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She’s got me there.
But never go down without a fight. I rise from my chair, cross to where my pen landed, swipe it from the floor, all while taking a breather so that I sound like the coolest, most rational motherfucker in town when I order, “Go take care of the trash.”
This derails Stacy’s you-can’t-tell-me-what-to-do speech. “I just got my nails done!”
Girl’s got a point. She’d do it if I made her, but I know from growing up in a houseful of women how ticked a lady gets if her brand new nail job chips, gets scratched, or pops off. And taking out the trash isn’t in Stacy’s job description. She should be able to use her hard-earned money to keep her nails looking nice without having to fear that it’ll go to waste when she gets to work.
Sal is walking past my doorway, headed for the mini fridge in front, probably for a water since that’s where we keep them.
“Sal!” I call. Because I wasn’t just telling Stacy to do it to punish her. It really does need to be done. “Grab the trash.” After a second, I think to tack on, “Please.”
Having heard at least the last half of the argument, Sal gapes. “Are you serious?” His eyes go to Stacy, disbelief in every part of his expression. “Shit, ifIget my nails done, does that mean I don’t have to lift a finger around here anymore either?”
My sigh is ragged and loud. “Kidddds, kids. Tell you what. You two do me a favor and pretend I’m the boss around here. And Sal, I’ll send you next door for a mani. I’ll even pay for it—something I don’t do for Princess Stacy here—”
Against her will, Stacy reluctantly preens a little at being called a princess, smoothing her hair. Immediately, her hand stalls on her head, and she jerks her hand down, looking ashamed of herself for responding.
“—and then you get to be the one ogled by the groups of dudes that walk in the door. For that, I’ll take out the trash my fuckin’ self,” I finish.
Stacy turns to Sal. “Some of them might be into dick.”
Sal curls his lip at her.
I chide, “Stacy, quit cussing! Fuck!”
She gives me a look that reminds me what word Sal used.
I turn a look on him. “You too.”
Sal holds up his hands and backs away from my door. “Gonna hydrate, then I’ll do the dang trash.”
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“Yeah,” Stacy agrees, and sashays back to her desk where I presume Inara is still waiting. I can’t see her from here, but she hasn’t made so much as a peep since the fun started.
“I want an hour of quiet time!” I order Stacy.
“Can’t have it. There’s a group of twelve coming in thirty-five minutes.”
“Then I want thirty-five minutes of quiet time!”
“You want me to close the door?”
“I’ll close my own damn door,” I tell her, but before I make it around the desk, it’s already closing—because Inara has slipped inside with me, looking a little lost but amused.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
Her tail blades fan themselves, and she gives me a chin tip that looks suspiciously like one of mine.
“Why won’t you let Stacy into the rearmost seat of her male’s transporter?” she asks, getting right to the heart of the matter for her, I guess.
“Because the only reason he’ll have her in his backseat is for nefarious reasons. Now if he has plans to cherish her, protect her, and commit to her, then that’s one thing. But he’s five minutes old, and all he thinks with is his dick.”
“How do you know this?” Inara asks, eyes bewildered.
“Because I’ve got a dick.”
Her eyes drop to my crotch, and my cock jumps.“Inara,”I bite.
