Page 20 of Rich and Bossy

A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, before I even knew it was on the way.

He laughs, too, and for the first time it feels like we’re nothing more than two normal people having a conversation. That’s all. Not a boss and employee, not a billionaire and college senior who works in a warehouse. We’re just two people sitting down for a drink.

I have to end that, immediately. It’s unacceptable.

“What did you expect?” He looks around, smiling fondly. “I know you’re young, but I did play football, once upon a time.” He says it with a hint of sadness in his voice.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to flatter me.” He smirks again.

“You know I will never do that.” I lean back and fold my arms over my chest. “Ever. It’s literally the last thing I would do, before death.”

“You don’t have to be so over the top with your hatred of me. I get it. The one percent, evil villain guy.”

“My dad was a big fan of yours. You’re his favorite Gopher of all time.”

“No shit? That’s really nice to hear.” To my surprise, he looks like he genuinely appreciates hearing that. The lines around his mouth and eyes soften, like some of the tension drains out of his face. “I’m surprised anyone remembers.”

“They probably wouldn’t if you hadn’t taken over the world with your business.”

“Good point.” He’s still snickering like he’s holding back a mischievous laugh. “Tell your dad I said thanks, sincerely.”

“You know I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d get hit with a million other questions, and I refuse to talk about you one second more than is necessary.”

“Maybe after we’ve solved our disputes, you can tell him this tale over a fire at Christmastime, of the former great quarterback turned evil CEO.”

“That might be a possibility.”

“See? That’s called compromise. Didn’t know you had it in you. But we’re making progress, Strous.”

“Hilarious.” Suddenly, a server appears at my left, and I freeze up like a deer in headlights.

Why am I so on edge? She might know him, but she’s damn sure not going to know me. That’s what these people do. They get you paranoid because they follow you around, put listening devices on stuff, track you at work.

The people at Rapid just want a place to work and feel they’re doing something important. Get paid and go home. Take some days off for a vacation or take care of a sick kid without being hassled to death by their boss, then hassled again by their insurance, because the boss chose a cheaper plan for everyone that doesn’t cover everything.

They’re the ones making people this way!

Then they brush it off and act like you’re the insane one when you try to bring it up, that it’s unfair and morally wrong.

“I’ll have whatever lager you’ve got on tap.” He turns to me, and I can tell he finds all of this amusing.

“I'll have the same.” I don't even care, so long as I don’t feel the need to squirm in my seat.

“May I see your ID?” The waitress glances over at me.

Why is my face so damn pale right now? Why do I feel like a ghost? “You know what, I just…”

“Just show her your ID, Strous. It’s her job.” He pulls his out and sets it on the table too.

It gives the waitress something to look at while I fumble for mine. Even though I shouldn’t be having any alcohol around this man! What am I even doing?

I manage to get my ID out. It feels like she’s looking it over way longer than she needs to. Paxton sits there, grinning at me, obviously amused by this.

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