“I’ve got to say, you really know how to pick them,” Charles Northcutt says, coming in. He’s white, my age, possibly in better shape, although it could be that he just dresses to show it off more. He’s also a pompous dick and Valdman’s other favorite employee.
I hate him.
“Don’t sit down,” I say.
He sits down. “That nun, Zenobia, holy fuck, she’s something else. I bet the body she’s got under all those Jesus clothes is to die for.”
The cloud of red anger is instantaneous. I look down at where my hands rest on my laptop keyboard and they’re shaking. What the fuck is wrong with me? I hate Northcutt and I think he’s a dog, but I’ve never gotten so personally incensed at the stupid shit he says—although maybe I should have been getting personally incensed before.
“What do you want, Charles?” I ask in a flat voice that makes it clear that I don’t care. Except maybe I care a little bit if it’s about Zenny; I have to push away from my desk and cross my arms so that he doesn’t see how fucking furious I am to hear him talking about her that way. Which is purely because she’s Elijah’s little sister. And I promised to keep her safe…and Northcutt is not safe.
Unfortunately, Northcutt is not fooled by my forced nonchalance, and a new glitter enters his eyes. “So why’d you hand this back over to Valdman, eh? The nun turn you down?”
“I keep my dick in my pants when I work,” I bite back, which is a lie, and we both know it. I’ve never crossed any kinds of lines with subordinates or coworkers, but I’m the king of the work party fuck, the convention hotel bar hookup, the entertainer of bored wives. And I’ve literally never cared, except right now I do care, because I don’t have any moral high ground on Charles, and that’s not a good feeling. I would like to think of myself as very different from him. I mean, I’m a white man myself, but the first white man to make another white man go oh God the privilege is real was Charles Northcutt.
“Well, whatever the reason you handed her over to me, I wanted to thank you. I think I’m going to have a lot of fun peeling the virginity off that one.”
Thwack.
I’m just as surprised as Northcutt when my hand comes slamming down on my desk, but I don’t stop to analyze what I’ve done. “You stay the hell away from her,” I growl.
“Or what?” Northcutt asks, his eyebrows raised in mild amusement. “You were the one who stepped back, Sean. What did you think Valdman was going to do when you asked him to find someone else? Trust your potentially firm-destroying mistake to an intern?”
I’m pissed because he’s right, and I should have known all this, planned for it and thought about it before I asked Valdman for permission to step away. But fuck. I was so messed up from Zenny and my promise to Elijah…and that broken-off kiss and my sleepless night with Mom at the hospital and—
Northcutt stands up, buttoning his jacket and giving me a smile so devoid of true human expression it could only be called sharklike. “See you around,” he says, turning to leave, and I hate that I’m playing right into his hands by calling him back, but I can’t help it, I’m too furious and also too scared. I don’t want this shark anywhere near Zenny.
“Charles, I’ll handle it from here on out, okay? If this was your way of trying to dump this back in my lap, you’ve succeeded. You won. I hope you’re happy.”
More shark teeth. “Oh, not at all, Mr. Bell. I like this girl, and I’m going to keep working this little shelter project of yours with her until I’m done liking her.”
“This isn’t a fucking daycare, Charles. It’s not like taking dibs on a toy.”
“And this isn’t fucking dodgeball, Sean. You don’t get to change sides whenever you feel like it, and there’re real-life consequences in being shit at the game. So I’m going to fix this mess for you, look good for Valdman, and have fun while I’m doing it.”
I stand up, not caring how ridiculous it is that I’m considering getting in a legitimate fistfight in my own goddamn office. “Stay away from her.”
He laughs a laugh as cold as his smile. “Just try and stop me,” he says as he walks out of my office.
“You can plan on it,” I mutter to his back, and once he’s out of sight, I kick my desk, I kick it extra fucking hard, and then I go to find Valdman.
Valdman isn’t in his office, and according to Trent the Secretary, he won’t be in until the following Tuesday. I have Trent forward a message that I want Northcutt as far away from the nuns as possible—for the sake of the company and the company’s reputation.
Trent glances up at me as I’m dictating the message. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Am I saying that Northcutt has joked about fucking a nun? Yes.”
Trent makes a face. “I hate that guy,” he says sotto voce.
“Me too.”
After Trent finishes the message, I lean onto his desk, keeping my voice low. “Can you see any of Northcutt’s schedule?”
Trent gives me a slow, wary nod.
I hold up my hands. “I don’t want you to do anything shady. I just want to make sure that he’s not scheduled to meet with any of the Good Shepherd sisters before I can have a face to face with Valdman.”
This seems to resonate with Trent’s personal moral code, and he goes into Northcutt’s schedule, verifying that the nuns are safe until Tuesday, at least. Thus marginally reassured, I decide to call it a day and head home, even though it’s barely time for lunch. Tonight is Family Dinner, which is definitely not about checking up on Mom and extra definitely not about checking up on Dad. I’ve hired a company to provide all of Mom and Dad’s meals while she’s going through chemotherapy, which is pleasant and reassuring for a lot of reasons, but it does mean I don’t have an excuse to go over early to help with cooking. If I go over now, Mom will accuse me of hovering and flap at me until I stop making her “feel like she has cancer.”
No, it’s better just to stay away until dinnertime.
I get in my car, think of all the eggs and kale waiting for me in my fridge, and steer my car toward my favorite greasy food dispensary, an ancient joint called Town Topic. After devouring a triple cheeseburger and fries right there at the diner counter, I decide to head home and properly sort out this nun mess once and for all. I’ve already found a few good leads for a shelter replacement this week; I’m going to find the perfect spot, pitch it to Zenny (safely…like over the phone), listen to her voice light up in admiration and relief, and then I can extricate myself from this tangle.
It’s as I’m driving home that Aiden pulls out from the Kauffman Center (it’s unmistakably his car—a black Lexus LFA with the license plate BELLBOY and a healthy coating of gravel dust from his dumb farmhouse commute).
I lay on the horn until my center console lights up with a phone call.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Aiden says, by way of greeting.
“What is wrong with you? You’re the one driving a Lexus covered in dirt. Get a goddamned truck.”
“No.”
“Or maybe move back to the city?”