“Why didn’t you take me home? If you went snooping for my ID.”
“I barely had time to get you dressed, you’re welcome by the way, and find your badge before the paps showed up. I had to think fast. Rachel’s was the only place I could think to go. Funny that they knew I was at the theater at all.” His voice is heavy with insinuation.
“Weird.” I can’t help a little smile, hoping the concession stand girls made some money off the information.
“I said you fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake you. Now there’re stories online, with witnesses, that I overworked my personal assistant to the point of unconsciousness.”
“Bummer.”
Roe gets up and throws his arms out. “Have I done something to piss you off? This is my career you’re toying around with, okay? One wrong tweet and I could be cast out with yesterday’s fad diet.”
I match his stance. I’m pissed too. But to be fair, I can’t fully identify why yet. Coffee. Brains. Delay.
“Yeah, you have actually.” And then I realize I have no follow up. No answer that I want to give. I haven’t had time to process everything. I start talking without thinking. “Four years and not one person has ever seen me when I’m Under.” I feel the frustration building again as I make the connections. “And now, right when I’m getting finally close to something, this happens. You’ve ruined everything.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Seeing me is enough.”
We pause in our fighting. I break eye contact first. Okay, I may be acting like a jerk. I’m not great when things don’t go according to plan. There’s the understatement of the year.
“Close to what?” He scratches the back of his neck.
“Huh?”
“You said you were close to something. What are you close to?”
“Nothing.” I make a pouty face at my misstep. I’m really not a morning person.
“Your next story? You’re so curious to crack the mystery of James Roe?” He crosses his arms. “I’m a person, you know? I took care of you when you passed out and you treat me like I’m the aggressor here.”
“I know. Okay. Thank you for that, by the way. I’m sorry for the saltiness.” I groan and stare up at the ceiling. Things are so far off the plan I couldn’t even see the plan. “What? You think I’m going to out you? It’s not like I can tell anyone. What would I even say?”
I shake my head. Honestly, I’m not even worried about that. I can’t say anything without giving too much away. “This isn’t even about you,” I half-mumble.
“You’re gonna have to give me something here.” He throws up his arms. Then he takes a deep breath. After a minute of serious eyebrow exercises, he says, “You weren’t following me at all were you?” His voice is softer.
I shake my head. “At least not at first.”
He’s putting the pieces together. I stay quiet.
Now that I’m no longer set to defensive-mode, and I’m able to brain properly, I’m able to take in the vision of him. His jeans hang low on his slim waist, flashing a strip of black elastic, before that same black T-shirt stops. The cotton looks soft enough to rub my face all over. My focus returns to him as he speaks.
“If I guess correctly will you tell me?” He rubs his right eyebrow like he’s pushing back a headache.
My knee-jerk reaction is to tell him, hell no, and to go screw himself, but I’m flailing. I need to regroup. I’m having… thoughts. The start of an idea gains traction in my mind, but I’m going to need to trust Roe at least a little until I see where this goes. I work alone. Even O.G. is an invisible partner, pun intended, but Roe does have connections. Can I trust a man who knows so much about me? Maybe he wouldn’t have the power to ruin me necessarily but he already knows more about me than any other person in the world. That alone is terrifying.
He bends closer and says, “It’s Zebulund, isn’t it?”
Sonuva biscuit.
* * *
Roe
CarryingMaggie May out of that theater last night filled me with primal protectiveness. I sheltered her from the camera flashes and the shouted questions. I hid her face in my chest, hoping to give her some privacy that’s never afforded to me. The girls behind the counter said she was Rachel. I didn’t correct the press and then I had to awkwardly explain the whole situation to a half-asleep Rachel in the middle of the night. I spent most of the rest of last night replaying everything that happened and not sleeping on Rachel’s couch.
It’s true, I feel a deep-seated need to watch over Maggie.
