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“Sounds like you're just mad you missed out on a good deal.” As he says the words, I glance at his face, trying to figure out if he's joking. Judging by the look on his face, he is absolutely not joking, but I have no idea what good deal he thinks I missed out on. Is the man so delusional that he doesn't even understand that he is a complete failure in the business world? Does he calm himself to sleep at night by saying he did a good job?
He doesn't seem to like my stare and puffs up his chest. “What’s your problem?” He throws those words while reaching out and shoving my shoulders. I don't so much as budge, but I do glance down where he touched me.
“Keep your hands to yourself.” As I say the words, I take another step to the side, trying to walk around him. Because if I don't get away from this bastard right now, I might just break his nose, and I don't need to deal with any of that shit right now.
“Or you'll what?” Once again, he blocks my path, his two friends backing up the stuff with nervous expressions on their face, as if they know their ringleader is fucking up. Not because of what I'm about to do, but because they probably don't want to get thrown out of the club for good.
“Man, I really think you've got me confused with someone else.” This guy has way too much hate in his heart for somebody he’s only met a handful of times who turned him down once for a bad business deal.
“No, Charles, I don't have you confused with anyone else. I know exactly who the fuck you are.” He takes a step toward me as he says the words, getting up in my face, and I try to hold back a sigh because the last thing I want to do is get in a fight right now.
All of a sudden a hand claps down on my shoulder and I'm guided away from Methew. Arson glances at me, then at Methew.
“You, leave, right now.” He makes a hand gesture with his middle and index finger, moving back and forth like a person walking away.
Methew’s friends guide him off, but I can see the tension in his shoulders and know he wants to stay and fight.
“Why does Daddy's Money always gravitate toward you?” Arson seems more amused than upset as he guides me toward the front door.
“Just lucky, I guess.”
He chuckles. “We'll have to catch up later. Why don't you duck out for the night, though?”
I nod, recognizing the warning for what it is. “I'll make myself scarce for the night. Catch you around later.” I know that if I really wanted to talk to him, he would likely make some time, but at the moment I'm not really feeling on my game and now doesn't seem like the right time anyway.
“Good. Good. Looking forward to it.” With that, he slaps me on the shoulder as I make my way to the front door as he makes a U-turn back into the club.
It's the first time I've been unceremoniously asked to leave the club, but I don't mind because Arson’s method lets me know that I'm not the problem, Methew is the issue. One of these days I’m going to pummel the shit out of him and it’ll be cathartic. I don’t know why he has a problem with me, or even why I have a problem with him; he just has one of those punchable faces.
I make my way back to my car and before I know it, I'm behind the wheel. Feeling both tired and keyed up, I park in my usual spot, then get out to make my way to the front door with quick steps.
Once inside, I can hear noises coming from the kitchen and I'm not sure why. She's not supposed to be here right now; she was supposed to leave after breakfast. I make my way to the kitchen and find her on her hands and knees, cleaning up the floor.
The trash is right next to her, and every once in a while she tosses something in and the unmistakable clink of glass on glass rattles.
“Are you okay?” As I say the words, she nearly jumps out of her skin, spinning to face me.
“You scared me!” She sounds out of breath as she speaks, then guilt colors her features. “I broke a glass casserole dish, I’m sorry. You can take it out of my pay.” As the words flood out of her, I lift a hand and shake my head.
“Mistakes happen. I'm not going to charge you for something breaking.” I'm not that kind of person and never have been. “However, it's not your job to be cleaning up, so leave it. Go home, and we’ll let the cleaning crew take care of it.”
For the first time, I notice that my kitchen looks like a crime scene. There's red splattered everywhere, and I wonder what was in the casserole dish that fell and broke.
She shakes her head. “It's my mess. I'm not going to leave it for anyone else to clean.” Well, it's a very commendable stance for her to take. It's frustrating that she's not listening to me, so I figure the best thing I can do to make her want to leave sooner is to get on my hands and knees right beside her and help.
I do just that, moving to her side and getting on my knees, immediately feeling the wet tomato base seep into my clothing while she stares at me.
“What are you doing?”
I glance over at her, aware that we're very, very close, nearly shoulder to shoulder. “Helping you clean.”
“I don't like that either. If I wanted someone else to clean my mess, I'd just leave it for the cleaning crew. You're defeating the whole point.” She seems surprised, though, by my gesture, and I pick up a piece of glass and toss the shard into the trash.
“Well, I don't like the thought of you in here on your hands and knees cleaning up broken glass, but here we are.” I grab the cloth out of the bucket sitting in front of us and wring the moisture out. While I wait for her to think of her reply, I begin to scrub the tomato off the cabinet face. Working my way from top to bottom, I dip the cloth back in the bucket and squeeze out the water again, watching the liquid stain even darker.
But instead of saying anything, she really shrugs her shoulders and begins picking up more shards of glass. “It was a really nice casserole dish.” She sounds almost sad and I can't help myself.
“Let me know what kind it was, and I'll order a new one immediately.” I don't think I could care less about dishes, but if it's important to her, I'm happy to make sure she has what she needs to do her job in comfort for as long as she's here.
