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“Nah,” I say. “Murder-suicide isn’t really my thing. Just like sexual harassment in the work place.”
We explode out of the tunnel, and I’m not slowing down. I mean, I am going the speed limit — it just looks crazy considering everyone else is acting like they’re in a school zone.
“Is this because you’re pissed about me bringing that up?” Liz demands. “I— WATCH OUT!”
“I see ‘em,” I say, downshifting and skidding into an adjacent lane. “No, of course not. This is actually a celebration of the fact. I love being called a creep.”
“Well I love hearing bad, off-color jokes in a professional setting,” Liz snaps. “I don’t care if you’re ‘just joking’, we’re co-workers and there’s zero place for that in this relationship.”
I scoff. “We’re not co-workers. I’m technically your boss.”
“A — that makes if even worse. B — you are absolutely not my boss.”
“My name’s on the bank.”
“Your mother’s name is on the bank. Until you start writing my paychecks, you can’t so much as ask me to get you a coffee.”
I look her in the eye. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly argumentative?” I ask genuinely.
“Keep your eyes on the road!” she shouts. I listen, but only because I have to. “And no,” she says. “I’m actually not argumentative. Normally.”
“But I bring it out of you,” I say with a grin.
“And you’re proud of that?”
“Just stating a fact.”
Liz groans. “Okay, look. Can we just start over?”
“You wanna go back? I might be able to make this next exit.”
“No! I—” Her jaw clenches and works in frustration.
I have to admit I haven’t had this much fun in a while. Driving in interesting conditions while sparring with Liz isn’t exactly my idea of a bad time. Of course I’d be a lot happier if she’d stop bringing up my mother and “work place sexual harassment”, two of the unsexiest things imaginable. But still, it’s not so bad.
“We have to spend this weekend together. Wouldn’t it be easier if we just got along?”
“You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want my help so why go through the trouble of pretending?”
She exhales slowly. “Because we will need to be together sometimes. I need to be focused, not worried about what you might say at dinner with the Alencars. I need to be on my A-game, not babysitting you.”
“So,” she continues, cutting me off before I can respond, “I will apologize for bringing up HR. Just don’t make a habit of it, please?” She waits, expectantly.
I consider being a dick. It’d be so easy. But even I have my limits. “Sorry for the joke. Won’t happen again,” I relent reluctantly.
“That wasn’t so hard,” she mutters, though if she’s speaking to me or herself I can’t tell.
The open road dies with our fight. The traffic becomes so thick that I can’t in good conscience dart and weave without being a real liability. Liz is quiet and I am too. Now that we’re not biting each other’s heads off, there’s a significant lack of anything to discuss.
My eyes flick to her face and her own look away quickly. I’m struck again by just how stunning she is. When she’s not pissed off, her face is angelic — her lips soft and full, her cheekbones high and curved. There’s a delicacy to her that must throw her targets off. They must think she’s weak-hearted or easily swayed. Well, I can certainly attest that she’s as stubborn and iron-willed as a Viking war chief.
“Where are we going?” she finally asks, breaking the quiet.
“Uhh… Chicago?” I say.
She shoots me a look that says be serious for once. “I mean now. Where are we driving to?”
I try and fail to smother my grin. “Uh, Chicago,” I say again.
