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“So do I.”
She laughed, rather loudly. “Bullshit. You just care about yourself, man.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She’s been working her ass off for you for months now. And do you ever say a thank you? Do you give her a bonus, a weekend off? No way. She’s working weekends, driving your friends to the airport? Taking your daughter for ice cream?” She snorted and shook her head.
“She likes Summer,” I said.
“Nobody likes their bosses daughter that much,” she said, staring me down. “You’ve treated her like shit,” she said.
“She told you that?”
“A blind person could see it,” she said.
I wondered how much Evie had told her about what had happened between us. I had a feeling this girl knew more than I’d want her too.
“Look, I don’t know what you know…”
She interrupted me, “You know, Mr. Smooth-talking Genius, Silicon Valley Super Dick, what’s-its-face? I don’t give a shit what you have to say. Why don’t you take your moneyed ass out of here and go fuck up some other young girl’s life. Because you’ve got a real gift for it, Mister!”
Wow.
It had been a while since anyone had talked to me like that.
I was still coming up with a response when she put a hand on my chest and pushed me out of the apartment.
“I don’t want to see you around here again. Next time, I’m calling the cops,” she said, and slammed the door in my face.
I wanted to say something, to win her over, to convince her to help me find Evie, but it was clear that this was not going to happen anytime soon. This girl had me pegged as a bastard of the highest order, a real arsehole, the kind of man nobody wanted in their friend’s life.
Oddly enough, I cared.
I never would have bothered with people like that before. If someone didn’t like me, I shrugged them off and moved on. But this girl’s opinion mattered. Because Evie mattered. That much was clear to me. I cared what she thought of me and until a few hours ago, I thought she’d really liked me, physically as well as otherwise. I mean, what else was there but physical connection? In my book, chemistry was more important than personality, than income, perhaps even intellect. When it came to women, I didn’t want to talk math and science, I wanted to talk dirty and have sex. Good sex. Great sex. All of which I had with Evie. I’d been serious when I told Evie that I thought of us as having a relationship.
I knew other people thought relationships were about watching TV together, eating pizza on couches, gossiping about friends and family members. But I wasn’t like that. I didn’t want any of that. I thought Evie didn’t either.
Perhaps I was wrong.
That evening, watching Summer pick her way through a dinner of noodles and chicken, I asked her,
“Do you think I’m a nice guy?”
Summer looked up and blinked.
“A what?”
“A nice guy?”
She started laughing.
“What?”
“A nice guy?! Since when do you want to be a nice guy?”
“I’m not saying I want to be a nice guy, I’m wondering what people think of me.”
“A cunt,” I heard the nanny say behind me.
