Page 80 of Good Enough

“Your job,” Big Bird sneered, “is to consult on SEAL operations, which it appears you are not as familiar with as you should be. SEALs take orders, and you don’t follow any you’re given.

“I don’t answer to you.”

“Oh. You answer to a woman, then?”

“If she hires me to do a job, yes. I don’t have a problem with following orders from a woman. Apparently, you do.”

“Kai Serrano does not tell me what to do.”

“Mmm. Appears that she did a few moments ago. I can’t force you onto an airplane and out of the country… yet. But I aim to see that you do as she requires.”

“I won’t be going anywhere.”

“Wrong answer, Mr. Stapleton. You will leave this room, and you will leave now.” Now, it was Waters’ turn to smile without it reaching his eyes. “After all, I’m not sure you really want to see Ms. Serrano and I rolling around in her sheets.”

Rising from the desk, Big Bird stalked around it like a raging bull. He pointed a finger at Waters. “Keep your hands off of her, or you’ll wish we’d never met. Get out of here. Now. Take all of your shit with you, get in the Jeep, and get out. You’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me. Only my boss can, and she’s my boss while I’m working here. Plus, I believe she established what happens if you terminate the contract early.”

“Just try me.”

“Mr. Stapleton, did you do your homework?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Do you know the company you’re threatening?”

Stapleton’s finger poked him in the chest. “I know exactly who I’m threatening. A sissy-ass military wannabe who's working a piece of ass that isn’t worth the time.”

At that, Waters raised an eyebrow. “If it’s not worth it, why are you so desperate to get rid of me?”

Growling, he gave Waters a shove. “Fuck off.”

Waters stood from his leaning position against the door jamb, spread his legs shoulder-width apart, and let his arms fall to his sides. “Touch me again, and I’ll show you how creative I can be at breaking bones. Then, every time it rains, the arthritis that will develop will make sure you never forget me.” Waters opened the door and gestured for Big Bird to leave. “You’re not welcome in the War Room again. Do not attempt to talk to her or be in the same room with her if I’m not in it. You will be nothing but respectful to her, no matter how much it galls you to do so. If not, and whether she gives me instructions to do so or not, I will escort you off the set with pleasure.” The bastard stood in front of Waters, chest heaving, eyes narrowed to angry slits, hostility pouring off him in waves. “Now, Stapleton. Or you’ll find out just how not ‘sissy-ass’ nor ‘wannabe’ I am.”

He must have heard the seriousness in Waters’ monotone. The dick actually made a show of letting all of the tension out of his shoulders by dropping them, then rotating his neck. He stepped out into the hallway but threw over his shoulder, “This isn’t over, military man.” Then he walked across the hall to his room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Waters left the War Room, making sure to lock it. The actors wouldn’t come down to hang out tonight as they were unwilling to chance running into Ballbuster Stapleton, as they called him. And Waters didn’t trust the fucknut not to come sneaking back over to rustle through all of Kubrick’s things. Quietly and quickly, he made his way to the kitchen.

He stood just outside the light that spilled from the kitchen into the hallway. Kubrick was sitting at the table, angrily stabbing her spoon into her cereal bowl, not eating. Her passions were always so close to the surface. He liked that about her. Not only did he not have to work too hard at knowing how she was feeling, but the closer her feelings were to the surface, the more she was willing to talk. And he needed answers about the problem between these two to attempt to protect her from the strong desire to undermine and sabotage.

He leaned in the doorway. “You okay?”

Kubrick didn’t look up. Didn’t answer. Just kept stabbing her cereal.

“You know, I don’t think cereal works quite the same as a voodoo doll,” he added.

She looked up at him, and he felt one corner of his mouth quirk up.

Stepping up to the table, he took the cereal bowl from her, dumped the contents, and rinsed the dish before placing it in the sink to be washed in the morning. He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently, his thumbs rotating at the base of her neck. “He’s gone for the night.”

Pushing back her chair with a huff, she stalked back to the War Room, only to have to wait for him to unlock it. Once inside, he relocked the door. She had pushed into the center of the room, then stopped, her shoulders rounding over, her hands covering her eyes. He came up behind her, turning her into his chest. With his arms around her shoulders, he rested his head on top of hers, brushing his chin up and down the crown of her head.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Shh. No need to apologize for that fuckwitch.”

She gave a soft laugh at his copying of her.

---