Page 58 of Cuts like a Knife
“No, no, it’s fine. Enjoy your breakfast. I’ll call a car. Actually, didn’t you tell that driver from last night to come back this morning? Will he be here soon?” I peek out the front window of the bungalow hoping to see the dusty sedan pulling into the gravel drive.
“Lex, why don’t we—”
“No time, sorry! Thanks though. I’ll see you later.”
I hurry out the door and stand on the porch. Like a weirdo. What am I supposed to do now? I haven’t called a cab. I don’t even know how to call for a cab here. And there’s no other way for me to get back to resort besides walking. And it’s miles.
It’s early, but the sun is already starting to get warm. I can already sense that it’s going to be a scorcher. And in my desire to look professional with Drew, instead of dressing in resort-wear like I resolved to last night, I’ve clad myself in suit pants and a blue button-up shirt that is definitely going to show pit stains within the next ten minutes. Dammit194.
I turn around and head back into the cottage, where I find Drew still standing by the table, smirking that trademark smirk of his.
“Had second thoughts?”
“No,” I say, stubbornly. “I’m just … there’s no point in wasting good eggs. I heard what you said about food on the islands.”
“Sure, sure. Come on then.”
I give in, sit myself down at the table, and start munching on the eggs and toast. What else am I supposed to do?
“Damon — that’s the driver — is coming back,” Drew says, breaking the silence. “But not for a solid hour and a half.” At the look that must flash across my face, he’s quick to clarify. “Don’t worry. The morning shoot isn’t starting until ten. Don’t you have the schedule?”
“I do. I just … have a lot of work to do. I have to think up and get content for — maybe even fully write — twenty five stories while I’m here. Maybe more.”
“Woah. That’s a lot. Is that a normal schedule for you?”
“No. Not at all. We’re a monthly. And most of the stuff I do there is pretty canned. It’s like, fill-in-the-blanks. This trip is unusual. I’m supposed to be banking stuff up for the future195. But really, it’s a power trip, I think. Callum wants me to know that he’s my boss and he calls the shots, so if he sets a deadline or gives me a target, I better meet it, no matter how ridiculous.”
“So you don’t really have to produce that many stories?”
Have to? What do those words even mean? Dani never finishes her work and rarely meets her deadlines, but somehow, the mag always publishes on time and everything always seems to work out. And even if Lars and Callum bluster about it, it’s not like they’ve threatened to fire her. But that’s Dani. Not me. I can’t afford to be fired again. I can’t take that sort of chance. To Drew’s question, I just shrug.
It’s not like I’m going to tell him about the email.
“I don’t know if I have to exactly. But if he gives me a deadline, I hit it. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking the job was too hard for me.”
What I don’t say is that I don’t really have to. I mean, I guess. It’s a matter of perspective.
Drew is nodding along as if he really understands, but he can’t obviously. Not without knowing the whole story.
“You’ve always been that way. Never show weakness right.”
I shrug, focussing on my plate.
“It’s fine,” I say eventually, as I finish my eggs. “I’ve got a bunch of ideas mapped out and I wrote a bunch on the plane. I’ve even submitted a bunch of stuff already. I’m ahead of schedule.”
Drew shakes his head, obviously impressed.
“Wow. You’re really fast. I can’t really imagine. Was it like that at Flash too?”
Even hearing the name of my former publication makes me feel stressed.
“Worse. Five stories a day, every day.”
“You’re a machine.”
“I’m really not,” I say. “That’s the problem.”
Chapter Sixteen
