Page 61 of Moonlighter
“I know. But do me a favor? Play dumb. Pump him for information about what he can offer.”
“Fine. Whatever. I’ll do your dirty work. Is there anything else I can do for you Max? Spy on anyone else? Bring you a sandwich?”
He laughs. “Thanks, but I have people for that. And I’m very particular about my sandwiches.”
“Of course you are.”
“Oh—there is one small thing you can do for me. Tell my brother to stop mooning the pillow cam whenever he’s alone in the suite.”
“Hedidn’t.” I clap a hand over my mouth.
“Oh, he does. Frequently.” Max shakes his head. “Tell him middle school is over. Find a new joke.”
“It’smyass!” Eric yells from the other room. “I can shake it wherever I want.”
Max shakes his head. “Later, Alex. Good luck today.”
“Thanks, Max.” I give him a wave and disconnect our call.
It’sanother long day of meetings, including a business lunch. Eight hours pass before I’m escorted back to the suite by Pieter and my assistant, Rolf, who’s yapping at my heels like a frustrated chihuahua. “We never called Pam in London. And I still need you to open DocuSign and authorize the quarterlies.”
“Later,” I say as the lock clicks to green and I push into the suite. “I need a snack, and then I have to get ready.” And I’m just so tired, suddenly. What I really need is a nap. But that’s not going to happen.
“Well, fine,” Rolf says from the hallway. “You don’t call, you don’t text. You don’t send flowers!”
“I love you Rolf. Now go away.”
“That’s what they all say.” He sighs heavily as I shut the door.
When I turn around, it’s as if I’ve stumbled into a fraternity house. The TV is on, tuned to sports news. There are dirty plates on the coffee table beside an empty protein drink container. And there’s rock music blaring from a speaker somewhere.
I locate Eric on the rug, wearing nothing but a bathing suit. He’s doing push-ups.
“Hi, honey I’m home,” I say to his very well-formed backside.
“Thirty-four. Thirty-five. Thirty-six…”
“The dinner starts in an hour.”
“Thirty-seven…” There’s a grunt and a pause. “Thirty-eight…”
“What? Only thirty-eight? I could beat that with one hand tied behind my back.”
Eric laughs. I see his back shaking. Then he collapses onto the rug. “You wrecked my set!”
“Oh, sure, blame the pregnant lady.” I step over his body and proceed to the kitchenette. “Is there any yogurt left?”
He rolls over. “I thought you said dinner was soon.”
“It is. But when you’re the speaker, you can’t eat. Too risky.”
“Risky? Like you might choke and die before your speech?”
“No, like you might get sauce on your dress.”
“Heavens!” He eyes me from the floor. “This audience is mostly men, right?”
“Sure.”
