Page 35 of Just for the Cameras
“I’m late for dinner too. Why don’t we just be late together?”
“I eat alone, Flamingo Girl.”
She moves around me, placing her hand on my chest. When my eyes gaze down at her touch and back up to her eyes, they widen in fear as she quickly removes her hand and clears her throat.
Nerves get the best of her vocal cords, but it doesn’t stop her from saying what she wants to say. “Don’t…don’t call me that. My name is Maple. Maple Baker. And I believe you should respect that, because even though you’re here to help me, I’m…I’m here to help you too. I think there should be some respect passed between the two of us.”
“You have to earn my respect,” I say, moving past her and out the door of the coffeehouse.
She’s trailing right behind, catching up to my long strides as I make my way to my favorite sandwich shop a few blocks down.
“Well, you have to earn mine too,” she says, her voice still shaky. “And right now, you…you deserve the same amount of respect as a…as a bottom dweller.”
“Is that supposed to insult me?” I ask as I look both ways before crossing the street.
She trips over the sidewalk, and I almost hold out my hand to help her, but she catches herself, still stumbling to keep up.
“What is your problem?” she shouts. Her voice is loud enough to gather the attention of other people. When they see who she’s talking to, I immediately notice the whispering between strangers.
Great.
“Keep your fucking voice down,” I say, just as realization crosses her eyes, an evil glint in her pupils.
Fuck.
“I said, what is your problem, Graydon St. John?” Her voice is nearly shouting again as someone takes their phone out and starts recording.
Double fuck.
I turn to her, lean in close, and whisper, “Keep your voice down and we can meet up another time to go over the schedule.”
Whispering, she says, “I want dinner tonight, you pay, and to go over schedules while we eat, or I will shout to the rooftops just how much of an asshole you are.”
I grind my teeth, irritation spiking up the back of my neck because she’s got me.
The last thing I need right now is some asshole to capture a viral moment of me on the streets of San Francisco acting like a dick to a petite blond with a charming disposition. That will guarantee me a visit to Keenan’s office, which will grant me a call from my dad.
Can’t have that.
I can’t.
Just hearing his voice makes my skin crawl.
So, I grit my teeth and say, “Fine.”
A smile lights up her face as she says, “Great! I prefer Italian.”
CHAPTER 8
MAPLE
Victory!
If I wasn’t trying to remain cool, calm, and collected, I would jump up in the air, my arm leading the way in a fist pump, only to land in the splits while whooping it up like I just won the lottery.
Because…AHA!
Got him.
