Page 2 of The Reluctant Reaper
Billy’s rapid blinking was now a full-on tic. “Did someone get you to take the job to sabotage me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I took the job because I lost a bet. Sabotaging you was strictly for fun. Say hi to Shelly for me! You’ll be seeing her in court soon.”
Most people liked to leave ’em laughing. Amara preferred to leave ’em devastated.
ChapterTwo
“You. Are. Shitting me.”
Amara snapped her fingers at her best nemesis / worst friend. “Pay up. Fired by noon, twenty-eight days in. Well, twenty-seven and a half.”
Gray let out a sigh. “He only held off that long because he thought he could get in your pants. Let’s get supper at Houlihan’s.”
“You expect me to have an appetite after you put that image in my head?”
“I’ll pay you in drinks.”
“Good call, since that’s the only tender I’ll accept.”
Twenty minutes later, she and Gray were sucking down virgin mules served inexplicably in regular glasses. Were the copper mugs in the dishwasher? Or oxidating in a cupboard? Perhaps she expected too much from a chain.
“Ka-boom!” he chortled. Graham Gray was currently growing out his buzzcut; as usual, he managed to look disheveled and put-together at the same time. He was dressed in dark blue shorts and a long-sleeved polo shirt in a primary color (today’s was jack-o’-lantern orange). As it was March, he was wearing socks with his battered loafers. The long-sleeved shirt wasn’t just in deference to the weather; it hid some of the scars.
If you judged him simply on appearance—long, strong legs; swimmer’s shoulders; pale green eyes; dark hair—you’d think he never felt fragile for so much as a nanosecond. That no one who looked so good could ever feel so bad.
“Another temp job bites the dust,” he said with a snicker. “Pun intended.”
“And not a minute too soon. Another day and I was going to set his man-bun loose and use the scrunchie to strangle him. It would have been tough, but you’d be surprised how resilient cloth-covered elastic can be.”
Gray chuckled. “That’s the only thing I like about you, Amara. Ordinary people burn bridges. You’re the human embodiment of the Viet Cong.”
“It’s not the only thing. Plus, the Viet Cong was actually made up of humans, you delightful dope. And they preferred to be called the People’s Army of Vietnam.”
He ignored facts. “You blow them up and then stomp all over the smoldering remains. And then piss all over ground zero for good measure, ne’er to return.”
“Thank you? What can I say, I don’t do long engagements. Sometimes not even short ones.”
“I still don’t get how you do it. Or why, but that’s a conversation for another time. You’re always so vague when I try to pin you down.”
“I just read the paper and...”
“Annnnnnnd?”
“And get a feeling.”
“From reading the newspaper.”
“Yes.”
“Specifically, the obituaries.”
She shrugged. He was doing that thing where he knew the answers but asked anyway. “It doesn’t happen every time. But now and again I get...” A need. An urge. A compulsion. “A feeling. Billy’s mother died last month and I felt... I just had the impression that he was an asshole doing asshole things. So when he advertised for an assistant...” She shrugged again. “And it’s a little alarming that you’ve got such an interest in my employment history.”
“Aw, c’mon, after the way we met? I made a PowerPoint,” he said brightly. “Which I’ll be updating tonight. You should come back to my place and see the updates in real time. This has gotta be a new record for you.”
She took another sip. Fresh lime juice, excellent. “Your PowerPoint must be missing a slide: my twenty-two-day stint as a hoser of hounds and catcher of cats.”
Gray shook his head. “Doesn’t count. You did that for fun and you never got paid. And you had to leave when the full-time gal got back from maternity leave.”
