Page 26 of The Way I Hate Him
“Okay,” she answers. “Can I grab some water or something to drink, or am I imprisoned in this room?”
Dramatic much?
“You’re not restricted to this room,” I answer. “If you want to move into the living room to spread out, have at it. Just don’t go in the room across from my bedroom. Other than that, you have free range.”
“Ooo, is that like a west wing type of thing?”
My brows pull together in confusion. “What’s that?”
“You know, how the beast fromBeauty and the Beastis like don’t go in the west wing?”
Understanding falls over me. “No, it’s my studio and I’m trying to work. I don’t need you needling me with your smart-ass questions and comments.”
“Oh . . . studio, huh? Writing some new music?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing.” She glances away. “But according to my friend, who is a fan, you haven’t released anything new in a while.”
Yeah, because my mind has been an empty vessel for the past year.
Touring.
Drinking.
Partying.
Loneliness . . .
It will do that...squash any creative flow.
“I’ve been touring. Hard to release new music when you’re traveling the world nonstop.”
“I’m sure.” She moves past me and heads down the hallway to the kitchen. This time, I follow her. “So let’s say I was hungry, could I pop open this cabinet and grab a . . .” Her voice falls off as she notices there’s nothing in my cabinet. She moves to the pantry and discovers nothing really in there as well. When she turns around to face me, she asks, “Where are your snacks?”
“Don’t have any.”
“What? How can you not have snacks? You have almond creamer, but not snacks?”
“Don’t really need them,” I answer.
“Uh, everyone needs snacks.” She shakes her head. “I can’t work under these conditions. I need snacks.”
“Are you telling me you can’t get anything done if there aren’t snacks in the house?”
“Exactly.”
Sighing, I grab my wallet from the counter and pull out a few hundred dollars. I hand them over to her and say, “Grab snacks, some fruit and veggies, as well as hummus from the general store.”
“Pardon me, but that’s not part of the job description.”
“If you want snacks, it is now. Your choice.” I then pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it to her. “Plug your number in there.”
She takes my phone. “Is this so you can call me at all hours of the night and make more requests that don’t fall under the job description?”
“You know, I could hire someone else and just report you to the police. Is that what you want?”
As she types away, she glances up at me. “You know that’s not what I want.”
