Page 25 of Best Kind of Trouble
“The artillery was meant for me,” she says with gravitas.
“So Mick robbed you of your weird sex game?”
She shoves my arm. “Gross. And yes. I wanted that glitter.”
“I can guarantee you Mick didn’t.”
The code for puke gets called out again, more urgently this time.
I grin at her. “They’re playing your song, Red.”
She rolls her eyes but grabs my hand. “Come to Tea of Fortune this afternoon. Five o’clock. We’re going to figure out the rest of the staffing for Silver Star.”
“You think you’ll manage it in one afternoon?” I say with a whistle. Frodo sometimes keeps job listings up for weeks with no bites.
“In one afternoon,” she repeats firmly. “Because if she’s going to pull this off, she needs to reopen next week.”
My phone buzzes halfan hour later, while I’m sitting in Frodo’s office being talked at. I’m curious enough to pull it out immediately, even though my boss is passing on some directives from on high (i.e., the suits at the corporation that owns us). Couldn’t be less interested in what he has to say, and soon I won’t have to pretend to care.
“Liam?” he asks, stiffening in his chair. I ignore him and open my messaging app.
I have two texts from the same number.
Can you mete mee? I’m at the dinr on Pack Square. Theo silver one. I have a plan.
This is Briar. Hannah gave me yor numbr.
Interesting. She’s either drunk or dyslexic. Given the news she got this morning, I’m going with drunk, but I’ll have to sober her up quick if she’s supposed to make big decisions this afternoon.
“Liam, this isoutrageous,” Frodo says.
I glance up from my phone but don’t pocket it. He’s glaring at me from behind his desk, his eyebrows furrowing so hard they’ve formed one quivering, furry line.
“Yeah, I’m gonna have to take off,” I tell him before it occurs to me that I should probably offer an excuse. “I’ve got this beer idea. I bet the suits will like it.”
“But…” His lips open and close repeatedly without any words coming out, until he lands on, “But we’re in the middle of a conversation about what BevCorp wants. I’mtelling youwhat they want.”
“You were the only one who was talking, really. Why don’t you let the assistant brewer know what’s up, and he and I will discuss it? Or you could record yourself talking, and I’ll totally watch the whole thing later.”
“No.” He pushes out his lips unhappily. “No, we’ll discuss it now.”
“It’ll have to wait,” I say, getting up. “Inspiration strikes. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I pushed it away.”
He gets to his feet. “You may be talented, but I can find another?—”
“Are you going to fire me?” I ask, more interested than disgruntled. Honestly, it would be pretty convenient if he did. I wouldn’t have to give notice, and I’d probably get a couple of weeks’ salary.
His face turns red, and he twists that not-a-Super-Bowl ring around on his finger three times.
I gesture to it on impulse. “You know that’s fake, right? You got hosed. The font’s all wrong. Devil’s in the details, man. Next time you should insist on getting proof before shelling out.”
His eyes widen, and he clutches a hand to his chest.
Shit. I didn’t just give the guy a heart attack, did I?
I might not be Frodo’s number one fan, but I start mentally reviewing everything I know about emergency medical care (not much, but we do have a yearly staff seminar arranged by Hannah), when he pokes a stubby finger at me.
“You…you…”
