Page 60 of A Deal with the Devil

“Making ten grand in a day would be better,” he replies. “Which would happen if you weren’t so averse to doing your job.”

That’s the last word we exchange on the matter until he pulls in front of my apartment.

“I’ll walk you up,” he says.

I shake my head. I’d rather he not see how I live—how far apart our worlds actually are. “No, don’t. You’ll get towed.”

Our eyes meet, and butterflies take flight in my stomach. I haven’t been in this situation often in my life, but I know what it is: It’s when you realize you like someone, and he might like you too. It’s the moment when we’d kiss, if things were different.

“Thank you for doing this,” he says. “I don’t think a single person thought it was fake.”

It’s an opening. It didn’t feel fake to me either, I could tell him. Except the very thought of that conversation turns those butterflies into a flock of birds, scattering at the sound of a gunshot, wings flapping, feathers flying loose.

“Surely they realize you’re going to pull a George Clooney and not settle down until you’re fifty. I’m way too old for you.”

“True. Jonathan’s daughter is probably a better fit, age-wise,” he replies.

I laugh, and then it fades. I don’t actually see him pulling a George Clooney. I see him growing a little more alone each year, and I have so little time left to fix it.

“What do I need to do to get you to go away next weekend?” I ask. “I’ll work a week for free. Name your price.”

He glances at me and swallows. “Fine,” he says. “Come with me.”

My eyes fly open wide. “What?”

“Never fear, I’m not propositioning you.” He leans back in his seat. “But it would be fun to have you there, and I want someone to handle the grunt work.”

“What grunt work?” I ask. “It’s a vacation.”

“I need someone to do all the shit I don’t want to do. Like going to Starbucks in the morning and getting groceries.”

I frown. It’s not that I’d mind going—I’d sell my liver to go, as short-sighted as that might be, and the book is stalled out again, so I could use a break. But it’s not what I had in mind for him.

“Hayes, I think maybe…maybe what you’re missing in life is the bad stuff. Maybe what you need is for me not to buffer it all for you.”

“This sounds like an elaborate excuse to make me take care of myself, something that doesn’t interest me in the least.”

My smile is weak. I suppose I am asking him to take care of himself, and it’s something I have to think through for a moment before I can explain it to him.

“It’s not,” I finally say. “But here’s the thing: I don’t like going to Starbucks either. But when I step outside and the sun warms my skin and I take that first sip of my latte, just before I spit in yours, it suddenly feels as if the world is a decent place. You don’t get that. Or any of the other moments like it, so you look for your happiness in things that do more harm than good.”

His eyes darken. “So much judgment from such a small package.”

“I’m not judging you. How could I? I’m in debt up to my eyeballs, I’m about to be unemployed, and my ex is now splashed all over the internet with a girl who’s much better looking than me. If I saw an easy fix for any of that, I’d take it, and if your life made you happy, I’d be all for it. It just doesn’t seem to.”

“She is not better looking than you.”

I laugh. I can’t believe out of everything I said, that’s the part he heard.

“I still want you to come,” he says. “I’ll stand in Starbucks with you. Show me what this normal, happy life would be like if you had a weekend off and didn’t work for me.”

A normal happy life with him if he wasn’t my boss. It’s the kind of thing I don’t even allow myself to imagine, and now he wants me to act it out with him.

He raises a brow. “Oh, look how reluctant you are now that you’ve got to go. Not so fun anymore, is it?”

But he’s got it all wrong.

I’m not worried about showing him what our life would be like together...I’m worried about showing it to myself.