“I’m trying to help.” He frowns.
Ah. “So you’ve come to your senses about this morning, then!” I declare, nodding. “This makes perfect sense.” I stifle a yawn. “I suppose I will accept this apology if I make… oh… two hundred dollars? That seems reasonable for a Monday evening.”
He shrugs. “I set up an extra tip jar specifically for helping you fund the fixes. It’ll stay up until you have everything you need.”
I freeze.
He what now?
Shoulders tense, he clears his throat. “The faster to get you out of my house. Of course.”
“Right. Of course.” Except for that the timeline doesn’t change if I pay Emerson and Warren faster. They’d never put off emergency work because of payment. Heck, they haven’t evenaskedme about payment yet. They just got to work.
Which means… what? That Fox did this out of the goodness of his heart? Forme?
My eyes narrow.
Something’s fishy around here.
“What are you doing?” I ask, straight out.
“Being a decent employer?” he replies, one eyebrow rising to challenge my distrust. As if this man has ever given me reason to describe him as “a decent employer.”
“Right… being a decent employer… something you always do. Every time I am employed by you. Because obviously you’re not the same guy who tries to fire me every other day. Or the one who decided it was better to have no manager at all than to promote me to the job when I practically begged for it and definitely deserved it.” Not that I’m bitter or anything. “I must have you confused with your evil triplet, Faux.”
He nods, like this makes perfect sense. “If you’re done being weird about it, we have work to do.”
He whirls, walking to the other end of the bar.
Begrudgingly, I call after him, “Thank you!”
He waves my gratitude away, but otherwise doesn’t reply, discomfort making itself known in the rigid line of his shoulders and the taut pull of his shirt against his stiff movements.
It takes hours before he bothers to work past his being-nice-to-Poem induced unease at the situation to acknowledge me enough to look me in the eye again, and even longer before he deigns tospeakto me.
When he does, though, I’m well past feeling grateful and tolerant of his immature handling of the apparently taxing task of being kind to me, andwellinto feeling like maybe I should make his life just that little bit more…
Hmm.
Exciting.
Chapter Fourteen
?
Kissing? In chapter fourteen? Are youkiddingme?
Poem
“Poem,” Fox growls, sliding behind me to get to the beer cooler. “Why don’t you make all those tips you’re getting worth their time and actuallyservesomeone?”
Ah. So Mister Communication is talking to me again. And not just talking, butgrowling. How splendid. How mature. Howinspiring.
“An excellent idea!” I declare. I hop up on the bar, grinning at the regulars below me. “Turn the music up, Harry! The boss says I have toearnmy tips today.”
The older, bedraggled sweetie pie smiles up at me, silver tooth glinting. “You want rock or roll today, sweetheart?”
I bite my lip, then shrug. “Surprise me!”
