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The phone rang with a piercing tone, making Ivy jump, tearing away her hyper-focus on the game before her. The glass of water, once perched on the sofa, toppled at her sudden movement, sending a cascade of water across the floor. The glass somehow survived the impact, rolling, racing its contents towards the skirting board. She let out a quiet curse as her eyes flicked back to the screen, her fingers continuing to hammer the button combinations as her character tried to fell the tempered Deviljho. Moving the controller towards her phone, her little finger swiped the green button, before putting it quickly onto speaker.
Trust Miles to call now, right when she was in the middle of something. Just a few more seconds and she’d have it. She could almost taste the victory.
One of the many frustrating love-hate things about this game was it was real-time. There was no pause. Once she committed to a mission that was it. The clock was ticking. “Hello?” Her voice sounded nervous, on edge as the beast fell and she powered into it with her dual blades, finally severing the tail, praying to see that little skull appear.
“May I speak with Miss Sinclair please?”
“Speaking.” A thrill of delight chased through her as the beast made that wonderful wheezing noise and the white skull appeared as it started to limp away. She dashed in front of its path, planting a pitfall trap, pummelling it with too many tranq bombs until the mission complete icon showed. A sigh of relief escaped her as she sank back onto the sofa, her sock inadvertently mopping up some of the water she’d already forgotten she’d spilt.
“I was just calling to confirm the updated colour scheme.” Now she recognised the voice on the phone. She hit the carve button again, hoping to harvest the tail and collect the things nearby before the end of quest timer ended the completed mission.
“The what, sorry?” Confirming her quest rewards, she sat back, knocking off the television for a moment.
“We received a call from Mrs Taylor advising you’d opted to go with a beige colour scheme instead. Is this not correct?”
“No.” The controller creaked in her hand. With a breath, she placed it down beside her with an exaggerated gesture of care, because she was about ready to fling something across the room. Lifting the phone to her ear, and leaving one damp footprint every other step, she worked her way into the kitchen to grab a tea towel to place over the spill for the moment.
“I’m sorry?”
“No. I am not changing the colour scheme.” Ivy repeated, attempting to keep the annoyance from her tone.
“And the menu?”
Ivy felt the red-hot heat of her rage boiling, the towel she’d retrieved from the kitchen was flung on the floor over the spill. In that instant, she was one with the Deviljho she had defeated, ready to tear a path of violence across the land and breathe savage dragon breath on anyone in her path.
She closed her eyes, inhaling slowly before keeping her voice as calm as possible. “Mrs Taylor has no authority to make any changes, not to the menu, the colour scheme, the guest register. Nothing.”
“That’s why I wanted to call you. I mean, you seemed so set on those beautiful colours.”
“I appreciate it, Amy. She’s not to make any changes. In fact, I’m going to go and talk with her this instant. In the meantime, if she insists on any changes, just tell her you’ll get straight onto them, then ignore anything she’d said.”
“Yes, of course. Thank you.” The way she thanked Ivy, the sigh of relief almost hidden amongst her words, made her think she’d already been on the wrong end of Mrs Taylor’s barbed tongue. At least by telling her to agree, and then ignore any request, she would be spared a dressing down. The last thing she’d wish on anyone was that poisonous woman’s scorn.
Maybe it was the Monster Hunter adrenaline, that Miles had been gone for days, or maybe just the fact that woman had finally pushed her one step too far. But she was done with it. She was done with feeling inferior to a venomous harlot.
While the adrenaline was still running wild, she swung her cardigan around her shoulders, tightened the belt around her waist, and grabbed the fancy-looking box that had been delivered earlier today, just before her Monster Hunter killing marathon. With fury, and on a mission of her own, she marched out of the door.
It was only as she got downstairs she realised she needed a cab. Eric placed the call and one was pulling up within seconds. She wondered what the security detail did when she did things like this. Were they sitting outside in their vehicle, ready to follow her should she choose to leave? She glanced behind her as the cab pulled away, wondering which car they were hiding in.
Remembering her promise to Miles, she sent them a quick text, telling them where she was going. Better late than never. Besides, they’d probably already seen her leave. She’d noticed the new cameras mounted outside their front door. They weren’t exactly subtle.
Ivy had been to the gates of Miles’ home many times as a teenager. She’d been forced to stand there, waiting to see if anyone would answer when she buzzed to see if Miles was home. She’d rarely made it past the electronic gates, and as the taxi pulled to a stop she had a feeling today would be the same.
“Keep the meter running and wait for me, please,” Ivy requested, catching the driver’s eye in the mirror. Sometimes a cabbie would give her an odd look for such requests, but this firm had been one Miles had chosen for her. They invoiced him every month for her usage, which is why she often used an Uber. It was cheaper, and it meant she paid on her account, not his.
No matter how many times Miles scolded her, or warned her that his things were hers, she could never bring herself to feel that way. She was his, and yes, he was hers, but his things belonged to him alone.
The intercom on the gate buzzed loudly, making her jump. The electric hum of the large black metal gates swinging open was almost drowned out by the running engine. She stood for a moment, just watching them part in disbelief. Getting back into the cab, she felt the confusion wash over her as the uncharacteristic granting of entry caught her off guard, sending her off balance. She balled her fists, resisting the urge to wring the pointed tip of her cardigan in her hands.
She would not show weakness.
She was the Deviljho.
This ended today.
Mrs Taylor was waiting at the door, a putout expression marring her perfectly painted face.
“I know you lack manners, but you could at least call before showing up at someone’s door.”
