On one hand, I don’t hate it. But on the other hand, I am still very much confused.
I am also excited, after being trapped in his apartment for days and days, to be able to get dressed up and go out. And to a posh seafood place nonetheless. If this is Ransome’s idea of a last meal, I don’t even mind dying after. There are worse ways to go than with a belly full of caviar.
While I’m getting ready, my mind wanders to where it might be. And when my phone rings, I realize I almost forgot he even gave it back.
“Hey!” I answer on the third ring, excited to finally talk to Electra again.
“Oh my God, you actually answered!” She shrieks loudly enough that I yank the phone away from my ear.
Between the volume that is most likely only going to crescendo and the fact that I am still in the middle of flat-ironing my hair, I decide to switch to speaker phone.
“I know, I’m sorry,” I say.
“For real, girl, where have you been?”
“Working. A lot,” I tell her. Technically, it’s not untrue.
“You ghosted. Not just me, but the date. I had to cancel. Which is a shame, because these boys were hot. No crooked noses or creepy Joe Goldberg vibes at all.”
“I mean, I guess it’s a plus if you can find a guy that’s not going to hold you hostage and possibly kill you,” I joke, and then realize just how bad that joke is right now.
Electra doesn’t seem to find it all that funny either. “Seriously, Amara. I was really worried about you. You never go radio silent.”
“My phone was lost,” I say. It’s not a complete lie either. “Turns out it was in a work car.”
“You have a work car?” she asks. Okay, that part is a little bit of a stretch.
“Sometimes,” I answer. Jesus. If I wasn’t literally looking at myself in the mirror right now, I’d be worried I was starting to look like Pinocchio.
“Alright. Well, I’m glad you’re okay. Though I do have to admit this job is starting to worry me.”
“My job is going well,” I tell her, reaching for another lock of hair.
“Are you sure about that? Because I feel like this sexy but psycho boss of yours has your hands tied.”
I bite my lips. There are a number of things in this conversation that are meant to be metaphorical and yet… aren’t.
“He’s paying me very well,” I say as I look down at the dress. “Treating me well too.”
“Really? Your boss? The guy that stormed your date to go off on you about work? That guy?”
“Yes. And by the way, he kind of saved me from a real creep that day, no thanks to you.”
“He was a little handsy, wasn’t he?” I can literally hear her grimacing through the phone. “My bad. But this guy, the one from the date we were supposed to go on, isn’t like that at all.”
“Are you sure about that?” I ask as I apply lip gloss.
“Oh, yeah. He’s a nurse.”
“A nurse?” I ask.
“An ER nurse. And he has tattoos. How hot is that?”
“A tattooed ER nurse.” I echo, making sure every hair is in place.
“If you want, I can tell them you had Covid or something and couldn’t make it. They both work at the hospital, I’m sure they’d understand. They’d probably take us somewhere nicer than Mulligans too.”
“I can’t,” I say apologetically, making my way to the door to slip into my heels. “I’m busy.”
