead. “How dare you? That was a hundred-dollar cigar. A Fuente Fuente Opus Ten.”
“I couldn’t care less if it was the rolled-up Mona fucking Lisa. Now get your disrespectful ass out of here.” I point through the doorway.
The cheerful sound of the string quartet fills the foyer as I follow Archie’s wide back between the smiling, chatting guests and toward the big, green front door.
I slide sideways past him to get there first. “No, please. Allow me again.” A freezing blast rushes in as I pull it open. “I want to be extremely certain you’re gone.”
“Mark my words. You’ll be back with your tail between your legs. And it will devastate me to turn you down.” Archie dramatically wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye as he steps through the door.
Elliot appears by my side, still holding the fern with the cigar in it.
Snow swirls against the dark sky behind Archie. “I hope you and the hired help are very happy together,” he sneers.
I hook my foot around the door. “Oh, fuck off, you obnoxious bastard.” And slam it in his reprehensible face.
Elliot and I both stare at the closed door for a second. I can’t quite believe what we’ve done.
I point at the plant Elliot’s holding. “Why are you still carrying that?”
He looks down, equally puzzled to see it in his hands. “Didn’t realize I was.”
I grab him in a half hug and hold onto him for a second as we stand there wrapped in the warm tunes of the violins and the laughter of guests who’re too busy having a good time to notice what happened.
