Page 36 of The Boss
“I don’t really sew…”
“Well, like I said, you can rotate at first. Quinn said you wanted to jump right in today so I can start you on—”
“Outside!” I blurt, because the walls of this narrow hallway are closing in on me. If there’s one thing I can’t face today it’s scrubbing toilets or trying to cook. I mean what the hell? I can’t clean or cook to save my life!
Quinn must be messing with me. Has to be.
“Sure, you can go see Ollie, he’ll put you to work in the gardens. Or maybe the green house! So many lovely flowers in there,” she says, genuinely wistful about gardening.
What. The hell.
“Great.” I say, my voice sounding flat compared to hers. Everything about me is a little dull next to her. She’s like a beacon. I bet she lights Quinn right up when she orgasms. I didn’t peg him to want the big-eyed innocent type but the evidence on her adoring face in front of me is hard to deny. She’s the bright freaking sunshine to his all-black everything.
I wonder if I should change my outfit. I look at her perky ass in front of me—in an honest-to-God milkmaid dress?!— and decideabsolutely, yes, I should.I also wonder if Sunny here has been in my room, in my shower, in Quinn’s bed in my room. I hope not.
Wait, why do I care?
I don’t. I just need to focus on emulating her tactics to get my leverage.
“Ollie’s got a huge wide brim hat on, you’ll find him.” I just nod as she rambles on. “I’ve got to start some bedding, that’s my laundry shift today, but just shout on any intercom if you need anything and I’ll come to you?” She asks, looking almost scared. I smile and nod hoping she will stop talking and walk away.
She does.
I’m not hungry anymore but I take a huge bite of the quiche before depositing my dish in the dirty pile. It tastes like heaven in my mouth and for some reason that pisses me off.It’s Quinn’s favorite!I roll my eyes, at the girl, and then at myself for being mad at her for no good reason.
Time to find the nearest exit.
I step out into the crisp fall day. I’m on a side patio with steps leading into a small, well-kept flower garden. I look up and out. No dogs in sight. I start walking until I find a gardener. Well, nota gardener. A mini-Quinn who happens to be outside trimming hedges? With his guns and knives on him.
So bizarre.
“Dog kennel?” I say. He points, not taking out hiswiredearbuds. Even with the cords, I’m struck by the sight of normal, modern-day technology as I walk away. After cutting through a little hedge maze and a giant mowed lawn, I find a small building that looks like it could be one of those pre-made tiny houses, except for the multiple doggy doors.
I brace myself for a bunch of barking and sniffing as I enter the one normal human door, but there’s only one old dog inside. And one whining, scared Marlon.
“Aw!” I say involuntarily as I hurry to him and see he’s gotten himself up on a raised dog bed and is too scared to jump down. He’s also shaking with cold. I slip into my Godfather accent when I see his underbite trembling. “Who left you up here? I’ll kill ‘em. They’re dead I tell ya, dead.”
I take Marlon out and we get to walking. And walking. And walking.
This place is massive. And in amazing condition. I venture all over the grounds nearest the house, then along the fences. Marlon gets too tired to keep walking so I start scouting with him cradled in one arm.
I don’t find any hidden cameras, secret bunker doors, drones overhead, nothing. I haven’t yet, anyway. I do find that every inch is meticulously kept in its pristine original condition. If I were losing hold of my sanity, I could honestly believe I’d time traveled here.
I walk along the edge of the woods on the back side of the property but chicken out. Something about thick, tall, trees upon trees with no end in sight makes my stomach flip. I’m not quite desperate enough to get lost outside alone.
“We’ll give it a few days, I’ll get there,” I huff to my dog.
I see Ollie in his big hat at one point and avoid him, of course.
I am not taking up gardening.
What I am doing, is getting twitchy. Because even here, back inside the palatial building, there’s nothing suspicious. I help myself to every drawer and file and folder in Quinn’s open study. Nothing.
Except for the amount of young, quiet mini-Quinns dusting and sweeping and fucking changing light bulbs with their guns tucked into their backs, this place is squeaky clean. And nothing like the clan atmosphere I expected from a man whose nickname is Skulls.
And then I hear it, a rumble of vehicles barreling down the drive. There is honking and hollering happening outside. Quickly, I decide to change. I don’t have a milkmaid dress but I do have a sundress with a similar cut and a floppy, soft sweater to wear with it. Because Quinn must be back and I need to be ready.
I leave Quinn’s room to a chorus of yelling, cheering, and doors slamming open. Vehicles pulling in and honking. Dogs going apeshit. I move from the fourth floor theater room—filled with DVDs from the olden times—out to the landing.
