King Hunt (Boys of Brisley 1)

Chapter Five:

Tale As Old As Time

My phone ringing wokeme seconds before a pounding headache kicked in. Hangovers were a bitch on a good day, and this one seemed to have spawned straight from the depths of hell itself. I took notice of the Advil Dual Action pills on a napkin and the glass of water I didn’t remember setting there as I grabbed my phone to answer it.

“Hmm?” I knew I sounded every bit the mess I was, especially when I glanced to my left and gasped loudly at the sleeping man next to me. “Sorry,” I mouthed at him when he jerked awake, then cleared my throat and turned my attention back to my phone. “Hello?”

“H-Hello, is this Z-Zeppelin Bryce?” a little old man asked. “I was calling to see if you’d be able to come in for an interview. You’d applied to be my h-home health aide? Charles Bishop.”

The last name stuck out in my head for unknown reasons, but I didn’t have much time to think on it — I was finally getting an interview. “Yes! I mean, absolutely yes, I’d love to. When?”

“Would right now be too much trouble?”

“Now?” I asked. It came out much less confident than I meant it to, but truth be told, I was a hot mess. “Of course, I’m staying at the Inn. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I got his address and hung up the phone, cussing sharply before collapsing back onto the bed. “Christ on a cracker, I’m sore.” I looked over at Caffrey quickly and blushed. “Did we...”

“Oh, hell no. You were a little drunker than you let on. I only stayed to make sure you didn’t end up like John Bonham.” He sat up, watching me. “We didn’t. I promise.”

“Oh.” I blinked, feeling kind of bad for it. “Sorry about that. Thank you though... you could have easily and I wouldn’t have even— why am I sore then?”

Caffrey got to his feet to grab his coat. “Look, Zepp. I don’t know what happened to you that makes you so suspicious, but no. I couldn’t have easily done anything. You’re sore because you tripped about six times just walking from the cab to your room, and one of those times you actually fell. The Advil I put out for you was for more than a hangover.”

“I didn’t mean it like—I’m sorry it came out that way. I was just wondering what I did to make an ass of myself last night. This was a disaster, I really am sorry.” I tried to remember a time where I was more embarrassed than this and couldn’t, but I didn’t have the time to sit around and eat my regrets’ weight in ice cream. I had an interview. “Take care, Caff. You were better than I deserved.”

Instead of waiting for a response, I rushed to the bathroom to make a person of myself, growling in frustration at my reflection. Even a shower couldn’t fix me, and neither could the red, striped mini-dress that normally made me feel pretty. As I tied the tie around my waist, I sighed at the mess on top of my head — it was a lost cause.

After scarfing down a breakfast that only made me nauseous, I jumped in the car and drove over to Mr. Bishop’s house.

Bishop... Bishop... why the hell is that name standing out in my mind?

Probably because you applied to be his health aid, dumbass, my little devil argued, but I chose not to engage with her today.

The house was much bigger than I expected it to be, and nerves radiated down to my toes as I approached it and built up the courage to ring the doorbell.

Here goes nothing.

When the door swung open, I instantly realized why that name was so familiar and had to force a smile. One of the Bishop boys was standing in front of me, and I honestly couldn’t remember which one it was. “Um... hi, I’m Zeppelin Bryce. I’m here for an interview with Charles Bishop?” Fucking hope he didn’t notice me last night.

He stared at me in silence — brows pinched, nose wrinkled slightly like he smelled something sour. “No, you’re not. My father is senile, he made a mista—”

“I’m not senile, Sterling, and I-I didn’t make a mistake,” a man said, butting his way in between us. The wrinkles on his face showed signs of a long, interesting life, but his eyes were nearly as bright as his son’s. Bright fucking blue, as if I needed any more of those in my life. “Be a good lad and go make her a cup of coffee. Do you like sugar, Miss? Milk?”

“Yes, both please,” I rushed out, happy I wasn’t about to be turned away at the door. Why did he look at me that way? I showered. “Thank you for giving me a chance to interview. I’m sure you had more qualified applicants, but I can promise you I’ll work harder than any of them.”

Sterling hesitated for a moment and then walked away stiffly, making Charles laugh quietly. “You’ll have to forgive him. He’s... well, he’s Sterling. Come in, Miss, come in.”

The house was warm and smelled like cinnamon, which helped relax me as I was led to the living room. It looked like something out of a magazine or maybe a model unit — pristine, light grey paint covered the walls up to the vaulted ceiling and the obnoxious chandelier, the windows overlooked a spacious backyard, the fireplace looked as though it had never been used, and the sectional was one of the biggest I’d ever seen. Even that was nothing compared to the TV, that looked more like a theater screen, and the wall entirely dedicated to books.

My eyes drifted upward to the exposed second floor as Mr. Bishop touched my arm softly. “I don’t think it’s as big as it l-looks,” he said with a soft smile. “But I've been told I’ve shrunk.”

“Nonsense,” I joked. “You’re as sprightly as ever, no way you shrunk.” I flicked my gaze to where Sterling had gone and took a seat on the extremely comfortable couch. “The books make me feel like Belle in Beauty and the Beast.” And apparently your son is the grouchy beast. “Without the romance of course, strictly professional.” Oh gods, I just said that out loud.

His eyes sparkled a little as I heard the muffled sound of a dog barking outside. “What’s life without a little romance? Seriously misunderstood, the Beast. But we didn’t come here to talk about that, let’s t-talk about you. Would you consent to a-a background check?”

Happy with the subject change, I nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Nothing much to see there, just a girl who never left the small town of Point Isly, but you’re more than welcome to check anything you need. You should always feel comfortable in your home.”

“Good. We’ll do that.” He reached down to pick up a small stack of papers off of an intricately-carved coffee table just as Sterling came back in.