Page 50 of Bossy Grump's Secret

That was easy…and tension-building. What about me?

"You're about to spend over three hundred dollars on a casual dinner… this isn't even…a proper date. We're not ceremonially dressed…."

She's right. She's wearing jeans and a hoodie, and I’m in sweatpants and a basketball jersey. There’s nothing official here. I’m just testing the waters.

“How are you able to…spend so much? And you have a Ferrari!” She waves her hands in the car's direction but keeps her gesticulations to a minimum since we're in public.

How on earth didn’t I think of this?

I mean…I thought of it, but I was just too focused on impressing Ava that I didn’t know when I had crossed the border into suspicion. And Ava is a detective who made the wrong choice to study hotel management. I have to make something up fast.

“uh. It’s difficult to explain, but I’ll simplify it as much as possible. You’re worth any type of treatment and any price of a meal. Don't worry about it. Allow me to cry about the damage later.” I laugh at this diatribe, hoping she goes along with the compliment. A soft blush rises fast to her cheeks, and even though I can see the questions in her eyes, she doesn’t go there.

I need to come up with a lasting story.

Ava

Sometimes I want to hug my best friend and keep her in my embrace - maybe till we both fall asleep in each other’s arms. Sometimes I just want to toss her across the room. This time, I’m badly craving Lily's brain meat.

“You are either pretending not to have heard what I just said and deliberately want to annoy me, or you have the brain of a pelican,” I mutter dryly.

“And you, my dear, are more paranoid than the average hausfrau on a caffeine overdose. A mafia boss, really!” she screeches.

“You’re laughing now until it finally happens. You’ll wake up one day and don’t see me…then you get a call from me some three weeks later, telling you I’m in Italy as the wife of Dylan Marcallo, the Leader of the…whatever cartel. He’ll make me a housewife that has to dodge danger every other week when rival families try to shoot up the mansion.”

This time, she’s in full-blown laughter. Maybe I'll have some tongue to go with the brain meal.

“From now on, I’m placing you on Xanax. Three pills a day.”

“Lily, he has a Ferrari,"I stressed, hoping she gets the point.

“You might need to take five now to calm your raging mind. Don’t worry. It’s not an overdose. I prescribed it.” She keeps on playing doctor.

I shake my head and take a huge breath.

“Exactly! That’s what you need! See how much better you feel now?”

“What will it take you to believe me?”

“Oh, sweet mother, Ava. I don’t think you’re hallucinating. He has a Ferrari, okay? I know Ferraris cost two hundred plus grand. My uncle had one. Rolexes can be pretty cheap, relatively speaking…if you accept a thousand bucks as cheap and buy it used. You don't need to read so much meaning into it, like he’s a billionaire or something. I’m sure he’s not that rich,” Lily counsels. Her wisdom astounded me, but I still think she's yet to grasp what I'm talking about.

“What if I show you?” I offer after some moments of contemplation.

“You don’t have to do…” she says, but by now, Lily should understand my resolve well enough to know I will make her see what I mean.

“Come on, let’s head to his room. He won’t be in there,” I interrupt her and stand up in the same instant, pulling her up by her hand.

“You can’t be sure. What if he is?” she disagrees.

“His day off doesn’t correlate with ours. He’s definitely working now.” I tug her out of the room and to what is now known as the administrative area. This part of the hotel is usually empty because most of the executive staff have families, so they prefer going home, especially if they live in the city. They work nights, of course, such as for a large gala.

I only saw the place packed with staff at night when a popular singer celebrated her birthday in the hotel and rented the ballroom for a midnight till dawn party. I visited Dylan when we were still in the infatuation phase of our relationship. We cuddled with each other for an hour before he went to supervise the catering activities. He wasn’t back until about four a.m. when the most crucial part of the party was over, and every attendee was drunk.

My respect for him and other managerial staff grew that day when just two hours later, they were up and running like they weren't about to pass out at the slightest breeze.

“So, how do we get in?” Lily asks me when we arrive at the door.

I take a deep breath and put my hand on the doorknob. “I hope this still works,” I huff and turn it. The doors glide gently open. “Yay!”

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