Page 10 of Bulletproof
“It’s the least of his problems.”
“Oh, amen,” he agreed wholeheartedly.
“Michelle and I should be there around one.”
“I’ll have a martini waiting.”
I was laughing when I hung up, turning off my camera.
“You don’t have to plug it in?”
I turned to look at Mr. Fisher, who I hadn’t realized was there.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your camera?”
“No, it’s Bluetooth,” I told him, “and I’ve got wireless, so the horror has been documented and sent on to frighten colleagues of mine.”
“Just—”
“You know,” I said, looking at him as I stuffed my laptop and camera back in my courier bag, giving him an indulgent smile, “it’s so much worse than I ever imagined possible, Mr. Fisher. Really, it’s like a bad porno set in here.”
“I will give you that it’s a little bare, but—”
My groan cut him off. “This place so needs a makeover. It’s a wonder you’re not more depressed than you already are.”
“I’m not depressed!”
Defensive much?
“No, of course not,” I replied indulgently.
He swore under his breath.
“And it’s lucky you don’t have kids yet ’cause all the open space would be creepy at night.”
“What are you—”
“It must be scary as hell in here in the dark. When I was little, we just had a trailer, but even then, when I woke up at night, I used to pretend I was Frankenstein, ya know? I’d walk to the bathroom moaning, making the growling sort of noise he made, doing the slow shuffle with my arms out ’cause I figured if the other monsters thought I was a monster, too, then they wouldn’t try and get me.”
He was staring at me, open-mouthed.
“Makes sense, don’tcha think?”
“You just … you …”
I smiled wide. “Back to the house, Mr. Fisher. I promise when we’re done, with the budget you’ve given us and the free rein over design, it will be stunning, okay?”
He was still looking at me weird, but many people did. I was used to that.
“Mr. Fisher?”
“Is it really so horrible now?” he asked, flopping down onto one of his kitchen chairs. It creaked under his weight.
I looked at him and pointed. “That’ll hafta go too.”
“Christ,” he muttered.
