Okay, I know 'idiot'. And pueblo is 'house', right? Wait, no; I think that's casa, so…
"Listen up, 'idiota'," Ashton spat. "If you don't — "
"Is there a problem here, Dylan?" asked a tall man wearing a badge pinned to his shirt that read'Randall Foye'.He was thin and pale, with a bland tie and mustache combo that couldn't have screamed 'middle manager' more if he'd had a megaphone and an amp.
"Yes!" Ashton and the asshole Randall had named Dylan — which was astupidname — yelled simultaneously, before glaring at each other.
"I kicked this guy out — " Dylan started, but Ashton didn't allow him to finish.
"I left, jerk, but my stuff was still inside. He wouldn't let me come back and get it. Instead he trapped me in that entryway. Even laughed when I called for help!"
Look, if there was one thing Ashton was good at, it was knowing how to spin a story. He should; it was practically genetic.
"Is this true?" Randall asked the jerk who'd locked Ashton out of the lab.
"No!" Dylan protested sharply, then huffed. "Well, I mean… Sort of? But not like he said it!"
Randall glanced at his employee uncertainly, then back at Ashton. He tilted his head, and instantly Ashton relaxed, smiling.
Oh, this is gonna be a cakewalk.
"You look vaguely familiar…" Randall said slowly, obviously trying to put the pieces together.
Ashton stuck out his hand. "Ashton Navarro. Maybe you've seen my mom, Angela Navarro, hostingWake Up San Morado! or my grandfather, Antonio Navarro, on the evening news?"
"¿Ellos saben que eres mentiroso?"Dylan muttered, too low, too fast, too unfamiliar for Ashton to even attempt to follow.
So he didn't bother, ignoring it. Because from the way Randall's face brightened at that, Ashton didn't need to hear him answer to know it'd clicked for him. Just like he didn't need to see Dylan's scowl that it'd clicked for him too how quickly thiswas getting away from him, but Ashton let himself bask in its glory all the same.
"He'slying,Mr. Foye," Dylan said, urgency thick in his voice. "And look at him, he's drunk. We were trying to call campus security to — "
"Security?" Randall laughed nervously, eyebrows shooting up into his thinning hairline. "Over a missing bag? I'm sure we don't need to bother them for that."
He ended the sentence with a nervous chuckle that only served to darken Dylan's expression further.
"I’ll get the security feed from the cameras, if you want," Dylan offered. "Or ask Joey," he continued, gesturing at the suddenly wide-eyed and recoiling guy seated at the help desk next to him. "He’ll back me up."
This 'Joey' looked as if he'd rather be just about anywhere else but there right then, and Ashton smirked.
"I'm confident there's no need," Randall said, flapping his hand dismissively in Dylan's general direction, looking up at Ashton. "Right, Mr. Navarro?"
"I just want my bag," Ashton replied smoothly. "And to make sureDylanhere doesn't go around trapping anyone else in the entry way like he did to me."
"Oh! Well, um," Randall looked at the man in question, flummoxed. "I'm certain that was merely an accident. Dylan, why don't you apologize to Mr. Navarro, then we can all put this behind us."
"But sir," Dylan protested, looking delightfully mutinous. "That's not even how the doorswork.I couldn't have — "
"Dylan," Randall rebuked him sharply. "Please apologize. Now.And then get Mr. Navarro's bag, so he can be on his way."
"Yes, please," Ashton's cheeks were starting to hurt from all the smiling. "I'd beverygrateful."
Dylan snarled, the sulky, "Sorry," he growled out, barely audible.
It was so damn tempting to pull a, 'Sorry, what was that?'the same way Dylan himself had mimed through the doors earlier. But one glance at Randall's face told Ashton that'd be overplaying his hand, so he swallowed it down quickly.
Instead, he watched smugly as Dylan slunk off to fetch Ashton's bag. Returning it with a graceless, "Here," Dylan let it fall.
Ashton's hand shot out just in time to catch it by the shoulder strap before it hit the ground.
