Page 17 of Prince Charmless
“I’ve never begged before in my life.”
Julien stares me down for a really,really,long time, so intensely that I have to look away for a moment. Then, he nods slightly, gets up from his chair, and leaves like a gentle yet mysterious breeze. A minute later, I hear a commotion echoing down Julien’s spacious hallway.
Melina.
“... are you doing!” she yells.
Julien returns with Melina in tow, his hand gripping her bicep. She tries to escape, but he closes the frosted glass door and blocks it with his body.
“Christ, Jules. Stop making her look so hostagey. It’s hurting my feelings.”
With a huff, Melina rips her arm away from him and quickly puts the hair that’s fallen out of her clip behind her ears. She looks at me as if I’m dog shit on the sidewalk. The air becomes stuffy with her disgust. I’m almost offended. Almost.
“How does he keep popping back into my life?” she says to Julien. “Just yesterday, I opened Twitter to find pictures of him at an orphanage.”
“My sincere apologies,” I say insincerely. “I’ll try not to donate to so many orphans next time. Do you want me to take away their candy too? Anything to make our Melina happy.”
It wasn’t actually an orphanage. It was a group home for teenagers who have substance issues. Like my mother, I don’t mind meeting kids. They say whatever is on their mind and don’t seem to worry about offending me, which is refreshing compared to the overly polite and plastic people I usually meet. And the smaller ones ask really easy questions like ‘How many rooms are in your house?’ or ‘Do you know Elsa?’ The answers to which are ‘seventy-nine’ and ‘of course not, she’s a cartoon,’ respectively.
Melina does a tiny sarcastic curtsy. “How might I be of service, Your Majestyness?”
“Will you—”
“No. I will not.”
I look to Julien. “This isn’t going to work.”
“Why?” he asks.
“She’s drunk.”
Melina hits my shoulder with the back of her hand. “Oh fuck off, I’ve one glass of wine.”
It’s not every day someone I barely know casually drops an f-bomb around me or punches my arm.
“Are you sick?” Melina’s bratty façade drops, and she looks at me with a concern that seems surprisingly genuine.
I shake my head. “Just tired.” I push back the strands of hair falling in front of my forehead as if that will make my eyes look less sunken. It’s been about a week since I’ve seen her last. Today’s all-black outfit really allows me to focus on her figure. I meannotfocus on her figure. I shouldn’t be focusing on that.
I gesture to the chair next to mine. “Will you sit, please,” I say quickly so she can’t cut me off.
She looks to Julien, still blocking the door.
“Just hear him out for a couple minutes,” he says. “I know he feels bad. Isn’t that right, Taylor?”
Melina cocks her head in my direction. “He feels?”
“When I’m not drowning kittens.”
The look they both give me quickly lets me know this isn’t the time for a joke that dark. Julien always tells me I should be more obvious when I’m kidding about something, but that seemed pretty oblique to me.
“We need to talk, Melina, that’s the point.”
She’s here now. Might as well give whatever this begging thing is a try.
“I don’t like you,” she says. But she sits down anyway, not in the chair next to mine, but in Julien’s from behind the desk. Maybe she thought it was a power move to sit taller, but it looks like she’s drowning in a sea of leather.
“Whatdoyou like?” I close the laptop in front of her. “How about a nice big check with a couple of zeros in it? Maybe double your rate? Triple?”
