Page 9 of Wrong Car, Wright Guy
My cheeks burn like the fire of a thousand suns. “You pulled me up too fast. I was dizzy.”
With a chuckle, he resumes throwing his ball. “Regardless, if you can stay upright, your job is to be at my beck and call.”
“You want me to be your beck and call girl?”
“I didn’t say call girl. But if you insist…” He quirks his brow. I scowl.
“I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
“That’s interesting, I seem to remember you offering me the chance to get toknowyou the other night—with the stipulation I like curvy women, of course.” Catching the ball, he returns it to his desk and flexes his fingers against the wood, leaning forward and leveling me with bright, mirthful eyes.
“That wasbeforeI knew that car was yours, andbeforeyou became my new boss.Plus,I was reasonably intoxicated, so nothing I said at that point can be held against me.”
“What about what you drew? Can that be held against you?”
My mouth opens and closes as I try to find the right words. “Itoldyou I’d pay for that,” I say finally, doing my best to speak calmly. “And I intend to. There’s no need for this…this”—I gesture to the area where my workstation is to be—“bullshit job you created to fuck with me.”
“This job isn’t bullshit, Miss Casey. I needed a PA, and you needed a better-paying job so you could afford to fix my car. I helped you when I could have taken you to court and made your life harder. You should be thanking me.”
“For screwing with my career?”
“You said you were stuck in a dead-end job with little pay, struggling with student loans, and that you’d have to quiteatingin order to pay off the cost of fixing my car. Quite frankly, Miss Casey, I don’t like the idea of you giving up food. For the record, Idoenjoy curvy women, so seeing those curves of yours melt away for the sake of my paint job would be a great tragedy in my opinion. So, rather than make you suffer, Iprovidedyou with an opportunity to make your life better. What a bastard I am.”
“I didn’taskyou to make my life better,” I argue, clinging to my resolve. “Yes, my pay packet sucked, but Ilikebeing a board operator. I don’t even know how to be a personal assistant. I can barely assist myself day-to-day, let alone be responsible for someone else.”
Pressing his mouth into a straight line, he shifts around the desk so he’s sitting on the edge in front of where I’m standing. “Listen,” he starts, softening his tone as he meets my eyes. “It’s difficult to find a PA who isn’t also a kiss-ass. Based on what you drew on my car, you aren’t one to hold back. And judging by your reason for putting it there, I’d say you’re very loyal. Those are two qualities I need in the people in my inner circle.” There’s a slight vulnerability in his expression that has my hardened heart softening toward him. What he’s saying seems kind and logical, and even parts of my brain are joining my ovaries and waving pompoms the color of Tanner’s eyes in support of him. But all of this—giving me a better job and flattering me with his assessment of my character—doesn’t change who he is and what he stands for and encourages. I just can’t be OK with that.
“While I appreciate what you’re saying, Tanner, the people I’m loyal to are my family and friends. To you, I don’t know what I am. I listened to your past shows, you know. All I learned was that you’re a bigot and a boor. You should be canceled for the content of your shows alone. Instead, you’re being celebrated as the savior of the station.”
He folds his arms across his chest, his expression darkening. “I see. You’re one ofthosepeople who want to quash freedom of speech.”
“Absolutely not! I’mallfor freedom of speech. What I’m against is spreading hate.”
“Spreading hate. That’s how you view my show?”
Mirroring his position, I fold my arms across my chest, my chin jutting out defiantly. “Of course that’s how I view it. Your show promotes views like being gay is a choice. I happen to have a relative who fought long and hard with his sexuality, and I can assure you he had no choice in the matter.”
His brows hit his hairline. “Is that what I said personally? Do you have a direct quote of me saying such a thing?”
“It was onyourshow. You reiterated and expanded on what your caller was saying.”
“But did I ever use the words, ‘I think’? Because I don’tthinkI did. Show topics arenotmy personal opinion, Ruby. I’m a moderator for the open discussion of controversial topics.”
“You encourage people to voice their narrow-mindedness and you never educate them otherwise.”
“Nowthatis some serious bullshit. Why do you think there’s always one caller who’s for and one who’s against the topic on air? It’s your classic debate structure. And if you paidanyattention to my shows, you’d also know that Ineveroffer up my own opinion. I am an impartial participant who asks questions to reiterate and expand upon the opinions theybothvoice. Each of them gets equal airtime, and I knowfor a fact,that we’ve changed lives doing this show. So, don’t youdarecome in here and act all high and mighty like you’re somehow better than me just because you’re offended onbehalfof someone else.”
“On behalf of mytwinbrother. I think I know him.”
“Really? Did you ask him to listen to the show and gethisopinion on it? Or are you just guessing?”
My mouth falls open, then closes again. Then it opens and closes a few more times. He’s got me there. “I think I know how my twin feels about things.”
“Fine. You’re right and I’m the asshole in the room,” he says, waving a hand dismissively as he lets out his breath. “Listen, your opinion is your own, and I don’t think I can do a lot to change that right now. You’re not the first person to think my show represents me as a human, and you won’t be the last. So, let’s just start again. Boss and employee, yeah?”
A lump forms in my throat as I nod. I’m not sure how I feel toward the man standing in front of me, but boss and employee? That feels like a downgrade. Like somehow all that’s come before this moment—the arguing as well as the attraction—doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t think we can ever truly be on the same page; we seem to be too predisposed to butting heads with each other for that. But, maybe for all my refusal and bluster, I actuallywantto matter to Tanner Wright? Even if it’s just as an adversary. Or someone you could hate-fuck against a wall. The tiny cheerleading ovaries and brain bits lower their pompoms and shake their head at me divisively. All hope is lost, and now I’m just…an employee. “We can start again,” I manage, feeling contrite.
“Excellent,” Tanner says, as he leans across his desk and takes something from the top drawer. “This is a list of your duties.” He hands a wad of stapled pages to me before pushing off the desk and pacing the floor.
