Now it’s my turn to be confused. It seems like a strange question to just blurt out, and I am wondering why she hasn’t opened with a greeting or at least provided a lengthier explanation as to why she’s asking.
Deciding I need to get to the bottom of this strange attitude, I lean back in my chair and take her in. She looks hot, as always, in a pair of jean shorts and a black T-shirt that hugs her in all of the right places. But she’s holding her purse in front of her like she’s afraid she might be mugged at any moment, and I can tell that something’s bothering her.
So I go back and start over.
“Good morning, Meg,” I say with a slight smirk on my face. “How are you today?”
She clears her throat, clearly feeling a little embarrassed for just barging in and blurting out that question. “Good, thanks. How are you?”
My smile grows. She’s adorable and has no idea. “Fine, thank you.” Now that we have that out of the way, I go back to her question. “Can you paint…what?”
“My apartment,” she says as she takes a few steps closer to me. “I mean, I don’t have a landlord now. Well, I guess I do, but technically, that would be you, right? And my walls are just a boring plain white. It’s actually more of an eggshell. So I was hoping that you wouldn’t care so much if I livened it up a little bit with some color.”
She seems slightly more relaxed now, and I get why she’s here asking that question now. I’ve been meaning to put a property manager in charge at her complex. It’s on my very long list of things to do.
Without even thinking about all of the work that I need to get done before the club opens, I close my laptop and push back my chair. “Sure, you can paint,” I tell her, standing and making sure I have my wallet and keys.
“Oh, are you leaving?” she asks, staring at me with those wide green eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt if you have a meeting or something.”
I can’t help but chuckle as I say. “Nope. I’m coming with you to get the paint.”
Her eyebrows knit together as I come to a stop in front of her. “But…why? If you want to approve the colors before I paint, I can just text them to you.”
Shaking my head, I tell her, “It’s not that. You’ll need a ride to the store.”
Now her eyebrows raise as she says, “I have a car, you know.”
A chuckle escapes my lips as I feel the heat rising between us. I have to take a step back to keep my head on straight. “That old death trap? I don’t think so.” I can see her getting into an accident, some idiot texting and driving hitting her from behind where the paint and other flammable liquids used for home remodeling are located, and her car bursting into flames, Meg unable to get her shitty car door to open.
She opens her mouth for a second, and I can see that she’s about to insist that this isn’t necessary when I have to interject.
“Do you not want me to come?” I ask, maybe putting a little too much of a rasp in my voice, especially on the last word.
She bites down on her bottom lip and stares up at me for a second before she says, “No, I want you to come,” and my thoughts go to a very different place than the paint store.
“Boss?”
Omar is back, snapping me out of my dirty thoughts about Meg. “Yeah?” I say, my head turning in his direction like it’s on a pivot.
“We got the new lager selections in. Should we have a few bottles on hand for tonight?” he asks.
“That sounds like a good idea.” I both want to thank him for reminding me that the only time Meg is going to see me come is when I change locations, not in the bedroom—and I also want to break Omar in half for interrupting. It’s an awkward juxtaposition of feelings that leave me uncomfortable and annoyed.
Until he walks away, and I’m back with her. Alone. I want to reach out and take her hand, but she’s not my girlfriend, so that would be silly. “Let’s go,” I say and head for the door.
She comes along with me, and we don’t say anything at all as we cross the parking lot. I open the door of my black Alfa Romeo Stelvio Quadrifoglio, and she climbs in. Thoughts of what happened the last time we were alone together in this vehicle come to mind, but I brush them aside as I go around and get behind the wheel.
The scent of vanilla and roses hits my lungs as I start the car. I’ve been smelling traces of it all week when I’m in here, but now that the source is in the confined space with me, I can’t breathe deeply enough.
“This is such a nice car,” Meg says as I pull out of my designated parking spot and head to the closest Sherwin Williams.
“Thanks,” I say, not bothering to tell her this is more of a utility vehicle for me, that I have plenty of other, nicer cars in my garage, a place I rarely visit anymore, so this is what I usually drive.
“I’ve been thinking of getting a new car, just so you know,” she continues, jabbing me for insulting her vehicle earlier. “I just have to save up.”
I can’t help but smirk as I make a right turn, trying not to look at her. “Maybe you should consider a loan. It’d be a shame if you got close to having enough money only to have that Gremlin of yours explode.”
“It’s not a Gremlin!” she insists, thinking I meant the kind of car and not the monster from the eighties movie. “And it won’t explode.”