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The Winner’s Circle
The boy in blue started the fight but the boy in red looked determined to finish it. Swearing turned to yelling turned to shoving. Remi fished her phone out of her messenger bag. She called the security office and two minutes later the fight was over and both young men—college kids by the looks of them—were being escorted away. Too much alcohol and testosterone. Too little good sense.
Remi felt the needle-prick of her conscience. She couldn’t judge them, tempting as it was. She’d been in college not that long ago, and remembered being that stupid. Remembered it all too well.
Still, it made no sense to her. Two guys in opposing jerseys fighting at a football game made sense. Or even a baseball or a basketball game. But this was Verona Downs. Who got into fights over racehorses? Bizarre. Bizarre was the only word for it.
Bizarre was also the only word for the man who entered the grandstand and strode toward their seats. He wore all black, as usual. His slacks, his button down shirt (untucked because coolness), leather bracelets on both wrists, shoes, socks and underwear (if he did, in fact, wear underwear), and sunglasses were all black. Under the black sunglasses lurked intelligent blue eyes usually narrowed in suspicion or derision. Most of the women in the stands followed his progress. She didn’t blame them. He was mid-thirties, annoyingly handsome, and wasn’t smiling. He had an “I can’t wait to rock your world in bed and then make you regret you ever met me” look about him. Women fell for that look often. She hadn’t. She had zero desire to sleep with him. He was Merrick Dearborn, her assistant. And of course she didn’t want to sleep with him. She’d met him.
“Why, pray tell, am I sitting among the plebeians?” Merrick asked as he took his seat next to her. They must have made an odd pair—him in his mysterious all black attire and she in faded jeans, a tailored plaid shirt, and cowboy boots. He looked like a rock star. She tended toward rodeo star for her work attire.
“This is not ancient Rome, and these are not plebeians. These are people just like us,” Remi said as she made a notation in her leather journal. “And you’re sitting here because your boss wants your sunshiny self sitting right next to her.”
“We have that nice Arden Farms private box right over there,” Merrick said, pointing at the clubhouse balcony section where all the horse owners had private air-conditioned boxes. “This ‘man of the people’ routine of yours is infringing on my creature comforts.”
“This is not a ‘man of the people’ routine,” Remi said. “First of all, I am the people, not of the people. We are people. Second, I am not a man.”
“Prove it,” Merrick said.
“Do I look like a man to you?”
“No. You look like a hot blonde with spectacular tits, which are probably fake since, for all I know, you might be a man.”
“I’m not sleeping with you. I’m your employer. You are my assistant.”
“Until I see you naked I won’t know if you’re actually a man or a woman. It’s like Schödinger’s Pussy.”
“You just used quantum physics to hit on me. I’m almost impressed.”
“Impressed enough to sleep with me?” Merrick asked.
“No.”
Merrick shrugged. He seemed merely philosophical about her refusal and not the least disappointed. For all his quantum flirting, Merrick’s interest in her was merely mechanical. And she had no interest in him at all. She was twenty-six and he thirty-six. To her he was like an older brother. An older brother she paid to do whatever she told him to do. The best sort of older brother. The type she could fire.
Remi’s cell phone buzzed in her bag. She fished it out and looked at the name. Now she remembered why she’d hired Merrick.
“Brian Roseland.” Remi handed the phone to Merrick.
“You want me to do the thing?” he asked.
“Please and thank you.”
“Yell-o?” Merrick said, taking the call for her. “No, Remi’s not here right now. She’s on a date.”
Remi covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Her? On a date on a Thursday afternoon at four? Good thing Merrick was a better liar than she was.
“She’s been gone all week, Mr. Roseland,” Merrick said. “It’s that kind of date. One with traveling and exotic locations and them sticking body parts into each other.”
Remi grabbed for the phone. Merrick jerked it out of her way.
“But I’ll tell her you called once she gets back from her weeklong exotic locale sex date.” Merrick tugged her ponytail to annoy her. It worked.
Merrick ended the call and handed her the phone.
“I told Roseland you were on an exotic locale weeklong sex date,” Merrick said.
“Yes, I heard that part as I was sitting next to you the entire time. Did you have to go into that much detail?” she demanded.
