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I kicked out again, this time managing to land a blow on Je Sweet’s thighs, but she barely flinched.
“Put her down please,” said Miss Min.
“Keep her away from me,” said Sweet angrily, dropping me so abruptly that I staggered.
“You’re an asshole,” I said. “And you can’t avoid me. I’m responsible for making sure Heavenly Lights doesn’t get shut down. So get used to seeing me.”
Then I turned on my heel and left, my ears still ringing.
Rupert went home to have a nervous breakdown, and I went back to my hotel room cold with anger.
Iwasthinking about quitting, but I didn’t want to let that fucking asshole win.
* * *
The next morningthe drag club seemed subdued in the warm late morning sunlight of a beautiful June day. Miss Min showed me to my office and then we walked down the hall to the dressing room again. I felt a twist of fear in my gut. Maybe I should admit I wasn’t even a real conflict management consultant. Or I could turn around and run out the front door. What the fuck did I know about resolving conflict in the workplace, beyond a few Wikipedia articles I had hastily skimmed while eating the hotel’s complimentary breakfast? But the size of the first two weeks’ paycheck I had signed yesterday buoyed me. It wasn’t the kind of money you got for researching ancient Egyptian burial shrouds, that’s for sure.
“Let me introduce you to everyone,” Miss Min said.
I didn’t even have to look in his direction. But I knew exactly where Je Sweet, now out of drag, was sitting. I could just fuckingfeelthat asshole’s power in the middle of the room.
I could sense Miss Min attempting to keep a neutral tone to her voice as she introduced me to the man whose head I’d rammed into his dressing table yesterday.
He was leaning back casually in his chair. He didn’t stand up. He didn’t have to. You could tell even from him sitting down that he was the most powerful person in the room. He had unruly curling blonde hair, very blue eyes, tanned face with perfect sculptured cheekbones and jaw, and those big tanned broad shoulders. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt and tight shorts. You could feel everybody in the room carefullynotlooking at him.
“And, of course, Beauchamp de la Fontaine,” she said, unnecessarily indicating him.
“Yeah,” I said. “That fire dancing number is out now. It’s too dangerous.”
I heard gasps of horror in the room.
That stupid fire dancing number was obviously Beau’s pride and joy.
“No, it isn’t,” said Beau, frowning at me. “I’m still going to do it.”
“If you do it I’ll change the locks on you,” I snapped.
He stood up again. It only took two strides for him to reach me, tangling his big hand up in my hair. My heart started to beat faster, but I was determined not to let him see any fear.
“Don’t bother trying to intimidate me,” I said. “You can’t perform a number where you tried to set the other queens on fire.”
He tightened his fingers in my hair.
“And who the fuck are you to tell me what I can’t do?” he snarled.
“According to the insurance company,” I said, “after the recent accidents I’m the only thing standing between you and the drag club shutting down completely.”
I did not like the feel of him so close to me. We must have looked like a bizarre picture. The huge blonde man with his hand tangled up in the long braid of my soft chestnut hair, me glaring at him. He was more than a foot taller than me, and I tried to make sure my hazel eyes looked cold instead of afraid. But he was so close to me that I could feel his power like a buzz saw along my skin. He frightened me.
“Let me go,” I said, “or I’ll kick you in the balls.”
He let me go, but not without giving my hair a painful, sharp tug. Like he could have done more if he wanted to.
“We don’t need whatever you’ve been hired for,” he said angrily.
“In the span of three months this club has hadtwomysterious fires,threepieces of heavy equipment falling onto the stage, andfourdeath threats delivered by post. I am here to find out exactly what is going on and I am going to interview each of you,” I retorted.
“About what?” a big blonde farmboy type said nervously.
