Sierra steps up, making placating hand gestures. “Okay, why don’t we all just take a step back and see if we can’t figure this out? Now, Todd, who sent you?”
Todd blinks. Potential responses are flashing through his eyes furiously, but none of them sticks. He ends up staring blankly like a student who’s been caught daydreaming in class.
“Well?” Sierra asks with a smile. “Come on now.”
“Um…”
Since even Todd can’t be idiotic enough to have forgotten who sent him, there’s only one answer: he came here on his own. If he wants to be part of this Cock Clock, Inc. study that badly, he’s welcome to it. As a matter of fact, he should’ve told me the moment he walked in. I could’ve left before I had to deal with the drama of all these…people.
“Well! I guess this means I need to make a decision,” Sierra says before I can announce I’m leaving. Her disposition is entirely too sunny, which is outright terrifying. Nobody should be this happy.
“About what?” Todd suddenly sounds like a panicked hyena.
“About who should be doing the case.” She turns to me. “So. Uh. You are…?”
The impact of being the sudden focus of those purple-blue eyes strikes my chest. My heart stills as I note that her hair looks more golden than honey in the light, which is a nonsensical observation…but still makes me want to smell her shampoo.
Jesus, Griffin. What the hell? Are youtrying to make an idiot of yourself?
“Griffin Lasker. Professor of economics.” It comes out brusque, and does nothing to hide my distaste for everything about this place and the people and my reaction to Sierra. “I specialize in econometrics.”
“Which means what, precisely?” she asks, still sunny.
“Statistical analysis of economic data. Nothing that can help with that.” I point at the giant purple cock.
“I doubt poetry would help, either,” she counters with a saucy wink.
Does she think I’m joking? I need to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret. “Your being sixteen minutes late most certainly didn’t help,” I add coolly.
She frowns, as though I’m being unfair in my criticism.
There’s nothing unfair about the situation if she’d just think it through. “Time is money.”
“Oh.” She reaches into her purse and takes out her wallet. Opening it, she pulls out a few bills and moves closer to me. “Here.” She places the folded twenties in my palm, curls my fingers over them and pats the loose fist twice.
I can just hear, There, there, over the blood raging in my head.
She smiles winsomely. “Will that cover your time? If not, just let me know.”
Her shampoo has an apple scent. I decide then and there that I hate apples.