Page 110 of Slumming It
"So we'll look," he said.
That was even worse.I didn'twanthim looking at properties, especially if he was doing it at my prompting. What if he went on a buying spree? What if the town was gobbled up like a Thanksgiving turkey? What if my worst fears came true?
I would have no one to blame but myself.
I could practically see it.Welcome to Murdockville. Population: Zero Locals.
When I didn't jump at the suggestion, he said, "You signed on the dotted line, remember?"
As if I could forget.But he was totally missing the point. "And that agreement – how long does it last?"
"What, you want me to check?"
"No. I want you to be realistic."
"And I'm not?"
"No. Not at all."
He looked genuinely puzzled. "How so?"
"You'rea businessman," I said. "I'm sure you know that regular jobs aren't paid in cash, willy-nilly whenever the mood strikes."
His eyebrows lifted. "Willy-nilly."
"Or whatever," I said. "But you get my point. And let's say Idoconsider the consulting thing a regular job. How long does it last? When you checked into our hotel, you paid for what? Two weeks? Is that how long you're planning to stay?"
He didn't look happy with the interrogation. "That's undecided."
"Exactly!"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning a two-week gig doesn't constitute a real job. And I'm no idiot. I know that you're not gonna stick around, so where does that leave me job-wise after you go?"
"So take the year," he said.
I wasn't following. "What year?"
"I told you yesterday, I'd pay you for the waitressing gig. Hell make it ten years if that's what it takes." Nowhistone grew sarcastic. "Does that cover it?"
Vivian's warnings rang in my ear, and suddenly, I felt just a little dirty – and not only because my waitress uniform was sticky with syrup from slinging six hours worth of pancakes. In spite of my growing shame, I met his gaze head-on. "And what exactly would you be paying me for?"
He shrugged. "Whatever."
I couldn’t help but scoff. "Right."
"And what does that mean?"
I pointed toward the restaurant. "It means, I'd rather make an honest living than whateveryou'reoffering me."
"What, you think I'm making you my mistress?"
At least he hadn't called me his prostitute – or worse, his whore. I tried for a smirk. "Well don'tyousound civilized."
"Yeah, well I'm not," he said. "And as far as a mistress, I'm not in the market, so don't flatter yourself."
That did it."Are you fucking serious?"
