Page 9 of Moonlighter
He shrugs. “Your flight leaves at six p.m.”
“Six…today?The conference doesn’t start until Thursday!”
“Sure, but she took meetings for Wednesday, and there’s a six-hour time difference. Alex needs to acclimate.”
I make a noise of rage. “You arrogant, controlling, manipulative motherfucker.”
Max’s eyes go to his smart watch, where I’m sure he gets an incoming message every seven seconds. Ignoring the insults, he asks, “She honestly didn’t recognize you?”
“No!” I bellow.
He glances up and smiles. “Ouch.”
I want to choke him. I really do. It might be the end of me, though. This fucking apartment is probably equipped with a mechanism that senses danger. If I lunge for him, the ping-pong table would probably swallow me whole and digest me slowly. Like a high-tech Venus Flytrap.
“Just tell me why,” I say. “Why me? Anyone could stand next to Alex and ward off her ex-boyfriend.”
“Because you’re real,” Max says, simultaneously typing about ninety-eight words per minute into his watch. “Your story checks out. Professional athlete. Friend of Alex’s family from way back. You don’t have to fake anything. Even your ill-fated meeting this spring fits with the story. Old friends who reconnected.”
Or failed to. When I roll my eyes, I catch a glimpse at the clock on the wall. It’s titanium, and probably doubles as a grenade launcher. In this place, nothing is exactly what it seems. Except for the time, which is pushing three o’clock. “Fuck me. I really do have to go home and pack.”
And here I thought I was going to spend the evening watching violent movies in my underwear and eating take-out. As one does. But now I’m getting on a twelve-hour flight?
How do I get myself into these situations?
“Safe travels,” my brother grunts. He taps the screen, oblivious to my irritation. “I just deposited two grand into your bank account. Good game. And don’t let that fucker near Alex.”
“I won’t. Jesus.” Just because I don’t want this job doesn’t mean I won’t do it well. This ex of hershitswomen? If he so much as blinks in our direction, I’ll crack him in half. And I’ll enjoy it. “Later, then.” There’s no chance Max wants a hug or to walk me out, so I just turn and head for the exit.
“One more thing?” he says.
I pause on my way to the elevator. “What now?”
“Don’t fuck her. She’s vulnerable right now.”
“Oh, please,” I mutter, remembering how quickly she shut me down in Florida.
Then I get the hell out of there.
I’m barely outof the building by the time Max’s travel coordinator starts sending me texts.Check your email for a packing list. Car arrives in 2 hours, 7 minutes.
I read the email on the train back to Brooklyn.
Pack the following clothing:
White dress shirt
Business suit in gray or navy blue
Silk tie
Dress shoes
Casual shoes
Resort wear for a 5-day stay. (Laundry service available)
Bathing suit, beach wear
