CARLI
Wawawa, mahwa, wawah...
The woman with the jungle print one piece jumpsuit holding the microphone, sounds like a Peanut’s teacher. My ears are fucking bleeding. Chris has tried to look entertained by her droning conversation about the Capuchin monkeys, but I personally can’t feign interest. My resting bitch face is not so resting. This whole damn display is for her conservatory because they need funding dollars from the state. Give me a fucking break. The woman spent a fucking fortune on her clothing and it’s awful. Spend it on the monkeys instead, lady.
I know the designer. I saw it at the spring show, and her wardrobe consultant needs to be fucking fired for dressing her like that. For her skin and hair color, it looks like something the monkey shit out.
Two more hours of this and you’ll find me curled up in a corner, peeling peanuts for the fucking monkeys. This is the downside of my job—stupid moments, and appearances that I have zero bloody interest in. I’m actually hoping the monkey shits in her rat’s nest of a hairdo.
Looking down at my cell, trying not to be caught doing it, I flick through Plenty of Fish, Twitter feeds, Instagram and Facebook. Not mine, though. I’m looking for pictures of Chris with his varied indiscretions. Kurt, Kyle, or rubber ducky—whatever the fuck his name was—ran out pretty pissed this morning. That screams nasty posts. So far, nothing has shown up. Color me surprised.
Stopping on a Twitter post, there’s a Crown notation.
Doll under house arrest. #IdHandCuffHer
Is Casper and Marca Crown alive? #CrumblingKingdom
Why so long without seeing any of the family? #FurtherDeath
Over and over, feed after feed, likes, retweets and reposts of concerns for the family stack up. Then one in particular catches my attention. It’s associated with the Crowns’, but not a name I know.
Outcast Son tweeted, #NoSnow #ToFuckingHot
Well, not hard to figure out who that is. Checking out his previous posts, there are boards, girls, trees covered with snow, and two short posts from a few days ago. I catch myself before I laugh out loud.
#IAteVegan
#BirdFood
Our impromptu lunch was nothing exciting, but I enjoyed it more than I’ll admit. I think I might have even fallen in like with Jamieson. At the least, I don’t have such a scathing disregard for him. I might actually tolerate his presence if he happens to be around when I—if I—visit Circe again. Remembering how pissed she was that I ‘attacked’ China, I feel just a little bit interested in how she’s doing. I’d never wish anyone jail time or house arrest, but it must be awful when you’re unable to even visit your brother in the hospital without a chaperone. Hopefully, he’s at least sexy.
Jamieson is.
Fuck, I’m thinking about him again.
Shit!
I’ve even stopped flipping through posts about my boss and I’m solely flicking through Jamieson’s feed. Looking at each, the current feel of the posts are so different than the previous. The trees, snowcapped mountains, pictures of boards, girls lacking in clothing are gone. After Jax’s death, the feed changes to darker, stronger images of sadness, notations of heat, a crassness that seems heartfelt, and one that has me staring at it a few moments longer than I should.
Sass and fire. Dark sarcasm. Give and take. I want more. #WhyADragonTattoo?
Nudging my shoulder, Chris tries to gain my attention. “Anything I need to worry about from Mondo?”
“Mondo?” I ask.
“From last night?” I can’t believe he can even get a date.
“It started with a K, Chris.”
He rolls his eyes, giving me his ‘I’m bored’ look. I know what he’s expecting me to do. He wants me to break us out of here.
“You’ll owe me,” I mutter.
Under his breath, he asks, “What will it cost?”
“You don’t wanna know.”
Fuck. Why do I do this for him?
Opening the timer in my phone, I select a minute, then start the countdown. Closing the phone, I turn on the ringer and pocket it. Acting fully interested in the woman’s diatribe, I swear it feels like I’m watching a tennis match.
Waiting for the blessed thing to go off is like watching a kettle boil.
Hurry up and ring, dammit.
Shocking me out of the near coma I fell into, I jump slightly, looking fully apologetic as the timer chimes. Pulling it out, I try to act like there’s someone on the other line. I talk into the edge of my shoulder like I’m trying to be quiet. “No. No. That can’t be happening. No, we’re at a very important meeting…” Pausing for dramatics, I raise my voice slightly. “No? Okay, I’ll tell the governor. Thank you.”
Putting my phone in my purse, Chris turns toward me, trying to look worried. I reach over and whisper in his ear. “Two shopping sprees on your black card and a full week’s vacation in Cabo.”
Giving me a sideways glance, he tries to look shocked.
Not working, buddy. Agree, or this won’t be the important call you were hoping for.
“Well, I guess we’d better get there as soon as possible. That’s a very high cost, but we’ll make it work.” Rising from his chair, he turns to the imitation of a palm tree on stage. “I’m sorry, but we have to leave. If you could make an appointment with my assistant, Miss Katana, later in the week, she’ll get the remainder of the details from you.”
That sneaky shit. Oh, no way is he cornering me into another meeting with this lady. Meet the Carli evil bus, Mister.
Smiling sweetly, I chime in. “I’ve got you on this, Governor. I’m sure the disaster crisis team and I can work this out without you if you want to stay here and finish the presentation. I can go over the details of the town crisis costs when you’re freed up.”
He narrows his eyes. I know he’s figured out that his escape costs just increased. “No, you’re right. I can work it out with the committee later. Mrs. Maa, I’m sure you have a written notation of the needs for your conservatory. Please forward it to my office and I’ll go over it, personally.”
Nodding my head, I make my way out of the room. “We really should get going, sir,” I say, giving Chris his final exit opportunity.
“Thank you. Yes, we really should go.” He squeezes out around the table past the other poor saps still stuck here and gives his apologies. I know what he’s apologizing for, that they’re still there and he’s running like hell for the door.
As we exit, we hit the hall of the conference room. Chris lightly smacks me on the arm. “Two times on my card?”
Blowing out a breath, I laugh as we quickly walk away. “You got off easy, Mister. That last little bus run almost cost you two weeks in Cabo for a party barge full of my friends.”
“You don’t have a barge full of friends. And Carli, you almost slung me into a new black card bracket last time.”
“Please, I have friends. You don’t warrant introductions yet.”
“Yet? And why would that be?”
I shake my head. There are so many examples of why Chris is not a person you introduce to your friends and family. But I think on a mellow moment with him which is extremely rare. “The boa I found in my car.”
Looking sideways, head quirked, and an expression that says, ‘I don’t remember that day,’ it takes him a moment to remember what Chris moment that represents. “Oh yeah! The blue boa I received from the Cher impersonator.”
“And why was it in my car?” I ask, fully knowing the reason.
He looks thoughtful for a moment, thinking up a lie. Stepping ahead of me and down the stairs, he says, “It’s not important.”
“And why did I need my car steam cleaned, Chris?”
“Not important, Miss Katana,” he chirps off quickly, making his way to the exit lightning quick, as if his favorite butt plug is on sale.
“You never did tell me.” I continue with my inquisition as we step into the parking garage. “Why did you offer to steam clean my Jag?”
“No comment. Pleading the fifth.” Popping the lock on his car, he jumps in.
“Chicks and dicks. Fuck me.” Hopping into the passenger’s seat, I groan. “I need to sell that car now, don’t I?”
Laughing, he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. Fine. I’ll get the answer out of him some day, but today isn’t that day.
Shaking my head, I resign myself to the idea that I won’t get relief for that particular erroneous moment in my employment.
My phone buzzes in my bag, breaking me from my thoughts. Pulling it out, I stare at the screen, my heart falling to my stomach.
Miori’s text is three words I’ve dreaded seeing. “Kaori. Kare wa shinimashita.”
Our father is dead.