Halfway through our lunch of a double XL pizza and a couple beers, August handed over another one.
“Is this only about your dad?” He folded his pepperoni and double cheese slice in half, determined to fit even more into his mouth.
I tapped out after three oversized slices. August ate like a linebacker, but looked like a surfer. I’d need to get back into the gym before Rollie Pollie returned.
“Do I have a giant scroll screen across my forehead?”
“No, but you’ve looked at your phone five times in the last ten minutes. Since I’m here, I know you’re not anticipating a witty message from me, and your dad barely uses the phone. Is this about Zara? The one with the ring?”
I balled up my napkin and set it down, wanting to throw it. “She called right after I left my dad’s house and I flipped on her. We’ve got this thing to do tomorrow where we have to be a pretend fake happy couple and I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t knee me in the balls the next time she saw me.”
August chuckled. “Couples do that.”
“Not happily engaged couples.”
He downed more of his beer. “Can’t help you there.”
“You two were happy.”
“Were we? You don’t stand up in front of all your friends and family with your best man at your side, not even able to stand still because you’re so happy to see your soon-to-be bride, and watch your doom walk down the aisle toward you, if you’re actually happy.” He drained the rest of his beer and arched the can through the air, watching it clatter into the empty recycling.
“Whatever was going on with her, you were happy.”
“I was delusional.” August dragged his hands down his face. “Mid-day drinking is already beyond me. We’re getting old. And I’m ordering a taxi.”
“If you pull any ‘we’re getting too old for this’ shit—I swear.”
“Fine, I only feel like an old man, but know we are in fact way too young for this shit. You’re at the end of a career and I feel like a bitter divorced man, only I never got married.”
“At least we know our roles.”
“I have back-up popcorn tins at my place if you need them. I’m only a call away. We took for granted being able to hop on our bikes and walk into each other’s houses, growing up.”
“What do you call what you just did?”
August laughed and picked up his keys. “True. I need to get back to work.”
“You serious?”
“I can do it with my eyes closed.” He closed them and touched one finger to his nose, missing, and poking himself in his eye. “My tolerance is gone.” Hanging his head in shame, he let the door close behind him.
At least there’s someone out there who has my back and a ball pit full of flavored popcorn.
Bracing myself, I sent Zara a text.
Me: Do you need me to do anything else for tomorrow?
Ginersnap: No.
Me: I’ll be at your place at 6am tomorrow
Gingersnap: Fine.
Her single word answers seethed even over text. Who’d said this was supposed to be easy? Oh, that was me. What a moron.
Better head to bed early tonight to prepare for the clusterfuck headed my way tomorrow.
16
Zara
“Do you have everything?” Leo called out the second I opened the passenger side door.
I slid into my seat and turned to drop my things into the back seat. Turning to him, I held up one finger—not the one I wanted, but the one that wouldn’t send our tenuous truce spiraling and ruin our first chance to prove ourselves. “One time. I forgot something once.”
“Which happened to be the most important set of documents. Can’t fault me for double checking. What was it you said?” He tapped his chin. “It’s not personal. It’s business.”
I jammed my seatbelt on, simmering that he’d thrown my own words back at me.
“This will be the first time we’ll see Kathleen since we won the job. Let’s set some ground rules.”
“This’ll be good.” Leo pulled into traffic and we started our hour-long drive out to the estate. He had on his favorite work uniform. A light blue button-down rolled up so his sinewy forearms flexed every time he moved. There were muscle groups there I hadn’t known existed. “I’m all ears.” He cupped his hand around his ear, once again reminding me how infuriating he was.
“You took a few liberties at the presentation when—”
“When you made the unilateral split-second decision to fake an engagement to dupe a client and win us the advantage.” His gaze cut to mine. “I think I wasn’t the only one taking liberties.” He added a hands-totally-off-the-steering-wheel set of air quotes to the last word.
“Hands on the wheel.” I reached for it.
He pushed my hands back over to my side of the car.
I huffed. “I’ve apologized, but we’re in it now, so I’d like to set some ground rules so we’re both on the same page.”
“Go for it, Gingersnap.”
“Number 1: No more use of Gingersnap.”
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean the opposite of yes. No. I don’t know why you’re so offended—it describes you to a T. Plus, Kathleen has already heard me call you that a few times. If I never use it, then she might think something is up. We wouldn’t want her to think we’re fighting, would we, Gingersnap?”
My jaw clenched. “Fine. You can use it up to twice a day and only in front of Kathleen.”
He let out a huff of amusement, but no further response.
“Number 2: Hand placement is exclusive to the hand, shoulder and back from the waist up.”
“Kathleen’s going to think you’re giving me the cold shoulder.”
“Couples who work together must appear professional, or it gives the wrong impression. I trust your acting abilities with these constraints.”
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to hold onto you too long—my hand might freeze off.”
My anger kicked up from simmer to roar. “We’re working together for now, but don’t forget what this is: every man for himself when it comes to being the lead on this account.”
“Thanks for clearing up exactly where we stand. Here I thought we could collaborate. Find a way to work together as professional adults to decimate Oren & Co. And then use the final presentation as a cage match to decide who will be the reigning champ.”
After everything, was he freaking kidding me?
He tilted his head, catching my gaze. “Can we get through the next few weeks without drawing blood, and then you can go for the jugular after we beat Oren and Co.?”
A slow smile spread across my face. His smile dropped a bit. It was my chew-you-up-and-spit-you-out smile. The one that meant the shit list just got another name. The one Bobby Fallon saw in the seventh grade when he snipped my hair in shop class and I used a nail gun to pin him to the classroom door by his underwear.
For the past two years this grin had been locked up and I’d been on my best behavior, but now Leo had cracked open the cage and it was fucking on. He, Oren & Co., Bill and anyone else who doubted me would see what I was made of.