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“Why me?” she whines.
“Because you’re on my payroll now,” I reply, not bothering to look up, adjusting my cufflinks instead.
In reality, I have a million more important things to do right now than being here. But here I am nonetheless, unable to resist the chance of goading Lenix in person. I’ve never really dwelled onwhyI get such a kick out of it, or the likely chance that I’ll fuck my fist tonight remembering our little exchange. It’s just a fact. Like that irresistible urge to strangle a kitten when it gets too adorable to look at.
Both girls fall silent while they stare at each other, looking like they’re having a telepathic argument and by the sudden look of despair on Lenix’s face, Sunny’s winning. Finally, after a rather long stretch of silence, she stands up.
“Fine. Let’s go.”
One thing my father taught me before he died and bequeathed all of this shit to me was: if you want to rub elbows with the city elite get yourself a membership to the Noxport Yacht Club. I’ve been an active member for over a decade. The people who frequent it are chock-full of platitudes, centuries of stuffy traditions, and so heavy with prejudices that I’m shocked the club hasn’t sunk into the surf from the sheer weight of it.
However, there’s nothing the wealthy love more than a charismatic asshole. But I’m also a snake in the grass. I’ll make deals with the husbands over a thousand dollar bottle of brandy before fucking their wives and making their daughters cry. And I hate brandy.
The nervous staff shepherds us into the prestigious gilded ballroom with the large windows facing the water. Lenix takes notes, asking a few key questions and I try to join in. Slowly, she turns my way, and glares at me, effectively conveying with her dark brown eyes that I’m not welcome. She gives me a quick jerk of the head, and I slide my tongue over my teeth, considering immediate retaliation for her dismissing me—in front of the staff no less.
Looks like she needs a reminder of who she's dealing with. I match her gaze, and her expression cracks for half a second before turning hard again. Satisfied for now, I flash her a smile and stroll back into the lobby. Settling in one of the chairs, I decide to catch up on some emails.
After a while, she reemerges, exchanging information with the club’s event manager and we head out. The establishment sits at the very tip of the pier, distancing itself from the more crowded and public part of the boardwalk. Lenix is still actively pretending I don’t exist, but I lead her down the wood-slatted walkway anyway and she surprisingly follows.
“Ignoring me isn’t going to deter me you know,” I finally say.
“Maybe I’ll kill you in your sleep,” she mumbles with her arms crossed. “See if that deters you some.”
“Sounds hot,” I drawl, pushing my hair back into place. “But you’d have to be in my bed for that.”
She groans loudly. Tensing up, she hurries her step, back stiff, tight fists tucked to her sides. I’m speeding up behind her, chuckling to myself when I see her freeze in front of me. It’s visceral and so sudden that it leaves me frozen along with her. It lasts only a second until she looks around with a frantic jerk of her head and finally dives behind the door flaps of one of the large tarped tents lining the boardwalk. I look around, my vision narrowing into quickly assessing any threats but I don’t see any.
What just happened?
I follow Lenix inside wondering what the hell just got into her.
I find her trembling, her eyes as wild as when I saw her earlier this morning.
“Care to explain what just came over you?”
“Nothing,” she answers quickly, biting her lips, her knuckles white. She looks around trying to seem genuinely interested in her surroundings.
What is this place anyway?
The atmosphere feels heavy, even the sounds feel somehow muted in here. Deep blues and dark burgundies decorate the tent, the strong smell of incense burning my nose. I don’t recognize half the shit I’m looking at behind the glass cases near the cash register. Until my eyes land on a poster pinned to the wall.
Before I can roll my eyes into the back of my skull, an older woman walks out from the back. Her shoulder-length hair is stark white against her pale white skin, a pair of reading glasses dangling from her neck, and my attention zeroes in on the tattooed markings she has on her hands, looking almost ceremonial.
“Here for a palm reading?” she asks.
I’m about to tell her to fuck right off when I hear Lenix next to me say, “Yes, he is.”
My lip curls in disdain. Over my dead body.
Lenix and I lock eyes and she smirks. She seems to have gotten over her little freak out long enough to stare at me with dazzling over-confidence, her expression daring me to say yes.
What she doesn’t know is that having to exist deep inside the underbelly of Noxport for well over a decade has turned me into a bit of a mind reader myself. And what I see behind the hard steel of this little tough guy act she’s putting on is a small desperate plea to just play along. To give her this inconsequential win.
I must be high off that incense because I suddenly feel the need to entertain this fucking bullshit.
Without saying a word, I promise her retaliation for this little stunt she’s pulling and her almost inaudible gulp satisfies me enough for me to sit down at the small table where the palm reader is already settled, patiently waiting for me. Luckily there’s no crystal ball in sight.
Lenix follows suit, sitting beside me looking pleased with herself but I can’t help but notice her quick glances over her shoulder toward the exit. Clearly, something is worrying her but I play dumb for now and pretend I don’t notice.
