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“Got it,” I mutter. “It’s break the bank-priced.” I clear my throat, stalk to my own seat, and drop my ass into it. “Okay, hang tight for a sec…” I jerk open drawers, grab the forms and paperwork I need, then straighten and slide a pen to her along with the first sheet she needs to sign. “I need your driver’s license and sosh.”
“My… what?” she asks, blinking at me.
Dammit. Gobsnacking fucking dammit. “Sweetheart, you’ve saved the day here, and I’m half in love with you for that, but you gotta know? I run everything government-friendly. I gotta have your ID.”
“What’s… ‘sosh’?” she clarifies.
“Oh. Social? Social security number?” I frown at her. “Where are you from?” She’s got an accent, but she speaks English flawlessly. I can’t get a bead on what her accent is, all I know is it’s nothing short of hot and she’s going to do great things for every investor/stockbroker/men’s retreat group we push through her room. I need her to be legal because come hell or high water, she’s staying with me forever. With her makeup skills alone (and she’s got serious skills—even her eyelid rims match her exotic (and by exotic, I mean metallic) coloring—she’s a professional and if I don’t lock her up in my basement (not that I have one), she’s probably going to get hired for the Stan Winston School of special effects artists tomorrow) she could easily turn herself intoanyroom attraction I can market as long as I furnish the materials.
If I can afford the materials. Shit, whatdoesher getup cost?
“It’s my understanding you aren’t familiar with my sector of the galaxy, so my location won’t mean much to you,” she answers glibly.
I blink at her, thinking,Well, fuck.
She’s nuts. She must be one of those dead-serious-all-into-it method actors who live in their game.
But… do I care?
Could shebeany more perfect for the alien room with her keeping in character, talking about galaxy sectors?
To be honest, she’s too good for this little escape room getaway. Not that we’re actually little; we’re the best damn escape games in Chicago. What I mean is, she’s so good, she should be playing in the next sci fi blockbuster whatever, and as soon as we get our next batch of Hollywood business execs in here again, they’ll probably snap her right up from me and I’ll want to break them into pieces as they shower her with champagne and rose petals and lead her out to a snobby little limo. Or Escalade. Whatever those douchebags drive. I’ve always liked them fine but suddenly I feel threatened, because my days with my new favorite employee are already numbered and I don’t have so much as her signature on a W-4 yet.
“I don’t tolerate drugs,” I tell her, and watch as her lashes sweep up and down, reluctantly noting that even her damnblinkingis pretty. “Normally I require you to test clear before you show up for your first shift, but,” I shrug, and pin her with a look, “you walked in and saved my ass today, so here we are. Still... you on anything?” I search her eyes.
Blue eyes, the kind of aquamarine color only found in the breathtaking waters of the Bahamas, stare back at me. Her irises a darker shade of Persian, and striated. Her pupils are slitted, like a cat’s.
In a word? Her contacts areawesome.
Inara is frowning. “I take no substances.”
Sure she doesn’t. But I’ll waive the drug test. It’s wrong, but I want to keep her even if she gets as high as a kite. I just need her to show up for her shift and play along like she already is and I’m a happy man. “Age?”
“In human years… I’m not certain.”
I just stare at her. “Yeah, sweetheart. In human years.” I have a jailbait alarm. Most applicants are almost always teens, and by now, I can smell underage like a superpower.
Inara… she’s covered in makeup and what has to be pounds and pounds of latex, but still, I would bet a lot that she’s an adult. Her body sure doesn’t look like a child’s. And she’s quiet, sure, but the way she worked the guests earlier shows she’s confident. Super confident.
Then again, that’s not a solid indicator. Look at Stacy. That kid’s seventeen going on thirty, and she’s got the charisma of a Hollywood A-lister.
But Inara’s being evasive on her age, and her non-answers are beginning to grate on me. Unsettle me, actually, although I don’t want to admit that. Why should I be unsettled in this woman’s presence? If she wants to play her game, that’s her call. I just need her to get set up on the legal end, and she can keep playing an alien visitor to the fullest: I do not care.
So here’s where I do a gut-check. Did she show up for her job on time? She did—and she had no idea she’d be hired. Of course, she had to know there was no way we’d turn her down if she showed up in the five-starFXgear, but still. Good on her for initiative and timing.
Does she play well with other employees? As far as I know, that’s a yes. Of course, Stacy is the easiest person in the world to get along with—which is how I’ve managed to keep a receptionist for something like two years, a record, because I’m kind of an asshole to work with (I’m a decent boss to workfor,but I can be a moody fuck, and the poor kid’s got to work the front with me constantly). But from what I saw of Inara with Stacy, Inara is easy going, not bitchy, and not an asshole like me. Which is good, because there’s only so much room for that, and I claim that spot like it’s my throne.
Now, as far as Inara being immersed in the game that she’s an alien? Not ideal. She’s certifiable, and that’s a little sad—but I still want her. I mean, as long as she doesn’t short-circuit and switch to a different reality than this one she’s concocted, she cannot get more perfect for what I need.
Which boils down to the issue: she’s perfect, but she’s not ponying up a Social Security card. This is a problem.
BUT. This is a rule that—for her, this woman I do not know from Adam or an alien,har har—I will break. I want her that badly.
This is something I’ve never done. This is something I never wanted to do. It’s risky. It’s a bad idea for so many reasons.
As I work this decision out, Inara watches me without speaking, her gaze rapt on my face. Her long ears flick, and they look so, so real.
That’s it. She’s in. “Okay. You’ll be the first employee I’ve ever done this with, but I’ll pay you under the table,” I announce.
