Their Paid Girl

Their Paid Girl - Part 2

“Next Friday. I’ll pick you up at your dorm.”

Looking into his shattering blue eyes, I had an acutely uncomfortable sense that I’d lost this battle. “Oh, so I don’t even have a say in the jobs I take anymore?” I asked scathingly.

He turned. “Choice? Sure. What time will you be ready?”

“How about never? Is never good for you?” I asked him brightly.

“Seven it is then. Pack clothes for overnight.”

My eyes got huge. “Oi! No! Absolutely not!” I yelled after him. My voice echoed across the empty auditorium. “I can barely manage a conversation with you and you want me to stay overnight?”

He looked thoroughly exasperated with me and gave me a glance that told me he would cheerfully strangle me to death if it hadn’t happened to be illegal.

“Then think of it as an extra-long conversation.”

“No!” I fumed, resisting the overwhelming urge to stomp my foot. “I hate this! Just as life was getting bearable, this insufferable, self-absorbed butthole shows up and has the guts to...” I continued to rant to myself, building up more and more steam.

Adam stood still, one hand ready to push open the swinging door. “...And I’m already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth.”

“I hope you die of an aneurysm!” I told him passionately, wallowing in the bitterness of the direction my life had taken. Why did he have to be so damn stubborn? Why did people always let him have his way? This is what came out of it!

He ignored me. “Look, it’s completely fair. You do the job, you get four hundred bucks. Both of us part ways, thankful to never look back.”

I went quiet. Four hundred bucks? What did this guy do, wipe his hot butt with those things that he would offer to pay me that much? I looked at the other crumpled bills at my feet, knowing he’d just thrown at me more than I made in a week.

“Just say yes, already,” he said, exasperated. “I need you. And four hundred bucks never hurt anyone. Just take the damn deal, that’s all it is. I’m not asking for anything that you haven’t done before.”

I stared at him. “You’re starting to sound reasonable... time to up my medication.”

He rolled his eyes, the first immature thing I’d seen him do other than swearing at me.

“Next Friday. Seven. Be ready, or I swear to God you’re not gonna like what I’ll do to you.”

I tilted my chin up stubbornly. “Is that a threat?”

He rolled his eyes again. “Sue me.”

“You know what? I think I will,” I nodded, like this even remotely made sense. “You’re a bully.”

“And I’ve got the best lawyer,” he informed me smugly. I scowled. I bet he did.

“Good bye, Roberts,” he called over his shoulder in a smug tone as his hot butt departed from my line of sight.

“Ferrell sounds like an extinct species of fish!” I muttered after his retreating back.

I heard his snicker and went back to fuming. God, I hated the nerve of him.

I spent several happy moments imagining the things I’d like to do to him and thought up some cleverly witty insults to slap at him the next time we had the misfortune to meet. Then I swung my bag over my shoulder and tried to look dignified as I left the lecture hall, choosing to pretend like I hadn’t just been outsmarted at my own game of persuasion.