Page 6 of What Happens This Christmas
“More than you,” I answered, smirking. I tended not to advertise my background or wealth. It didn’t feel relevant.
Augustus was a genius and self-made millionaire, having sold some fucking code that gave him a decent cushion. He’d worked for approximately two point five seconds before handing over money to an investment banker and stockbroker. Unlike me, he chose to take it for what it was and sit around all day.
I always liked to keep busy, though. I gave him props for doing that. Him, and Cole, actually. Cole was a retired figure skating coach, so he was pretty much free as a bird.
“Shady answer,” Cole said, scratching his chin. “What did you do? Illegal shit?”
They should have only known that I had been a suit, working for a publicly held corporation on Wall Street. I sniffled, leaning forward on the bar, jerking my gaze everywhere to make sure we didn’t have ears on our conversation. “Nick isn’t even my real name. I’ve been running from officials for years. I can’t do prison time again, though. I won’t.” When I was done trying to make them crap themselves, Augustus had his mouth open so wide I worried he’d catch flies, and Cole was laughing so hard that he had a hand to his chest.
I backed away, waiting for them both to give up their interrogation. We weren’t little girls looking to play togetherduring recess. I didn’t owe them anything. I gave them as much as I wanted to.
“You’re demented,” Cole replied, slapping Augustus’s back. “Man, lighten up. He’s only kidding.”
Augustus forced a swallow, glancing down at his intertwined hands.
“The inside of my stomach is gone,” a voice said, interrupting us and startling me as he crept up behind me like some stalker.
Ever heard of reading a room, pal? I turned around as the guy I was supposed to be training walked up beside me, laying his hand on my shoulder. All right, enough of that bullshit. I jerked him off, violently moving my arm and giving him a disgusted look. “What is that supposed to mean?” I questioned, getting a load of the green tint to his face. Apparently, he hadn’t been flushed down the toilet, but his head had been in one. It was just the same because I didn’t care about either.
“Dude, you don’t look so good,” Augustus said, stating the obvious and butting himself into my conversation with toilet boy.
I tossed the rag down and placed the glass beside it. “Why don’t you get out of here? I’ll talk to Jack, okay?” Then he could show you the door one final time. It’d be a blessing for all of us. Everyone would thank me. I’d come out looking like a hero, which I was far from.
He nodded, swallowing thickly as his Adam’s apple worked on overdrive. “I know I don’t like the smell of alcohol, but beer is the worst. Maybe this job isn’t for me. I just wanted to try something different, you know? I got laid off from my corporate job, and I never wanted to sit behind a desk all day anyway, so I thought it was a sign.”
No. The only sign was the one outside, and even that wasn’t normal because it was decked out in Christmas garb. He neededto wake the hell up and smell the smoke. “You figure that out. This place will be here if you want to try it out again. I’m sure Jack would be happy to talk to you about that.” Because I didn’t care to.
“Thanks, man,” he said, giving me a shit-eating grin. “You’ve been nice to me. I couldn’t have asked for a better man to show me the ropes.”
Whoa. I almost fell asleep with how boring that was. High school graduation speeches might have been less dull and less filled to the brim with flowery crap than what he just spewed in a couple of simple sentences.
As he left, Cole pulled on the back of his neck and angled his head toward the door. “Well, as much fun as this has been, I have someplace else to be,” Cole said, oversharing.
Augustus shrugged. “I’m good. I’ll have a beer.”
I nodded and got him one when my phone vibrated in my pocket with a new message.
Candy:Do you want a white tree or a green tree?
Nick:Since when do you ask for my opinion on decorations?
Candy:This is your Christmas.
Naturally.
Nick:What about a real one instead of a fire hazard this year?
Candy:Nick, you can’t be serious. Real trees smell.
Nick:I think I want a real tree. If it’s my Christmas, as you say, then that’s my choice. There’s a tree farm not far from the pub. We can spend the weekend here on Long Island and pick one up on our way home.
Candy:Maybe we can leave the real one on Long Island?
Nick:No.
Candy:How will we take photos with the photographer without a tree?
Nick:We’ll do it after.
