Someone obviously didn’t give him the memo.
Somewhere in his pocket, his phone makes a motorcycle sound, and he pulls it out, nodding to himself. He taps out a message to whoever was on the other end, then stuffs it back into his pocket.
“That was Eli. He just landed.”
“Guess you hadn’t needed to climb through my window and break in after all.”
He doesn’t agree with me. “Seein’ as I landed early, I prolly would have done it anyway.”
Seein’ as I landed early, heprolly would have done it anyway?
“You have no patience, do you?”
“No. And I’m so hungry I could eat corn through a picket fence.” Duke sighs loudly, slouching in his chair, boots moving further toward me on the desk, hogging up space and nearly nudging my laptop.
“You’re hungry but haven’t eaten and haven’t ransacked the kitchen? Why does that surprise me?” Then again, he was waiting for a fully prepared meal to be served, probably in the dining room.
“I have manners.”
Manners? “You climbed in through the window!”
“Your window was open. And why do you keep yellin’?”
There is no reasoning with this man.
He’s clearly used to getting his way and getting what he wants. Either that, or he’s been hit in the head so many times his brains are addled, which I realize sounds like a terrible joke to make.
“What else did Eli say?”
“He was headin’ to his place in the city but asked if I wanted him to swing by.”
There’s no swinging by from the airport—not in the Chicago rush hour traffic—not at this hour of the day.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told ’im we had it covered and that he could pop on a call tomorrow.” Duke pauses. “He and I have stuff to go over.”
I’m sure he’s got super important stuff to go over, no doubt. I don’t have a clue what they’re paying this guy, but for Eli to bend over backward for Duke, hiding him out until their big media announcement? Well, I’ll have to make myself scarce.
“I have to work, so you’ll have the house to yourself.”
Speaking of which, I open my drawer and pull out a stapled sheet of paper, sliding it across the desk toward him.
He ignores the papers. “Where do you work?”
“I’m a teacher.” I clear my throat. “I took the liberty of creating a few rules—house rules if you will. So not only are my expectations managed but yours will be too.”
I push a loose strand of hair behind my head nervously.
“What kind of teacher?”
“Kindergarten.”
“You’re a kinder teacher?” His eyes are wide. “Shit, if that don’t beat all.”
What’s wrong with being a kindergarten teacher, I want to ask. Instead, I give the papers a nudge closer to him.
He reluctantly snatches them, holding them up. “House rules,” he says dryly. “I ain’t had rules since I lived at home with my mama.”