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Riiight. She’s really digging into her role. “Yep.”
“I saw the sky’s billboard and came to investigate what Earthens were calling an ‘alien escape room.’” She looks around with interest. “This is it? No other aliens are here?”
Eyeing her, I answer, “Just you. And yes, this is an escape room. Groups of friends or coworkers pay to be ‘locked’ into the room, and they have to act as a team to solve a series of puzzles in order to get set free in the time they’re allotted. Since the theme for this room is an alien space station, you're the Games Master. Think of yourself as their guide—you’re going to give them the safety rules, tell them what they need to know to play, give them hints when they ask, but also, your job is to do exactly what you’re dressed for: look really damn alien, and give them the sense that they’re doing something cooler than paying to shut the door on themselves in a downtown office building pretending to be a super bright enigmatologist’s wet dream.”
“What is a wet dream?”
I stare at her.
She frowns uncertainly and tries another tack. “What’s an enigmatologist?”
“A puzzle solver. Some of these games get pretty complicated,” I share. “Visitors want to be challenged, but they also want to win. We try to walk that line so they feel they’re getting their money’s worth while still succeeding.” I point to what looks like a scary exam table, but is really the effects station. “Your job is to stick close to this spot and activate the lights,” I show her the switch, “the sounds,” I hit the alarms, tell her when she should set them off for effect, “and if customers get near that creature’s cage over there?” I show her the prop cage that looks like it holds something fuzzy with lots and lots of teeth and too many legs. “That’s when you hit this button. It’ll activate a hidden door to a bonus room. Not everybody will find it, but if they do it’s a buzz. They go nuts.” I give her a smile. “And when they see you suited up like this? You look like a legit alien lifeform. They’re going to have a great night. Welcome to the team, woman.”
Inara glances away maybe a little shyly. Her tapered ears fold against the sides of her head with enough force to nudge her strands of hair. “Thank you. I’m… flattered that you approve of my appearance.”
Fucking love it. “Could not be more impressed,” I tell her honestly. “Frankly, I’d have snapped you up in a heartbeat whether I needed you tonight or not. Your costume is that convincing. You had to know that when you walked in.”
Oddly, her smile widens to a grin, and she repeats one word with emphasis.“Heartbeat. Just one. Ha.”
It’s a strange thing to say, but I don’t question it.
Why would I?
CHAPTER 3
I shit you not, the booked group oohs and ahhs like they’re kids at a zoo, not grown men at a themed getaway. They are eating Inara’s appearance up—they even break the game to ask to take pictures with her, and Inara, like she’s a seasoned star, grins sexy for the camera, and lets them fill up their damn phones with shots and selfies.
And… I don’t blame them.
A lot of escape rooms nix phones and photos, but I don’t have that policy. Right now, I’m super glad I don’t. Just wait til social media sees us with our brand new alien. She’s rocking her look. She’s also charming as hell.
So charming, I’m raring to capitalize on it. There’s a nerd convention that goes on about twenty minutes from downtown. Every year, we set up a booth. We get decent traffic from it.
This year? I’m so plunking down Inara, my new favorite employee. Without a doubt, I know she will single handedlyrake them in.
As I’m thinking this, she poses for a new round of photos, and for this shot, she brings her tail up to curl around the guy’s shoulder.
He flips out, loving it.
But I’m staring at her tail, suddenly questioning what kind ofFX-electronics are this sophisticated.
I’ve bought a lot of effects supplies over the years. I get to see just about everything the industry offers, all kinds of suits and gear. Where did this womangetgear of this quality? No joke: her costume had to cost some serious cake. We’re talking not hundreds, but thousands. I should know. I don’t skimp on the employee suits here.
But nothing I’ve ever splurged for is as seriously detailed as what Inara is sporting. Her look is movie-level good—better than, because movies use CGI, and here she stands in the flesh, able to move this tail appendage without any hand controller or anything.
What the hell?
***
“Have a seat,” I tell her, and I watch her adjust her tail so that it swings out—not like a dead weight swings, but like a prehensile limb can be manipulated to move. You’d swear there was muscle, powerful muscle, in this costume limb of hers. “Someday, you’ve got to drop the details on your costume. If it doesn’t break the bank, I’m ordering one for every employee from here on out.”
I also want the secret to her heels. She walks on her toes, her dainty heels in the air, like she’s wearing sky high fuckin’ stilettos, ‘cept there’s no spike to even pretend to offer support. I don’t know how she does it, but she’s kept on her toes all night. She must have serious practice time in—and her calf muscles attest to this I guess becausedamn.‘Shapely’ doesn’t touch these motherfuckers. This woman is all kinds of attractive.
Great for business.
Big red ‘STAY THE FUCK AWAY’ for me.
At my comment, Inara tosses back her leathery dreads and blinds me with a dazzling smile.
