Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
That doesn’t sound remotely like something I’d say.
And half the room agrees, while the other half is undecided.
Wham Bam shrugs and starts swaying with the cat again. A few of the hard looks on the assembled faces melt away.
“He even offered me his house to stay while I’m here, knowing that a hotel would be impossible to set up for any length of stay. He got cat posts, litter boxes, all the food Peach Lips loves, and gave us the space all to ourselves.”
What the double, triple fuck is Ephemeral playing at?
Because now, jaws are dropping. She’s ruining my reputation. Not that I’ve done anything to build it. When you’re the boss, and you’re relatively quiet and private, plus a good dose of hardly ever here equals so much mystery, AND you’ve done all you can do to erase most of your past from every which direction, people just make up what they will to fill in the blanks.
The only thing people do know about me for sure is that my work ethic trends toward perfection, so every client goes away utterly satisfied. They know I’m married to this place. I also very rarely respond to anything in any way other than grunts. Happy grunts, not-so-happy grunts, satisfied or unsatisfied grunts.
I suppose, overall, I’m intimidating and unfriendly.
I’d like to snap something about scraping jaws off the floor and making sure nothing imploded in the past ten minutes, but I refrain. Barely.
Probably only because Ephemeral smiles directly at me, and I’m so blinded by the light of it that I forget all about being an asshole.
Wait. What’s happening right now?
Is she saying all this stuff to disarm me again? Because whatever she did yesterday worked. Not only did I forget all about tearing up new assholes when it came to block parties, but I went…soft. Over a sandwich. It might have been the best sandwich I’ve ever had in my life, but still. I don’t know what happened. I thought about it for half the night last night while I was sleeping on the Murphy bed in my office.
Have we shifted from trying to argue each other out of breath to grounding the halt gears on the life-ruining? Are we not trying to out-class each other? Is that why Ephemeral is being so nice and giving me credit I don’t deserve?
Intentional or not, she’s thrown down a sort of challenge, and it’s not in my nature to let it go.
I clear my throat. “I was going to give the announcement later today that in honor of the special circumstances, the company is going to be making a yearly donation of a hundred thousand dollars to animal charities. Every. Year.”
Ephemeral must not be well acquainted with the theory that nothing is free. Kindness can, and often does, cost quite a lot. Either that, or she knows it well, and that’s why her eyes are huge and tearing up. The way she’s looking at me now, like I just set the whole world to rights, rocks me.
It hits me in ways I didn’t expect.
You get to a point in your life where your past dictates your future to a degree that you know you’re going to end up alone. I might work in close proximity to other people, but I knew I’d never have a special connection with anyone. I didn’t want it, and I knew they wouldn’t want me the way I was. The thought of buying someone’s “love” still grosses the hell out of me. Hard pass. No thanks. Whatever beasts are inside me that I still haven’t tamed—and I’ve done a number on most of them—roll and settle and start to purr like I’m Peach Lips, waiting for Ephemeral’s sweet and kind touch.
She’s still clapping straight through her tear-filled eyes. Her smile is so huge now that she looks like she has two separate faces—a top and a bottom—but not in a scary way.
I feel the whole room swivel to stare at me. The attention is unnerving, and the silence is even worse right before they all break out into applause as well.
And then…
The unthinkable.
Hugs.
People are hugging me.
All I can do is stand there and take it. And worry about my fake facial hair ripping off. Even when John comes up to grab my hand and starts pumping it vigorously up and down, I have no further thoughts about rearranging his arms and legs.
Wham Bam hands Peach Lips back to Ephemeral, and then the whole marketing team tries to usher her away, already excited to further discuss her rebranding, which she is ostensibly here for.
Because of me, although that’s obviously not true.
Ephemeral doesn’t turn around and look back at me, although she could. The crowd isn’t that thick. That determined, forward-facing stride is like getting the last word in an argument. All I can do is stand here awkwardly, at a loss, knowing full well that I’m out of control. I should be giving more fucks about all this—the merger which is falling through, the hundred grand I just promised per year, the woman who has invaded my house and now my workplace and made everyone fall in love with her and her potato cat, and my reputation, both personal and professional—but I’m just here.