Billionaire Beast

“It’s kind of silly,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

We may as well get it over with.

Let the mocking begin.

“You were eating peanut butter out of the jar with your hands,” he laughs.

All right, I guess no one has to kill me. Call off the hit.

“Really?” I ask. I remember the incident, but only vaguely. Pretty much the clearest portion of the evening involved me trying to—oh my God. I dropped my pants and asked him if I have a big butt.

“Yeah,” he says. “I had a hell of a time cleaning it up this morning. Never mind trying to help you clean your hands. You weren’t very cooperative.”

I laugh. Ah, relief, sweet relief.

There’s no doubt

he remembers everything, but we’re not talking about it, and every synapse in my brain is focused on the concept that that’s good enough.

“Really?” I ask.

I know I’m just repeating myself, but I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know what might make him bring up the impromptu mooning.

“Yeah,” he says. “It was like trying to herd cats into a bathtub.”

“That’s,” I snort. I’m pointing now. Why am I pointing? Crap, I still haven’t finished my sentence. “Hilarious,” I say. “That is hilarious: herding cats into a bathtub.”

I’m laughing way too loudly, and he’s just standing there looking at me. If I close my mouth, I don’t know what’s going to happen, so I just continue to make things awkward on my own terms.

“Yeah,” he says. “Well, I’ve got to go to work.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Do you know when your last day is going to be?”

“I thought you didn’t remember anything from last night.”

I should have just kept laughing. “What do you mean?” I ask, dumbly. “You told me they were letting you go a while ago.”

Come on, Dane, let’s not make this worse than it already is. Just keep playing along. You know it’s the right thing to do.

“Oh,” he says mercifully, “I guess I forgot that I mentioned it. Actually,” he smiles, “I’ve been really nervous to talk to you about it. I think that’s why I let it slip last night while you were drunk.”

“Yeah,” I tell him, “you already told me. Good memory there, chief.”

Leila, don’t push it.

“Right back at ya,” he says.

The smiles slowly fade off both our faces and it’s a lot longer than it should be before I realize I’m still standing in his doorway, not saying anything.

“So, yeah,” he says. “I should probably get going. Boss doesn’t like it when I’m late.”

“All right,” I say. “Go get ‘em, sport.”

Oh, what the hell are you doing to me?

“Right,” he says.