A Deal with the Bossy Devil by Kyra Parsi

12

“What’s that?”

I gave Adrien my most innocent of looks and pretended like I didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. “What?”

We usually didn’t converse this early in the morning, so my voice came out all dry and scratchy. I cleared my throat.

Adrien jerked his chin at me, looking pointedly at my hip as we fell into a light jog. “That,” he said.

“It’s nothing,” I retorted, making use of my croaky morning voice to mimic him. He’d said that to me three times yesterday.

I could have sworn I saw his lips twitch from the corner of my eye. Not that I could blame him. My impression had been spot-on.

“It looks like bear mace,” he pointed out.

I didn’t answer him this time, keeping my eyes on the path ahead. My legs were too stiff and sore to be forced into another run. I hated this shit.

“Are you planning on running into bears out here, Sanchez?”

I stayed quiet, but mostly because my body was already needing to hoard oxygen. A problem Adrien didn’t seem to have.

“Since I know you didn’t bring that thing with you to use on me or any other human. Because that would be very illegal,” he went on.

You know what’s more illegal? Attempted murder.

My eyes inadvertently darted around, scanning our surroundings in the dark. Rows of buildings, parked cars, shrubbery. Birds chirping in the background, an engine revving a few streets over, and—

“And even if that was your plan,” Adrien said, interrupting my surveillance of the area, “you’d have at least thought to try and conceal it in some way, so the other person wouldn’t see it ahead of time.”

“Deterrence,” I rasped. But also, I hadn’t packed a small waist bag that I could put it in. I needed to go back to my apartment and grab one later.

“Yeah, I’m not sure how effective bear mace is going to be at deterring someone with a gun.”

I looked up at him, already panting. “You… think… they’d have… a… gun?”

Adrien huffed a chuckle as we entered the park. “If they do, it probably won’t be aimed at you.”

Except I wasn’t the one I was worried about.

Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. I’d barely even allowed myself to acknowledge it.

If he dies, Alba doesn’t get paid, I kept telling myself. That was the only reason I was worried. I swear.

“Shouldn’t… you be… bringing Frankie… or other… security… on these… runs?”

There was a long pause before he replied. “I don’t want twenty-four-hour security detail. Frankie’s team is usually reserved for events and official public appearances.”

That didn’t make sense to me. He was worried about stalkers, received threatening letters, and didn’t think he needed consistent security?

I did another scan of our surroundings, throwing a swift glance behind us just in case. And I was so caught up in trying to detect movements in between the bushes and branches and trees, that I didn’t realize Adrien had stopped until he said my name.

My feet slowed and I turned around. “Why’d you stop?” I asked. Had he seen something?

He looked at me for a few moments before letting out a long breath. Then he gestured to the path behind him. “Come on. I’ll take you back.”

I was bent over with my hands on my knees, trying to catch a hold of my slippery breath. “What? Why?”

“Just come. Run’s over.”

I straightened, bringing my hands to my hips as I started to make my way to where he stood. “Why, though?”

He visibly hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You won’t need to come on these runs anymore starting tomorrow. I’ll… carry my own bottle.”

That should have been the best news I’d heard all week. I should have laughed with delight and jumped with joy and kissed the first person I saw (not Adrien), like they do in movies. Because I hated everything about these stupid runs.

So why the hell did I look at him and ask, “But why? I don’t get it.”

Adrien huffed out a frustrated breath. “You hate doing it anyway, so stop with the million questions, and let’s go.”

“It’s just one question,” I corrected him.

“And I don’t have to answer it. Let’s go.”

“No, thanks.” I turned and fell back into a light jog.

It took him less than two breaths to catch up. “What are you doing?”

To be honest, I wasn’t sure. “Running.”

“I just said I’m taking you back.”

“And I heard ‘you’re off the clock.’ Which means my time is now mine, and I want to finish my run.”

“No, you want to piss me off.”

I couldn’t help the smirk. “Two birds.”

“Sanchez.”

I stopped again, throwing my arms up in the air. “Oh my god, what? Just tell me what your problem is.”

“I’m telling you to go home, which is what you’ve been wanting to hear every single morning since Monday. Why are you being so stubborn?”

Ah, yes. I was the stubborn one between the two of us.

“This might honestly be the stupidest fucking argument I’ve ever had with another person. And one time I argued with a six-year-old for over two hours about what type of peanut butter is best.”

“Organic and low-fat, obviously.”

I was horrified. “Literally everything about you makes me want to throw up.”

Adrien’s face slowly split into a grin. “That’s a lie.”

I huffed and started to walk away, but stopped again when I felt his fingers gently curl around my arm.

“All right, Sanchez.” He dropped his hand. “If you’re scared enough to bring mace with you on these runs, I’m not going to force you to come with me.”

I blinked at him. “That’s what you’re worried about? Me being scared?”

“I’m not worried.”

I smirked. “You sound worried.”

He pushed a hand through his dark hair. “Let’s just go. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

“Okay, you go.” I was going to finish the run whether he was with me or not. I was already out of bed and warmed up, it felt like a bit of a waste to stop now.

My feet were moving before he could argue with me again, but instead of going back, Adrien fell into silent step beside me.

Ten seconds later, my legs and lungs and feet were cursing me for not having gone back home. Sometimes it felt like I was my own worst enemy.

* * *

The small batch of unopened letters I’d left behind yesterday had disappeared, along with the sorted piles.

The table in the conference room sat empty, leaving me with absolutely nothing to do. Adrien had officially put me on standby which was arguably worse than having too much to do.

I really couldn’t stand being bored. That was whyI’d opened that cursed box on Adrien’s desk in the first place. Boredom.

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, but just as I was about to start counting the little dots on the ceiling tiles, my wrist vibrated, sending a warring mixture of dread and relief through me.

I need your DOB.

I frowned at the screen, trying to decipher what “DOB” could stand for because I didn’t think he actually wanted my date of birth. And when I couldn’t piece it together, I got up and knocked on his open office door.

“Why do you need to know when my birthday is?”

As per usual, he didn’t look up before answering. “I don’t. I need your date of birth.”

I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorway. “What’s the difference?”

“Date of birth implies that I need your birth year in addition to the month and day. Which I do.”

I gave him a suspicious once-over. “Why?”

“I need it to book your flight since I’m an assistant short this week.”

My head jutted forward. “My what?”

“Your flight,” he repeated, already starting to sound exasperated with me and my incessant line of stupid questions. How dare I continue to waste his precious time?

“Where the hell am I going?” I asked. “And when?”

“BC. Tomorrow. And we’re going together.”

I reeled. “I beg your pardon?”

Adrien swerved in his chair, finally giving me his full attention. “We’re going to Victoria, British Columbia, tomorrow morning. The flight I’m on is at nine-thirty and I’m trying to book your seat.”

Is this why I hadn’t gotten any requests from him so far this morning? He’d been busy planning this shit?

I shoved a hand into my hair and tried counting backward from five.

But then he said, “I’m having a hard time understanding why this is so difficult for you to comprehend.”

The little cactus on his desk started screaming again, pleading to be catapulted at Adrien’s nose.

“Why are we going to Victoria?” I pushed through my teeth. “Is it for work?”

He shrugged. “For you it will be.”

What the fuck did that mean?

“And how long will we be there for?” I tried.

Another shrug. “I’m not sure yet.”

Ria, please! Please, please, please smash me into his idiot face. I’ll do such a gory job of scratching him up! There’ll be so much blood! I swear!

“Can you give me an estimate?”

He leaned his head back and pretended to think about his answer. “At least a week.”

I tried coming up with an excuse—any excuse—to get myself out of being dragged to the other side of the country with him for a full week, but I could tell from the anticipatory way his head was tilted that he was just waiting for me to argue.

“I’ll pack for a week, then,” I said, managing to keep the irritation from seeping into my voice this time. “And just to be clear, we’re flying scheduled? Like with a public airline?”

I assumed the answer was yes since he was booking a ticket, but I wanted to make extra sure. The absolute last thing I needed was for him to trick me into showing up at the wrong airport or terminal or something.

“Yes. I don’t use my jet unless I have to. It’s not good for the environment.”

I blinked, my brain halting. “You’re… worried about the environment?”

He frowned at me. “Aren’t you?”

No, I was. I just… huh.

The cactus quieted down just a tiny bit. But only until I made the mistake of giving Adrien my date of birth.

“You look a lot older,” he said, chuckling. And then I had to count backward from five again. “Oh, and you should probably head home now. You’re already late.”

I didn’t even want to know what that meant.

* * *

I had a plan.

Jamie was supposed to be at work and Toebeans usually napped until the evening, so I was going to go home, pack, and open a bottle of wine so I could seethe in drunken peace.

But then, Adrien happened.

“Excuse me, are you Ria Sanchez?”

I paused midstep, frowning at the two men standing at the apartment door. There was a crap ton of cardboard boxes and building supplies stacked neatly behind them.

“Yes… that’s me.”

The older man with the scraggly Einstein hair glanced down at his phone. “You’re late.”

“Pardon?”

“Mr. Cloutier said to expect you fifteen minutes ago. We’re here to build the tree.”

The what?“What tree?”

“The cat tree,” he explained, squinting at his phone again. “It’s a gift for a, uh—a Mr. Maguire? A Mr. Toebeans Maguire, it says here.”

You have got to be kidding me. “May I see the order, please?”

It wasn’t like I could text Adrien to check. “Why would you need to be able to get in touch with me?” he’d said.

The man shrugged and gave me his phone.

Sure enough, the order form had Adrien listed as the buyer, and Toebeans as the gift recipient. The price had been redacted, but there was a note on there letting the men know that Toebeans was wary of strangers, and to “please respect his space if he asks for it.”

The men were also instructed to cease construction if the cat started to show signs of stress in response to the activity.

I hated it. All of it.

I hated that he’d thought to do this. I hated the stupid note. I hated how deceptively considerate it made him sound. I hated how much Jamie was going to swoon over the whole thing. And I really fucking hated the stuttered flips my stomach was currently doing.

They were entirely uncalled for.

I let the men into the apartment, put Toebeans in my room, and went straight for the wine. Packing could wait.

The men worked for well over three hours, drilling and hammering and measuring, and I watched as the “tree” expanded until it had taken over an entire wall of the living room, floor-to-ceiling.

It was freakin’ huge and… kind of incredible, actually. There were tubes, ropes, rings, and bridges, not to mention multiple hammocks (just in case one wasn’t enough).

There was also a throne for Toebeans to perch himself on beside the window. He went straight for it the second I let him out of my room, meowing and chirping his approval.

He loved it.

Meanwhile, I’d (accidentally) finished the first bottle of wine while the guys worked, and was (accidentally) opening the second when Jamie got home.

“What… the…” She dropped her bag when she caught sight of the monstrosity, her eyes flaring with what could only be fear. I mean… obsessed with her much?

“What’s all this?” she asked, gaping at the wall. Could she also see how much it was spinning? Or was that just the alcohol?

“Your future husband,” I explained, pouring myself another generous glass of wine. And just like that, half the new bottle had vanished. Accidentally. “A courtship offering. He’s trying to seduce you by spoiling your fat cat.”

“Hey!”

Toebeans meowed from his high throne, offended.

“He said it, not me.” I put my hands up, momentarily forgetting about the wine. Half the glass spilled onto my sweater. “Whoops.”

Jamie frowned, appropriately concerned by Adrien’s weird and creepy gesture. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” I said, holding up my wet glass. “More wine?”

She bit down on her bottom lip, doing a really good job of making her weirded-out grimace look like a suppressed smile. She should have been an actor. “I can’t believe he did this,” she sighed.

I rolled my eyes. “I know. Somebody needs to let that man know he’s doing too much.” And I’d happily be that person. “You jus’ say the words, Jams, and I’ll march right up to his apartment and tell his face how weird and creepy you think it is. I know which unit he lives in now. Long story. Short letter, but long story.”

“You’re super drunk, and we both know he has an exceptionally lovely face. Ruggedly handsome with the cutest dimples you’ve ever seen.”

“I disrespectfully disagree.”

“Your nose just flared.”

Whatever. I took another large sip of dizzying grape juice. Maybe with enough alcohol in my system I could staple my nostril shut and not even feel it. I technically only needed one to breathe.

“We should invite Adrien over for a thank-you dinner,” Jamie said.

I cackled at her hilarious joke, grabbed the bottle of wine, and sauntered to my room to drink and pack.