Faking It with the Frenemy

I give him a look. Salazar Pryce could drink double his body weight and still walk a tightrope. Everyone in his family can. And nobody takes advantage of him unless he wants it.

“Can’t hold my liquor like I used to,” he says. “Gettin’ old here.”

“Right.” So now he can only drink one and a half times his body weight. Let me go grab a Kleenex.

“And we did rock paper scissors ten times.”

“Rock paper scissors?” This is even dumber than his claiming he can’t drink like he used to. I can hear my brain cells screaming as they die.

“He won three times, I won three and the rest we tied.”

I can’t decide if I should cry or bang my head against the wall. It wasn’t even a real, dignified bet.

“Anyway, he wasn’t supposed to say anything. It’s embarrassing to talk details like that.”

“What about me?” Doesn’t he think it’s embarrassingly ridiculous for me as well?

“Oh, no need to worry. I’m not a total asshole, so while you’re working for Dane—well, his friend—I’m giving you a paid month off.”

I stare, trying to decide if he’s being intentionally obtuse or really is just this self-involved.

“And I made it clear you’re not to work a second over forty hours a week.” He spreads his hands with a magnanimous smile. “You deserve it,” he adds, the very definition of an accommodating boss. But only because he’s mildly embarrassed I found out about his dumb bet.

God. I want to wipe that smug “I know I’m forgiven already” look off his face. “Aren’t you afraid I might leave you for Wyatt?” I ask.

“Nah.”

“How come?”

“Because if you liked the idea of working for him, you wouldn’t be all mad about the bet.” Salazar can be self-involved, but he’s not stupid. “And I guarantee he isn’t as generous with rewards and bonuses as I am.”

That part is true. Other than the five-year half-a-million-dollar bonus, Salazar has also given me semi-annual bonuses, worth about twenty percent of my salary, every year.

He continues, “Just grin and bear it for a month, okay? The guy’s good looking enough. How hard could it be to go out with him once or twice?”

Typical male. “It’d probably be easier to get clean in a mud bath,” I say. Salazar needs to stop because I think I feel hives breaking out. That’s the only explanation for the shortness of breath I’m experiencing.

“But you’re not dating anyone, right?”

“That isn’t the point.”

“If he makes any unwanted advances, let me know.”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

“Remember my Aston Martin? The DB5?”

“Yeah…” It’s the same model that Sean Connery’s double-oh-seven drove. The license tag reads 2HOT4U. Salazar loves that car more than his own balls, and not even his children are allowed to touch it.

“I’ll let you run him over with it.”

My jaw drops. “You will?”

He taps the tip of his chin. “Actually…”

Ha! Should’ve known. He’s feeling guilty, but not that guilty.

“I’ll do it for you.”