Page 12 of Bad at Love

“You’d be right.” He taps the side of his mug, then looks up at me with a more serious look. “I’d like to offer you to stay here on a trial basis, if that’s okay? Ninety days. I need help with thebills, but I can be a bit much, so I wouldn’t want to force you to stay here if you can’t handle it—handle me.”

“I’m sure you’re not that bad. You made me tea.” I point to it and smile.

He smiles too, but it’s sad. “I can be a lot,” he repeats.

Damn. Who hurt this guy?

“Okay,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “Trial sounds good. I can pay you all three months up front.”

He frowns, eying me cautiously. “What do you do for work?”

Ah, the million dollar question.

“I’m not sure you want to know the answer to that question.”

“Do you sell drugs?”

“No.”

“Murder for hire?”

“No.”

“Are you a prostitute?” He whispers that one, and I hold back my laugh.

“No.” His eyes stay on me, and I see the gears turning in his head. “I’m a content creator.”

I go with the simple answer.

“Like those social media people?”

“Something like that.”

“I’ve heard they make a decent amount of money. It’s not for me though. I hate the camera and don’t want to talk to anyone.” He takes another sip. “Also, I don’t even have social media, so I wouldn't know where to begin.”

Who the hell doesn’t have social media in this day and age? Though, this could work out in my favor. At least I don’t have to worry about him finding out who I am.

“It’s not so bad. Good money.”

He shrugs, then lifts his mug. “How quickly can you move your things in?”

I scratch the back of my head. “Don’t have much with me and it’s all at the hotel, mostly still packed. I can have it all here tomorrow.”

“I’ll write up the contract starting for tomorrow then.” He nods emphatically.

“I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon with my stuff, a check, and a pen ready to sign.”

“Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head.What could possibly be wrong with what I said now?“I’ll provide the pen. I have a specific fountain pen with Noodler’s Bernanke ink. Perfect for contract signing—doesn’t smudge.”

On the outside I’m smiling. Internally, I’m fucking terrified.

Chapter Seven

Gabriel

When Storm said he would be here “tomorrow afternoon,” I should have asked for a precise time. I didn’t, and that was my fault. I also didn’t get his number, so I can’t call him to find out when he will arrive, and he didn’t put it on the application.

The drive to my parents’ house is a little over an hour. Dinner is in two. Storm isn’t here.

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