“What?”
“Nothing.” Then, “I’ll see you tonight?” I tried to make it sound like fact, but it came out a question against my will.
“Yeah,” he said, sounding softer. “I’ll be there.”
“Good,” I said, feeling awkward. “Okay. Um. So. Bye.”
“Bye, Sandy.” And the line disconnected.
Mike was staring back at his computer. “The second Saturday in December?”
I nodded.
“And are we sure it has to be one hundred percent of the proceeds?” he lamented. “Maybe we could do a split. Seventy-thirty?”
“Jesus Christ, Mike. Let it go for once. We need all the funds we can get. One hundred percent of the door charge, the liquor sales, the money from the auction, the Super Gays donation. All of it.”
“You’re going to bankrupt me, princess.”
“Bullshit. It’s one fucking night. You’ll live. And in case you forgot, I’m doing this for you.”
“You sure about that?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s strange.” He looked back at me. “For someone who claims to hate him, you do seem awfully affectionate with Darren Mayne. The flirting alone was out of control.”
“You know that whole smug thing you’re doing?” I asked. “Stow it before I scratch your fucking eyes out. I wasn’t flirting.” I was totally flirting. And Darren was totally flirting back, what the hell. Today had been the weirdest day of my life.
His grin only widened. “So defensive. One might think you’re hiding something, princess. Care to share something with a dear old friend?”
I glared at him. “One, we’re not friends. Two, there’s nothing to share. Three, Darren and I are not together, we’ve never been together, and we’ll never be together. I’m only agreeing to fake date him so we can take down his father and save this bar. That’s it. Nothing more.”
And didn’t I just feel shitty saying that out loud. Even though it was the truth. Because that’s really all this was. Maybe Darren was flirting with me, but that didn’t mean anything. He was Daniel Day-Lewising me just as much as I was Meryl Streeping him. I couldn’t let myself forget that.
But before I could respond any further, the jig, as they say, was up.
“Of course it wasn’t that easy,” a voice sighed behind me.
I whirled around.
Charlie stood in the doorway to the trailer, looking strangely saddened as he watched me.
“Well shit,” I said.
HAVE YOU ever had an old leather daddy stare at you in such a way that you know he’s extremely disappointed in you and if he thought he could get away with it, he’d have you spread bare ass over his knee and would give you the spanking of your life in a nonsexy way?
Yeah. Me too.
Mike took the reins, filling in the blanks after I started blabbering at Charlie, trying to salvage the situation, because if there was one thing I hated more than almost anything else, it was to see Charlie looking upset over something I’d done. It might not have affected him, not directly, but he still felt responsible for me, a years old promise he’d made to Vaguyna about watching over me after she was gone.
After Mike had finished and threatened Charlie (“This is going to stay quiet, Charlie, so help me god. I know people and can have you taken out.”) and Charlie gave the appropriate response (“Boy, you don’t know shit, and I’d be careful if I was you before you find yourself tied to a sawhorse and get the strapping of your life, you understand me?”), Mike kicked us out of his office with a meek “Yes, sir,” leaving me on my own with Charlie. As soon as we were out the door, I heard it lock behind us, the traitor.
“Charlie—” I started, but he held up a hand to cut me off.
“Not here,” he muttered. “You get your butt up to the Queen’s Lair. No dawdling. Don’t make me tell you twice. Step to it.”
And when Charlie told you to do something in that tone of voice, you did it.