“I started an account. But then my account was flagged for review. Apparently content about death and transition services violates community guidelines.” Greg frowned. “I read the entire terms of service. I still don't understand what kind of content they want.”
Dustin made a sound Greg couldn’t quite place. Was that laughter or a cough? His face had gone red.
“Oh my god,” Dustin managed. “Oh my god. You—” He broke off, wheezing. “What was your username?”
“Field Reaper Greg.”
Dustin lost it.
He bent over, hands on his knees, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. Every time he seemed to be calming down, he'd look at Greg and start again.
Greg stood in the doorway with five dollars in one hand, clipboard in the other, and no idea what was happening.
“I don't understand,” he said. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Field—” Dustin gasped. “Field Reaper Greg. Content niche:death services.”
“It's my area of expertise.”
“That's not—” Dustin waved his hand in front of his face. “That's not what FansOnly is FOR, Greg.”
“The website said creators could monetize their unique skills. Death is my skill.”
Dustin finally straightened, wiping his eyes. He was still grinning—a real grin, not the sharp kind or the flirty kind Greg had seen before. It changed his whole face.
After a moment, though, the smile faded and a more sober expression settled on Dustin’s features as he regarded Greg. “Are you going to try to kill me again?” he asked.
“I don't know,” Greg replied honestly. “I hope not. Morrith ordered me to fix the situation. I’ve been ignoring his messages. I don't... I don't want to. But I don't know what happens if I keep failing. I don't know what they'll do.”
Dustin studied him for a long moment. Greg forced himself not to look away.
“So you're here because you're avoiding your boss.”
“I'm here because I made a promise about dinner.”
“With five dollars.”
“It seemed like enough.”
Dustin looked at him for another heartbeat or two, then the tension drained out of his shoulders. “You really don’t know anything,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “Okay. I’ll buy dinner. You can owe me.”
“But I made a promise?—”
“And you showed up with five bucks you panhandled from a senior citizen after trying to start a death-themed FansOnly.” Dustin shook his head. “You’ve paid your dues.”
Greg considered this. It didn't feel quite right—he'dsaid he would pay, and he hadn't—but Dustin was already grabbing his jacket from inside the room.
“Come on, Greg.” He stepped past him into the parking lot. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Greg hurried after him, the five dollar bill still clutched in his hand.
He'd figure out human currency eventually.
CHAPTER 14
Dustin drove.
He didn't know why he'd agreed to this. The guy had tried to kill him. He’d messed with his gear. And less than ten hours ago, he’d tried to get someone else killed.
