Chapter Five
?
The only fantasy I’m interested in involves Malcolm’s head. On a pike.
Azalea
I wake on what would be a lovely Saturday morning to three messages. Three whole messages between both phones. Two from Junction…and one from Malcolm.
Nose wrinkling, I stare at Malcolm’s message on my personal phone first.
Crow: Good morning, little dove. I love you.
It’s twisted. Sickening. I’m convinced it’s a new game without rules that he expects me to play until I’m losing and have no idea why.
He’s always making up these horrid little games to amuse himself with.
It’s just one of the many reasons I hate him so much.
It’s hard not to let my loathing show, which is why—last night—I texted him the truth.
I do not believe myself capable of pretending to like him, so I won’t.
I will approach this development as clinically as an assistant, and I will toy with him, and I will watch him die, and I will treat his death as coldly as I’ve treated his life.
And no one will be able to say it’s out of character.
All that said, I will likely need to make his phone disappear when he does.
I wouldn’t want my less-than-amicable messages misconstrued as a motive.
As far as anyone needs to know, he has had an insane crush on me for reasons unfathomable, thus resulting in the stupid decision to get a tattoo, but I am what I have been my entire life: indifferent.
My gaze lifts to the message prior to this sickly sweet, normal morning greeting, and I skim the words.
Please make me suffer.
Mm. Yeah. When he dies, I’m running his phone through a wood chipper. Even though I can’t say I’m not looking forward to the potential of a change of pace. How marvelous might it be if I can make him suffer in the days leading up to what I hope might be a slow, agonizing death?
With the sweet relief of his demise in mind, I switch to the burner phone to see what Junction has to say about the information I provided last night.
What Junction has to say is, unfortunately, disappointing. Not to mention just about as stupid as Malcolm’s message.
Junction: ask him out 2 Fantasy Haven
Junction: mor 2 follow 1ce confrmd
He cannot be serious. He wants me to get Malcolm to a theme park about an hour from here?
I have never been to a theme park in my life.
They’re full of people and children, and they’re massive, and outdoors, so it’s not like any part of them can be properly cleaned. I won’t survive.
As far as things I don’t want to do go, I’m pretty sure this is tied with seduce the man I hate most in the world. Yet again, karma seems to be coming for me, and I realize with stark clarity that this is why agreeing to kill someone is a bad idea.
It might involve being sent to a theme park against your will.
Defeated, but committed, I construct my response, for once grateful it takes so long.
Me: I’ll do my best.
?
Malcolm, for lack of a more accurate word, appears…delighted.
Which is the stupidest thing ever, considering it’s a Monday, and everyone in the universe hates Monday.
Fingers laced before his lips while he sits at his desk, he stares at me, eyes shimmering. “A date?” he asks, low voice airier than I have ever heard it in my life. “You want to go on a date with me?”
Want is such a strong word, isn’t it?
Ignoring the swirl in my stomach, I manage to vocalize a communication; go me. “It seems prudent, doesn’t it? For…” I stuff any inkling of an emotion down into the pit of my gut where it belongs. “…my purposes.”
Something nearly adoring possesses him. His shoulders slope forward as a breath leaves his body, and every visible muscle in him loosens. “How do you plan to abuse me on our first date, darling dove?”
TBD. Maybe I’ll retch on him. “Who knows, crooked crow.”
Elation sparks, and he drops his arms, sitting rod-straight in his chair. “Crow?”
I wince. “An insufferable nickname to match the revolting one you’ve given me. You’re welcome.”
“I love it,” he declares, all dreamy. “Thank you so much.”
My flesh prickles with unease, so I move steadily along toward the point.
“Anyway.” I sift through the files in my arms that Malcolm wants me to review and condense for him.
Retrieving the pamphlet I printed off earlier, I step toward his desk and set it on the dark wood.
There, it stands out in a large way, all the promised enchantment of the park gleaming within the pit of the black surrounding it. “I’d like to go here.”
Yet, again, like is such a strong word…
He barely glances down. “Done. I’ll arrange everything.”
“It’s an hour drive. So we probably should discuss transportation.”
“We’ll take my car.”
I tense. “I’d prefer…we don’t.”
“You’d rather I drive yours?”
I…also actually really desperately hate the idea of him in my car, much less driving it.
Somehow, he’d stain all the white leather beyond repair, and I’d never get it clean again.
I’d need to get a new vehicle, but it took me ages to get this one exactly the way I need it, not to mention the costs.
Yes, I’m paid well. No, I don’t want to burn through cash.
Because what if I need it? For something.
At some point. The second I have to buy a new car and cosmetically update it, my apartment will burn down, and then I’ll have nothing but dark, dingy ash.
No place to go. Nowhere clean or safe to live.
And it’ll be all my fault.
All because I spent so much money all at once.
Chest tight, I say, “Why don’t we both take our own vehicles?”
“And lose several hours of time we could spend together?”
Ding, ding, ding. Give the crow a prize… “Yes.”
He stares at me.
I shift my weight and cut my attention off him, because there is a small chance I replied a little too quickly.
“My car,” he says, “or I’m not going.”
My attention slashes back to him. “What?”
“There are plenty of places we can meet here for a first date if you’re not interested in carpooling.
I’m not keen on driving alone for two hours.
Either come with me, or pick something local to do.
” He reclines, angling his head so he can peer down his straight nose while he presents the ultimatum.
“There’s a cute ceramic shop nearby. We can paint and exchange plates or mugs. ”
I would never—ever—eat off anything this creature has touched. Ever.
Biting my cheek, I whisper, “F-fine. Your car.”
“Excellent.”
His smile gives me chills.
Turning to his computer, he begins typing. “I’ll plan everything. We’ll go…on Wednesday and Thursday.”
My heart plummets. “What? Why?”
“Weekdays will be less crowded at this time of year. Blessedly, we’re going before school lets out. It’s warm those days, but also partly cloudy, so it won’t be too hot from direct sunlight.”
“No.” I practically choke. “What do you mean and?”
He glances at me. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Two days? What do you mean we’re going for two days?”
Humor lost, he watches me. “The park is an hour away.”
“Yes, so? That’s not that far. It’s a day trip. A single day trip.”
“Logically, we get up early on the first day, arrive at opening, stay until closing, head to a hotel, and do it once more before leaving a little earlier on the second day—purely to be certain we aren’t exhausted when we drive home.
Depending on the situation and how tired we are, a second night at the hotel may even prove wise.
Trust me. These sorts of parks have too much to do in a single day.
Going for two days, making the most of them, and fully experiencing the park from top to bottom optimizes both travel time and ticket price. ”
I so wish I could argue with his logic, but it’s kind of bulletproof.
These sorts of places are expensive, and they charge by a day pass.
Making the most of a day is smart. But. But, but but.
I think we’re forgetting something. As we stand here.
In the penthouse office of the multi-billion dollar business he co-owns.
Optimizing a ticket in his position is almost as stupid as assuming I care about fully experiencing a theme park.
“Don’t worry,” he assures me as my eye twitches. “We’ll get two beds at the hotel. Promise.”
Two…beds? Not two rooms?
Sir.
I play dating sims every evening. I know fiction tropes.
What I didn’t know is that you know them, too.
Now that I do, and now that you’ve made it clear by alluding to the infamous only one bed, I’m not certain that putting us on opposite sides of the city in separate hotels would be enough to stop you from whatever madness you’re clearly already cooking up.
Unless, of course, Junction takes you out on the first day.
Which, I mean, of course he would.
There’s no reason at all for him to waste time, and there were no instructions about us needing to go to Fantasy Haven for multiple days.
We go. He dies. I don’t have to worry about sharing a hotel room or bed with him at all. I’ll just need to destroy his phone, answer police questions, and figure out a way back home. It’s foolproof.
I hope.
Forcing myself to relax, I murmur, “Fine…”
“You don’t sound too eager.”
I’m terribly worried that the assassin Junction’s organization is going to hire will once again be garbage, fail to kill you, and subject me to spending a night in a room that hundreds if not thousands of other people have used… So do pardon me if I’m not sounding too eager.
I mumble, “I’m not the sort who normally does things like this.”
Bracing his hands beneath his chin, Malcolm stares deep into my soul, eyes lethal and lips curved. “Yes…to be so certain I’m surprised you’d suggest a theme park of all things for our first date.” His gaze drops, scanning me with intent. “It seems rather out of character.”
My stomach turns over, so I whirl on my heel. “I believe it’s safe to say you know nothing about me.”
“Is it? Because you just admitted you don’t normally do things like this.”
Indeed I accidentally did. “I have my reasons,” I mutter.
“Do you now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I prefer you calling me crow.” Wickedness slinks through his voice, taunting. “Like a lover would.”
What sort of lover in what sort of universe—
Rolling my shoulders back, I battle to contain myself as fury mingles with irritation and both threaten to rise. “I have documents to organize.”
“Beautiful. I have a date to plan for my beloved dove.” A pen clicks open behind me. “You may take your leave.”
I was planning on it. But now, with his “permission,” my jaw pops, and I find myself standing stone still.
“Oh, right.” Malcolm’s attention hits me square in the back. “On top of organizing those documents, do also clear my Wednesday and Thursday. I’m going out…with my favorite toy.”
My fingers clench into a fist, but I manage to control myself as I sneer, “As you wish. Sir.”