So I close the tab when Mr. Anders’s stone-faced image appears, looking like it was taken from theWho’s Whosection of a high school yearbook.
“What about rent here?” I ask. “You won’t be able to afford this place on your own.” As it stands, we share a single-bedroom apartment. And struggle to make ends meet every single month.
“You’ll be making a million dollars. To relieve the tax burden, you can make charitable donations to your favorite pitiful organization.” Rolling over, she pulls her laptop onto her stomach, lifts her arm, and points down at herself. “AKA, me.”
“You really haven’t found anything concerning? Like…a conspiracy about how he probably keeps bodies in his basement or attacks women for sport?”
Her dark eyes cut to me. “You’ve cleaned his basement.”
“I’ve cleaned hisvacationbasement. You keep bodies in yourhomebasement.”
“You’ve been cleaning hishomebasement this year, haven’t you? You said he bought the place. Find any bodies down there?”
Well, no. But also, this is like asecondhome basement. Bodies are always kept in aprimaryhome basement. This information, however, I don’t find necessary to share, so I merely frown at Fawn, lip jutted with rampant disapproval.
Her eyes roll. “It’s a great opportunity. And I wouldn’t tell you to do it if I thought it was dangerous.”
“You are blinded by money.”
“A hundred grand is alotof money. What’s the worst that could happen in exchange for it?”
“I could be brutalized and murdered by a billionaire for sport. We both know that justbeinga billionaire is unethical. Their moral code does not exist.”
“Damion’s old money. He inherited his wealth from his father, who inherited it from his father, who inherited it from his father, and so on. Also, I keep finding articles about him volunteering at weird places.” She turns her computer toward me. “He literally dressed up as Batman for some sick kids in the hospital a year ago, and he’s done different heroes periodically in the past.”
“It’s publicity stunts, to distract from his thriving hobby as a murderer. Also, he has the gravelly Batman voice au naturale.” I gasp. “He’s a billionaire, with a hyper-realistic bat costume at the readyandthe voice for it. Fawn,what if—”
“What ifyou come back to reality? I don’t think he’s a murderer, and I don’t think he’s Batman, but if you really dothink he’s Batman, you can’t think he’s a murderer, because Batman doesn’t do that, and,also, wouldn’t you like to work for Batman, Mira? Hm? Wouldn’t that be fun?”
I wouldloveto work for Batman.
I take a moment, consider the option.
Then I remember to actually come back to reality—you know, that place where Batman doesn’t exist.
Reality kinda bombs, ngl.
Fawn smirks, continuing, “Go be Lady Alfred, Mira. I give you my blessing.”
“Oh boy,” I drawl. “Thanks.”
Fawn mutters for a minute, then declares, “Roughly five thousand a month, minus taxes, no room or board to worry about. Are meals included in this deal?”
“Um. I’ll be making them for him, but I don’t know if he’ll let me eat with him, or if I’ll be bringing his food to him then going to fend off the scraps in the kitchen by myself.”
Heartless, Fawn waves a hand. “Right, right, yes. You’ll probably fend for scraps right before you fall asleep on the hearth by the fireplace, Cinderella. Berealistic—do you think meals will be included.”
Realistic. I’m good at realistic. “I don’t know.”
“Okay, so a couple hundred dollars a month for food and personal items. Heck, I’ll give it a thousand. You still have four thousand dollars left. Every month. To donate. To me. Naturally.” She scoffs and smiles. “Oh, what am I saying? I’m more benevolent than that. I shall only request a modest three thousand per month, leaving you an entire extra thousand to play with.”
I slump. “Fawn…be realistic.”
“I’m terrible at realistic. I prefer to be fantastic.”
In that moment, I receive a Discord notification. From Fawn. In our private server. So I deign to open the program and stare at the Google Sheets link she’s sent me. “What’s this?”
“Oh, if only it were labeled.”
