Page 13 of Clause & Effect
“I’m complicated.”
My heartbeat stutters to a near stop.
God help me, but I’m instantly turned on. See? This is why I always find problematic relationships, no, they find me, because the minute I see the puzzle I immediately want to get my greedy little hands on it and be the one person to solve it, the one personto fix it despite my inability to even fix myself! Maybe it’s the air, maybe it’s the controlling unhinged nature of his odd proposal but, I’m also completely intrigued.
“I think I got an eyewitness taste of your complications when you had a face-off with that polar bear,” I say.
He has the audacity to smile. And the smile has the audacity to make my insides burn with need.
“That was nothing, really,” his voice has a hint of warning. “Compared to the other stuff…”
And voila, ladies and gentlemen,here come more of the red flags. Stetson’s about to drop some truth bombs about himself that’ll probably change everything. The clause was the warning, the other stuff is about to seal his fate.
“Would you like to expand on what kind of ‘stuff’ you might be referring to?” I ask him in a calm nonchalant tone. “Like are we talking extreme sports stuff? Like you could die at any moment kind of stuff?”
He shakes his head and laughs it off. I hate that I already love his laugh and how unapologetic he is about it. It comes from his belly, it’s louder, more attractive, and sexier than it should be.
“There’s not a great fear of death in what I’m training to do” he says. “But like any job, there’s always a risk.”
“Wait, what you’retrainingto do?” I must admit I’m super curious. “I mean, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m in the toy industry.” He says it with a great deal of gravitas.
Anticlimactic.
Toy? Like kid toys? Or like toy toys? Sex toys? Nooooo.
“That was a really long pause for someone who plays with toys.” I joke feeling him out a bit.
He doesn’t crack a smile.
Okay then, takes toys very seriously. Got it.
“I’m gonna assume you own Toys-R-Us?” I wave around at the view surrounding us. “I’m just doing the math from your mega-buggy, and what I’m assuming is a matching mega yacht or two with the same colors out there somewhere parked in the Mediterranean and here.”
“One is in the South of France,” he corrects with a wink and then. “But sorry to disappoint, our toy company is privately owned by the family corporation.”
Wait, that doesn’t really make sense.
“Your family?” I keep pushing for answers, which is unlike me. I never like to prod in people’s personal lives, but he’s kind of making me want to.
He locks eyes with me.
“Yes.”
“Are you guys making some crazy version of the Labubu dolls and that’s why you want me to sign a non-compete clause?” My extremely active imagination comes up with a good storyline.
“No,” he laughs and shakes his head. “The clause is about other things.”
“Like?”
“They’re personal in nature and I’d prefer to discuss them with you in a more private setting,” his words are so mysterious that I don’t even know what path I should go down in my head.
It’s like a choose your adventure with an endless list of possibilities.
Was the way he said private setting supposed to sound like a naughty invitation? My heart jumps in my chest.
“You seem unsure,” he studies my face.
