Page 40 of Dead Serious with Benefits
“I have been well and thoroughly harassed,” Arlo assured him, and when I gave him a questioning look, he gave me a small smile and a shrug. I chose to take that as he hadn’t minded the harassment.
“Fine, fine, fine,” Miles said with a sigh. “I’ll be on my way. Do take pictures for me, Ward. I would love to see him dressed in finery. As I’m sure everyone who sees him will enjoy it. Nothing quite like a good set of clothes to make the man.”
“You have my word,” I told him with a bow of my head. That was enough for him because my word was not something I offered lightly, and we’d had a working relationship long enough for him to know that.
“He is...certainly energetic,” Arlo noted once Miles had all but skipped out of the room.
“You can say he’s exhausting, you would not be the first, and as long as he’s alive and dealing with people, you aren’t going to be the last.”
“I can see he would be exhausting for some people.”
“But not for you?”
“The key is not trying to keep up with him. You won’t exhaust yourself that way.”
“True,” I said with a sigh. “But...he is actually a genius at what he does. And he wasn’t kidding; he does offer services that aren’t terribly expensive. He doesn’t make a big fuss about it because people tend to comment.”
“What sort of thing? Affordability?”
“We still live and breathe in a world where people of his fame and skill are meant to cater only to those who can afford it; the higher the price tag, the more prestige people attach to it. He’s never said it, but I’m quite sure he charges people like me as much as he does because not only can I afford it, but it adds prestige in people’s minds. At the same time, he has a soft spot for the everyman. In the fashion industry especially, that sort of soft spot should be reserved for charity, not for reasonable prices that ‘dilute’ the grandeur of his art.”
“A little like you then.”
I glanced at him, surprised. “Nothing like me. I haven’t an artistic bone in my body.”
“Perhaps, but you seem aware that’s up-charging you for a task he wouldn’t have charged me nearly as much for, and you accept it with grace. You appreciate his work, not the prestige attached to it. Just as you appreciated the quality one of the workmen was willing to put into your bathroom. A company, I noticed, that did not come from whatever elite phone book you have access to. And it is only a guess, based on Olivia, but your party had ‘normal’ people, not just the rich and famous. You aren’t humble, but you’re not afraid to encourage those humble origins in others, even appreciate it.”
“Hmm, should I ever lose my senses and go into politics like my mother wishes, I should bring you on as my public relationsmanager. You have a knack for spinning positive light around me.”
“I speak on what I see, not what I can fabricate.”
“Even better, when the positive spin has a foot in the truth, it’s even more likable.”
“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom? He seems quite good at what he does, but there was some sort of...perfume on his hands that has stuck to mine, and I need to rinse it off if I can.”
“Well, if he got it anywhere else, feel free to use my shower,” I said with a smirk. “I can promise there are no cameras in there to worry about.”
He gave me an amused look. “I think washing my hands will suffice.”
“You saw it on the way in,” I told him with a chuckle. “And you can’t hold it against me. Having the chance to have you naked in my home was too good to pass up.”
“Of course,” he said as he walked past me, speaking before disappearing around the corner. “Mind you, no one ever said there wasn’t still a chance of that in the near future, just not in that way.”
Hmm, I would need to remember there was a lot more to Arlo than met the eye. For someone who did a damn fine job of presenting a respectable, well-controlled face, there was a lot more going on under the surface. At the very least, I could say I was sure he was into me, but he was far better at flirtation than I thought. He was good at finding the right carrot to dangle from the right stick, that was for sure.
It was only a minute after he’d gone into the bathroom before I heard a couple of thumps, one heavier than the other, followed by a word I wasn’t even aware he knew, let alone used.
“Arlo?” I called, worrying as I walked toward the bathroom. The door opened, and he stepped out.
“You may want to call your building manager,” he said, holding up what had once been the soap dispenser. In his hand was a singed and cracked glass bottle, the contents leaking everywhere, including his hand and the bathroom floor.
“What in the fresh hell happened?” I asked, staring at the bottle and then catching the look on his face. “Jesus, why do you look all... bug-eyed?”
“An electric shock gets my attention quite quickly,” he said with a huff, shaking the container. “I picked this up to look at it, and without thinking, I used it to bump the faucet to get water flowing. Lucky for me because the handles are hot.”
I blinked, trying to understand what he was saying. “What? How the hell is my bathroom sink live?”
“I believe you’ll have to take that up with your building manager, who will have to take it up with the electricians who came in here to deal with the wiring,” he said. “The dispenser took the brunt of the shock, but there was more than enough almost to knock me down.”
