“I’m sorry for the hold,” he said. “You are reserving for Grimm?”
“Yes. Your hostess had an attitude problem.”
“She’s been reprimanded. How many in the party?”
“Three, but that could change… Things come up.”
I could hear his pen scratch against the paper. “Apologies, please let Grimm Reaper know the vodka is on the house.”
The change in attitude once I said Grimm wasn’t something I could ignore, rose-colored glasses or not.
Grimm Reaper?
How the hell did I not make fun of his nickname meaning that yet?
Kicking myself, I headed for the cash register to check out my stuff. The weight of his card in my wallet mocked me. I couldn’t use his card, even if it was justified. Item by item, she got closer to the end of my office haul, when I pressed my thumb against my own card and pushed it into the machine.
The strong, independent woman in me was judging me hard, even with his permission. I didn’t need my boss buying me Post-its and organizers to absolve himself of whatever bullshit he was going to put me through as his assistant.
He was going to ask for forgiveness, not just throw money at it and hope that made me blindly do whatever he asked. He wasn’t a model Clave employee, but he wasn’t going to just have me fish bullets out of his extremities, get planes, and call sex clubs without some rules being put into place first. None of this was work-related or something he truly needed help with.
He was trying to break me, and it wasn’t going to work.
Grabbing my bags and slinging them on my arm, I shot him a text, feeling jaded by his mind games and me not seeing through them.
That was the thing about rose-color anything: Once you take that filter off, you can’t see any color. Everything becomes so harshly black and white; there is no grey area for things to fall into. Just either black or white.
ME: All your tasks are done and your credit card went untouched. Do you plan on having me do anything work-related or are sex clubs it? I work for the Clave as a secretary, not your personal slave.
GRIMM: Did you get your period or something?
When men feel it’s okay to speculate or make some irrational assumptions when it comes to our bodies being the reason we are suddenly taking no bullshit is the epitome of why you have secretaries to get the job done.
Without us taking no bullshit, you probably would be a wreck—one not easily fixable either. So, the next time your mom, girlfriend, sister, friend who is a girl… suddenly becomes a kind of sane that seems crazy, just remember, it’s whatever the fuck you did to us that sucked out all the rose color from our reality.
ME: No, but if you ask me that again, you’ll be the one bleeding. I didn’t get my period. Your mind games just failed to work any longer.
GRIMM: 1. I don’t play games. 2. You work for me, not the Clave. 3. And that goes, for whatever I feel like having you do. Does that sum up everything you’re freaking out about?
ME: You’re an asshole.
GRIMM: Did someone lie to you and tell you I’m nice?
I couldn’t even argue with him. He was so maddening with all his clarity and bullet points he didn’t know I liked, making me more confused as to what his motives were with me being his assistant.
He didn’t do anything Clave related. He was using me for his own personal use, and it was feeling like slavery. I felt crazy and justified all at once, and I didn’t know how that was possible.
My phone buzzed in my hand as I stood outside the Office Depot doors on the sidewalk, making it obvious to Jus I was done if she was looking for me.
GRIMM: My reservations done? That is, in fact, Clave related. Zeus owns the Clave, and I just happen to be the only one he likes.
My whole body felt hot, blood pressure pumping at alarm highs, and my fingers texted back so quickly I wondered if I was erupting all over him again.
ME: How about we just make some boundaries and rules for both our sakes? Clave business only.
ME: P.S. Reservations are done.
GRIMM: Right after you drop off my card at Sins and Forgiveness tonight. Kind of need that.
My phone read 3:30 p.m. I should have been at work still, but Grimm left and I had nothing to do, so I reasoned with myself to leave early to get supplies. Plenty of time to drop off his card to him anywhere else. This was a direct response to my outburst and a continuation of his mind games.
ME: And you don’t need it for dinner?
GRIMM: I’ve been going to Chow since I was 10. I have a tab.
Control freak.
I supposed that I should be elated that he didn’t have a tab at the sex club. Somehow that wasn’t helping my mood slip back into my baseline positive and hopeful that I normally was. I couldn’t shake feeling used and lied to by the one person who seemed so straightforward.
Jus had a past she refused to talk about, my parent’s stifled marriage, Los Angeles in every facet… and now I could add the one kind of mask I hated most on men: liar.
Grimm wasn’t Vic, and everything about their differences felt like a lie, because I had missed what was right in front of my face.
GRIMM
I’d only ever met Zeus once before. I didn’t know I made a lasting impression, let alone made someone want to hang out with me specifically.
It was brief, and I was a sixteen-year-old asshole, mad that we were sent to some private school with no other students. They still made us attend the dinners and parties. I barely remember it; only his name really stood out, naturally.
Vic was better at kissing ass.
Far be it from being my decision, any decision, I was as much of a puppet as the rest of the world. Nothing was a choice, even from this view, inside the inner circle. Zeus wanted me to show him around LA because I reminded him of his brother. They said, “his brother” like I knew who the fuck that was. Guess I perfected making it look like I was paying attention in meetings.
I wasn’t.
I texted Khaos quickly, being a smart ass: Let me guess his brother is Hades?
KHAOS: Damn, bro. You really don’t give a shit. Yeah, cruel parents, huh?
GRIMM: You’ve got to be shitting me. So he likes me because I remind him of some badass dude from mythology?
KHAOS: Yep. You’re basically there. Just some badass from Christianity’s version.
GRIMM: I’ll be sure to remember that the next time I’m hating what we do. Thanks.
Los Angeles was a weird place, but naming your kids after mythological figures? More than weird.
I abandoned Jason our second year at the private school with only us attending. He was too weak to survive, too hopeful, too innocent to keep doing the bad shit that I kept doing.
I adopted the name Grimm as a joke, until it stuck.
Now I wasn’t some comical shorthand for Grim Reaper, but apparently I was now a tour guide for mythological nuts. Great.
I had been sulking in my bed since I left work. The blinds were keeping the sun out, and the TV was on some show about a guy and tigers, but on mute. My hand tipped the bottle of Xanax back and forth, like it was a rain maker. I was doing my best to create enough space in my mind to be someone who shows others a good time.
My desire to tap out and text Vic to do it was overwhelming. The anxiety of this gripped my chest and wasn’t letting go. I was used to breathing shallow, stale air while the monster got a chance to breathe too.