She stares at me for so long, I’m starting to think she’s suffering from lack of oxygen or something.
“Are you going to say anything?” I finally ask.
“I’m not sure I should.” Her chin goes up a fraction.
“Why not?”
“Because. You probably won’t even be here next week.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“You don’t belong here.”
“Ow.” I rub my chest with one hand. “That actually kind of hurt.”
“Shut up.”
“No, I’m serious.”
“See? You’re too sensitive. You don’t belong here. Why don’t you do everyone a favor and just bow out gracefully?”
“Is that what you’d do?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then I’m not going to do it either.”
“You’re not me. We’re nothing alike.”
Obviously I’ve insulted her by basically telling her I admire her. How’s that for screwed up?
“Maybe I want to be more like you,” I say, experimenting with the truth. “Maybe I want to be tougher, more self-reliant.”
She searches my face, maybe looking for evidence that I’m not yanking her chain. She’s obviously conflicted. I’ve paid her a pretty high compliment, but will it be enough to break through her anger at me? I’m starting to think I know where her emotion might be coming from.
“We’re too different,” she finally says.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I ease some of my weight off the chair. “I’m new to the team, but I care about everyone here. I respect all of you a lot. I know how hard you work, how loyal you are to each other. I know you all want to make Ozzie proud and that he’s a great boss. I know until I got here, you were the only woman on the team, and now things are going to change with two women being here.”
When she looks away, I know I’ve figured it out. Or at least I’ve come close.
“But it doesn’t have to take anything away from you. From your accomplishments. From your skills.”
“You fly the Parrot better than I do,” she whispers. Tears gather in the corner of her eyes. I can tell it makes her angry to show that small weakness. Her expression becomes mutinous again.
“So? You kick ass better than I do.” I try to smile, but she glares at me anyway.
“Says the girl sitting on me with a chair. You tied me up with my own headphones, May.”
“You called me ‘May.’” I reach down and poke her on the nose. She’s so cute when she’s mad. It makes me happy that she left that Bo Peep stuff behind.
“Slip of the tongue.” She’s trying to hold on to her anger, but I’m not going to let her.
“How about if we make a deal?” I propose.
“What deal?”
“I promise to show you how to fly that stupid thing, and you give me a chance to prove myself worthy of your respect.”
She looks anywhere but at me. A tear slips out of her right eye and travels down into her hair.
“I don’t need another friend,” she finally says. Her eyes move to meet mine, and she’s glaring again.
“I’m not asking for your friendship. I’m asking for your respect.” It makes me sad to say that, but it’s true. If she doesn’t want to be my friend, I can’t force her to. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so clearly rejected, though. I wasn’t kidding before; it hurts.
“Earn it and you’ll have it,” she says, letting out a long hiss of air after.
“Just give me one chance.”
“Done. Now let me up.”
The devil takes control of my mouth again. “Not until you say uncle.”
She glares, but I just keep on grinning.
Her voice comes out low and threatening. “If you ever tell anyone I said uncle, I will stab you while you sleep.”
I laugh. “Say it, or Ozzie’s going to be serving you dinner under this chair.”
Her teeth grind together for a few seconds before she finally speaks. “Uncle. Now get the hell off me.”
I push off the chair and stand back, waiting for the angry mess of a non-friend to get up and attempt to kill me.
But she doesn’t do anything to me. She just gets up, rights the chairs, and untangles her headphones from her wrists. When she’s done, she sits down, puts the equipment on, and starts the recording again.
I cautiously take my seat and press the button on the video, watching her out of the corner of my eye as I get back to work. The ninja sneak attack that I’m expecting for the next three hours never comes.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Are you ready?” Dev asks, coming across the warehouse and rubbing his hands together.
I put my hand in my purse and wrap my fingers around the Taser inside. “Ready for what?”
“Car shopping.” He looks confused. “Isn’t that what we’re going to do now?”
I pull my hand out of my purse. “Yeah, sure, of course. What did you think I was talking about?”
He points at me and winks. “Mental games. Good. I like your style.”
I roll my eyes as we walk over to his car. “I don’t have a style.”
“Oh, yes you do, Bo Peep. Trust me on this.” He’s chuckling as he folds his frame into the big old car.
I get in next to him and cringe at how heavy the door is. That circuit workout killed me. I’m going to be sore on top of my already sore spots. At this point, it feels like I’m never going to recover. Everything . . . every muscle, every bone, every cell in my body hurts.
He reverses out of the warehouse, and I think about what he said, what Toni said, and how everyone seems to act when I’m around. Even Ozzie.
“You guys keep calling me Bo Peep, and I have to tell you, it really doesn’t feel like much of a compliment.”
Dev turns the wheel by spinning it around and around on the heel of his hand. It takes about five revolutions to turn the car just ninety degrees.
“It is a compliment. Or maybe it’s more just an observation of a really good cover.”
“What do you mean?”
He purses his lips. “Hmmm, how to put this in a way you’d appreciate . . .”
“You don’t have to worry about offending me,” I say. “Toni’s already gone there.”
“No, I’m just trying to come up with a way to show you . . . I know.” He points into the air. “What do you think about when you see Ozzie?” He glances at me, waiting for my response.
My eyes bug out of my head. Is this a trick question? An opener for a conversation about how I slept with the boss? Ack!
“What do you mean?” I feign a casualness I do not feel.
“He’s standing there in his shirt and jeans, boots, haircut in that military style . . . what comes to mind when you see that?”
Okay, so I can’t say total hotness in this situation, even though it’s the truth. Dev is trying to lead me somewhere else. “Umm, commando?” My face starts burning. “I mean, military guy, not . . . no underwear guy.”
Dev laughs. “Excellent.” He glances at me and smiles before putting his eyes back on the road. “Exactly. That’s what everyone sees when they look at him. He sticks out like a sore thumb. He looks threatening, like someone you should keep an eye on. He cannot walk into a situation and be invisible. It’s just impossible.”
I look at Dev’s lanky legs. “Probably hard for you too, huh?”
“Exxxxactly. He’s a sore thumb and I’m a sore arm. No way can I go anywhere undercover. I’m only good for when bodies need to be brought places in trunks or for driving a getaway car. And every once in a while to provide a distraction.”