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There was a moment of silence before Seb said, “He smells like lemons, boss.”
I heard Holt let out a sharp hiss. “Did either of you stop to think that the lemon smell might be coming from the fucking cake frosting smeared around his mouth?”
My hand immediately flew up to my face as it flamed pink. God, could this night get any more embarrassing?
“Lemon cake?” Seb was saying doubtfully. “Who’d eat that?”
“I thought it was just part of the costume, bro!” Larkin protested. “The sad cone hat, the frosting on his face… I mean, how else was he supposed to portray the ‘forced to attend colleague’s birthday’ part of your request? I thought it was just awesome costume design.”
“You’re both… fucking unbelievable.” I could practically see Holt pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s seen me, Larkin. Like this.”
“Oh shit. Yeah.” It sounded like Larkin was chewing on his lip. “Um, I could call Axel?”
“Yes, you’d better fucking call Axel, hadn’t you?” Holt hissed. “Has he seen anyone else out of their skins?”
Skins? What? Was that what he called costumes? Maybe this was some really embarrassing LARPing thing and he didn’t want me to know anyone’s true identities.
“Don’t think so,” Larkin said quickly. “Pretty sure he didn’t. No, he definitely didn’t. We just came straight here from upstairs.”
“I should fire you.” There was a moment of tense silence before Holt spoke again. “Get Axel here now.”
“Yep, on it. Doing it right now.” I heard Larkin scrabbling for a desk phone, and I quickly shuffled away from the door before Holt could come back inside.
My heart was beating faster now. Who was Axel? Why were they calling him to come here? Was he a hitman? Oh god. Axel sounded like a hitman name. Did they really take their cosplaying that seriously?
Or maybe this was an illegally run operation. Could wrestling be illegal? But Larkin had said that two cops—Bryce and Heather—were coming for… whatever went on down here. They must have been dirty cops.
This was definitely a Mafia thing. A cosplaying wrestler Mafia thing.
Did Holt wrestle? Why did I kind of want to see that?
Was it mud-wrestling?
No, surely not. Then all the body paint would come off. Unless it was waterproof. And he had gone to the effort of painting his skin under his shirt…
“Sorry about that.” His husky voice came from behind me as he re-entered the room. “It seems there’s been a bit of a mix-up. You said you work in the building? Upstairs?”
“Yes. For HotSex Corpor—” Heat flooded my entire body. “HutSec Corporation. HutSec.”
Holt nodded politely as he sat back down behind his desk. “What do they do?”
Oh fuck. Shifting on my feet, I cleared my throat and mumbled, “Uh… software… logistics. Synergising… the brand and so on. I’m in corporate PR,” I added a bit louder.
“Ah. Interesting.” There was an awkward silence as he carefully laced his fingers together on his desk. “So, you’re probably wondering why I’m… Why I look like this.”
“Um, I mean, I figured it’s maybe a… cosplaying thing?” I said hesitantly, then gestured at the neon sign behind his desk. “Or it’s like your… wrestler persona? Is this, um, a wrestling… thing?”
He watched me in silence for a few moments, then nodded emphatically. “Yes. That’s exactly right. This is my wrestling persona. I’m the… I’m Pink Eye. The wrestler.”
I pursed my lips to hold back my smile, but Holt still seemed to realise I was trying not to snort. He narrowed his eyes at me, sharply asking, “What’s funny?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, because he was still an intimidating man running a weird illegal wrestling operation who was probably also a mob boss. “Sorry. Pink Eye’s a great wrestler name. Really… descriptive. Definitely paints a picture.”
His eyes narrowed again before he sat back and needlessly rearranged some papers on his desk. “Yes, well. That’s why I look like this.”
“So… this is a wrestling thing?” I asked curiously. “That you’re holding down here?”
“Yes,” he said stiffly. “All above board, I assure you.”
