Page 15 of Never Say Yes To Your Boss

“No analogies? That’s very kind.”

“You mean I should insinuate that the type of pet a person owns says something about their personality? Then your brother, I’m sorry to say, would have a mad collection of dicks going. Or asses. Donkeys! Yes, that’s it! He’d own a donkey.”

Lord, this is too entertaining. I shouldn’t laugh. I really shouldn’t laugh because of family solidarity and all that. But of course, I laugh. Funny. This girl, my wife. She’s funny.

“I’m sorry I’ve been calling Hans a goon,” she said.

“To his face?”

“N—no, I don’t think so. Well, not after that first showdown when I woke up tied up on the bed. But I’ve been calling him that in my head. I might have used the term goonzilla a few times in the privacy of my brain. I feel kind of bad now, though, because he kind of did save your life last night after I just about literally drowned you.”

“Goonzilla,” I test it out with a sigh. “Nah, he’s not really a goon. Just a big guy who went looking for adventure because he became bored doing what he was doing.”

“And what was he doing?”

“Science. Physics.”

There’s no gasp of surprise, which is quite admirable because Everleigh’s jaw cracks an inch. “I guess this is where you insert the popular and incredibly token notion of not judging a book by its cover.” She picks up a spear of asparagus and munches on it. “My god, these are incredible. I don’t know how your chef does it, but he or she managed to turn something I don’t like into something I do. They’re magic, I tell you. Straight up wizards in there.”

“I’ll pass on the compliments.”

He might pass on some beard hairs later in return.

We’re both quiet for a few minutes as we eat. The food is too good to waste anything by letting it get cold. Or, rather, colder.We’ve already been talking for a few minutes, but it was piping hot before, so I guess now it’s at that just-right stage. We eat until we’re stuffed. I know I am, and Everleigh pushes back in her chair.

“I’m so full that I could explode,” she mutters. She glances at the plate, which is still half full. “Do they, like, put the leftovers in the fridge for later? Because I feel really bad about wasting.” I know for a fact that none of the leftovers get saved, so I kind of make a choking noise. Everleigh nods. “I figured as much. You need to get a dog. They would eat well.”

“Ha. Me with a dog. That’s funny.”

“Why? You like to walk everywhere. I think a dog would be a perfect match for you.”

Yup, this girl. She just made a joke about something no one else would dare to joke about because it’s damn tragic how it came about. Yet somehow, she’s not making fun of me at all. To my amazement, I find myself laughing softly. No one makes me laugh. Not really. Except for Hans. He’s got being funny down to a science.

“I think this might work out,” I say cautiously as I study my newwife. That’s such a strange word.

She studies me back just as cautiously. We’re both staring at each other, sizing each other up, but not in that pissing contest, enemies kind of way. Rather, it’s more of a surprised at how this might be an okay situation despite it all kind of an appraisal. There are all the elements of surprise and pleasure that make my chest feel funny. It’s not in the same way that my nuts felt funny for the better part of last night, the way my shoulder feels funny when it starts aching and tugging after a long day, or just because it’s being an asshole and giving me a hard time for no particular reason. No, this stitch in my chest feels like a needle and thread punctured both lungs, and it’s sewing them back upto half their capacity because it’s a little bit hard to breathe, but it’s not as unpleasant as all that. It’s actually not bad at all.

“Yeah,” she responds just as carefully. “I think you might be okay. Does this mean I can call you D now, too?”

“Ugh, not a chance.”

“Alright,” she replies and grins, flashing me her teeth. “How about D-Man?”

“No. Hard pass.” Considering all the other names that start with D, D-Man is probably getting off easy.Douchebag, dinky winky, dimple bottom, dorkus Darius, ditto Bradford, dastardly bastard, Dickface…The list is literally endless.

“Hmm.” She rests her chin on her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

I’ve never heard such an ominous declaration in my life.

Chapter seven

Everleigh

“Please. Please come out and see the surprise I got.” I try an extra wide smile because that’s usually my convincing face.

I know I’m interrupting. Darius is sitting in his home office…err, I guess it’s his real office because he works from home and doesn’t usually go anywhere else. He’s not on his phone, and I caught him at a moment when he was obviously taking a break. He’s got his long legs crossed in front of him as he’s sitting in his desk chair with them out, and they go on for miles. He’s also rotating his arm, doing some kind of exercise, but he stops moving it when I lean against the doorframe.

It’s been a few days. I’ve kind of settled in and gotten used to having an insane amount of money in my bank account. I paid off all my family’s debt, paid off the mortgage on the little house and the outstanding bills, and even got Heather’s treatment plan squared away. I’ve settled in here too, not just in the house, but with myself. I was so out of sorts before. Now, I feel less thatway, I guess. I’ve taken it upon myself to make a purchase. And I’ve had an idea. Actually, I had the idea before the purchase, and I made it happen.

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