Their Paid Girl

Their Paid Girl - Part 35

          But his car was a different story. Opening a new tab, I typed in “Porsche Carrera GT” and hit the search button. I admired the pictures for a moment and then clicked on the Wikipedia page out of curiosity.

          I nearly choked on the water I’d been drinking when I saw how many Porsche Carrera GTs had ever been made: only 1,270. By now, there were probably even less existing in the world because they’d been crashed or rare parts had broken down.

          The price of owning such a car started at half a million and only went up from there. Head reeling and feeling a little dizzy at the realization of how rich Adam was, it gave me a shock when the door suddenly banged open.

          Whirling, I saw that it was Esther, and that she looked positively furious about something. With barely a glance at me, she stalked into the room and leaned under her bed, pulling out a male sweatshirt. I jumped out of my chair when I realized that she was holding a knife in her hand.

          “Es,” I began in warning, but the knife was brought down on that unfortunate shirt with a loud ripping noise, cutting it past fixing. Esther slashed at it again and again, ferocious satisfaction on her face as she shredded the thing.

          When she finally done, the tatters barely held it together and it was no longer recognizable as ever having been a shirt. Throwing the knife onto her desk, she wadded up the torn cloth and stuffed it in her handbag for later.

          I suspected that the object of Esther’s fury would have his deceased sweatshirt flung in his face soon.

          “Hello, love. You’re looking damn fine,” Esther told me calmly, able to talk now that she was feeling a bit better.

          I decided not to comment on the scene from a moment before. “Thanks,” I said, also choosing not to mention how she looked far from fine in the emotional department.

          “Going on a paid date tonight?” she asked, no longer looking at me but busying herself with her laptop on her bed.

          “Yeah,” I replied, glancing at the clock. It was nearly five.

          “So, who’s the unfortunate guy with the price on his head?”

          I stared at her in confusion. “Er... what?”

          Esther looked up from her bed. “You do know that Adam has spread the word around campus that you’re no longer available for paid dates, right?”

          “Did he, now?” I said through clenched teeth. Honestly, how dare that insufferable, self-righteous, interfering prick involve himself in my business?

          “Yep,” Esther replied unconcernedly. “Hope the two of you survive. If Adam finds out...” and here she mumbled something under her breath. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.

          My annoyance eased a little, and the anxiety returned.

          “So I think that starting tomorrow you and I should be inseparable. In the literal sense of the word,” I informed Esther.

          “Sure, if you’re up to slashing car tires tomorrow,” she told me darkly.

          I thought about the sweatshirt, and then looked at where the knife was lying. Clearly, Esther was so angry that she had more planned for whichever inexperienced idiot had crossed her. I hid the knife, slipping it casually into my purse, but otherwise thought that it was a pretty fair trade. I’d just have to keep her occupied tomorrow, far away from any parking lots, and not giving her time to brood over her latest love gone wrong.