CHAPTER 6
MAPLE
It’s going to be a good day today.
I’m wearing pants that hit my shoes.
I’m sporting my favorite navy blue polo because it’s actually fit for a woman, not a man. My hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail on the top of my head, my hair curled on the ends, and I made sure to spray a touch of my favorite perfume before I came into work.
And I know what you must be thinking…but, no, it’s not for the benefit of Graydon St. John.
For all I care, he can rot.
It’s for me.
It’s for my confidence.
It’s so when that brick wall with a scowl akin to Geralt of Rivia’s appears—God, Henry Cavill is so hot—I will be poised and ready to take him on.
“Changed out the water,” Harriot says as she comes into the flamingo building. “When does the football guy get here?”
I glance up at the clock. “Five minutes. I should probably go meet him.”
“What are you going to have him do today?” Harriot asks while she takes a seat at the bistro table.
“Not sure yet. Guess I’ll have to see what kind of attitude he walks in with.”
“Good luck,” she calls out as I head toward the exit.
Yeah, I’m going to need it.
I make my way toward the back lot of Gate B, picking up a few pieces of trash on my way and depositing them in the garbage cans.
You would think being at a zoo would stop people from littering, because you know, we should keep animals safe from plastics and all, but that’s so not the case.
I’m always picking up trash as I walk around—it’s infuriating.
Do they not know how many animals die each year due to human trash traveling out to sea?
When I reach Gate B, Travis and Callie are already waiting.
Travis offers me a nod, his neck so long that it makes me giggle. They sometimes say that zookeepers take on the characteristics of the animals they care for, and Travis is no exception.
“Ready for today?” he asks.
“Ready as ever,” I answer as I remove the top on my water bottle and take a sip.
“I hope OC doesn’t sit in giraffe shit today.” Travis shakes his head. “That was not a fun cleanup.”
“Maybe Bennett will actually say more than two words to me,” Callie says on a sigh.
“It’s been really hard trying to have a conversation with him.
I mean, he asks me questions, but that’s about it.
There is no bond there.” She leans in close and says, “I even watched his game last night to see if I could strike up a conversation about his sport.”
“How did that go for you?” Travis asks.
Callie winces. “I fell asleep.”
I chuckle and then cap off my water bottle. “At least you’re not working with an asshole. I would take OC sitting in poop and Bennett not talking over Graydon any—”
My words are cut short as the gate opens and, lo and behold, Graydon is standing on the other side with that signature scowl of his.
Today he chose a pair of worn jeans, white shoes, and a navy blue Foghorns T-shirt.
The scruff on his jaw seems to be even thicker today, while his hair is styled in a more tousled way, still taking the shape of a fauxhawk.
When his eyes land on mine, his jaw works over the gum that must be in his mouth as he says, “Don’t let me stop you from finishing. ”
Dammit.
He heard me.
I clear my throat and attempt a shaky smile as I say, “Um…I’d rather not.”
He slowly nods as he glances at Travis and Callie, who both take a solid step back. “Right. Let’s get this over with.”
He takes two steps forward, propelling himself right past me, and doesn’t glance back as I’m forced to chase him.
Looks like it’s going to be another great day with my celebrity advocate.
Travis and Callie both offer me sympathetic smiles before I chase the giant of a man who is plowing through the door.
“Hey, hold on,” I call out, only for him to whirl around on me, nearly scaring me half to death with his size. I gulp as his menacing eyes meet mine.
“What were you saying about me?”
“I, uh, I wasn’t, I mean…I was just, you know…lamenting.”
“Lamenting?” He crosses his arms over his chest, and that’s when I notice he’s carrying the water bottle I gave him. If I wasn’t so terrified about what he might say, I’d probably think it’s nice to see him using it. “What exactly were you lamenting about?”
“Well, I didn’t really get a chance to lament about anything before you arrived.”
“And what were you going to say if I didn’t show up?”
“You know, I really don’t think that’s important at the moment.” My legs tremble beneath me. “I think what’s important is that we focus on the flamingos.”
“Why? Do more dishes need to be washed?” he asks, disdain dripping from his voice.
“No,” I drag out. “I thought that maybe I could sit you down and educate you about the animals.”
“I don’t need an education.”
“Don’t you want to learn about them?”
“No,” he growls as Bennett and Callie walk by us, clearly tiptoeing around the negative energy between me and Graydon. “I couldn’t care less about the flamingos.”
And just like that, my hackles are raised.
My anger takes hold of my tongue.
And my sense of decorum is erased.
Because he couldn’t care less about flamingos? That is so…that is so…
Rude!
And mean.
It disgusts me.
To have a platform such as his and say something like he doesn’t care about flamingos—how dare he!
“Yeah, brought a spare pair of pants to keep here,” OC says as he walks in with Travis at his side.
“Great idea, man,” Travis answers, walking by us. “But maybe try not to sit in giraffe dung this time.”
“That’s the mission,” OC answers before they exit as well, leaving me alone with Graydon.
Trying to speak in a steady tone, I say, “I find it extremely offensive that you don’t care about the flamingos, especially when you haven’t given them a chance—”
“The first day I was here, you made me wash dishes. Excuse me if I’m lacking a connection.”
“It’s because you made fun of me for my pants,” I snap back. “And I wasn’t in the mood to hang around and give you the lowdown on my favorite things in this world.”
His face remains expressionless as he asks, “Do you think that’s professional?”
Excuse me?
Do I think that’s professional? Look in a freaking mirror, sir.
I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as rude as him before.
“Do you think it’s professional to make fun of someone’s pants?” I ask.
“I was pointing out the facts.”
“Just because it was a fact doesn’t mean you needed to point it out,” I counter, hands on my hips.
He drags his hand over his face, clearly bored of this conversation. “Can we just start this fucking jail time so I can get on with my day?”
Jail time?
Wow.
Just wow.
“You know this is important to me, right?” I ask. “Like there is a lot riding on you being here and helping?”
He’s barely listening. His eyes aren’t even on me.
I poke his shoulder. “Hello, I’m talking to you.”
“Yeah, I know, and it sounds like you’re gaining the courage to go on a tirade. Not interested in hearing it.”
Anger consumes me, and when I get so angry, I start to cry. It’s a horrible attribute, I hate it and wish it wasn’t something I was prone to do, but unfortunately, that’s how my body and brain work.
So as tears well in my eyes, I say, “You are so…privileged. You know that? You have the opportunity to make a change, to help, and you’re choosing indifference.”
His eyes finally land on my watery ones, which don’t seem to affect him one bit. “Privileged life?” He shakes his head. “You know nothing about my life. Don’t make assumptions you can’t back up with facts.”
He’s right; I don’t know what his life was like or is like, but I do know he’s a self-centered ass, which makes a tear fall down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away, but I know he saw it.
Catching my breath, I say, “Either way, you have to be here, so don’t you think it’s worth trying to make something of this rather than wasting your time?
It’s not going to hurt you to learn about flamingos and possibly help a group of animals that are floating close to the endangered list. You are blessed with a celebrity profile because you can toss around a ball—”
“I don’t toss around a ball. I fucking annihilate grown-ass men.”
“Whatever, same thing.”
He takes a step forward, his menacing stare eating me alive. “It’s not the same thing. My specialty on that field vastly differs from what you have in your head.”
“Honestly, I have nothing in my head because I don’t know anything about football.”
His tongue pokes against his cheek as he slowly nods.
“So what I’m hearing is that you want to use my platform that I built from a sport that I’ve been playing my whole life, a sport you know nothing about, and use me by having me become a goddamn encyclopedia for Double Bubble Bubble Gum birds? Tell me how that computes.”
“They’re flamingos, so you can call them that.”
He shakes his head. “Pretty ironic that you want to use me while knowing nothing about what I do but insisting I know everything about what you do. Not an even swap.”
“You’re getting good publicity out of this.”
“It’s not guaranteed,” he says. “But if I learn your shit, then you will get grants and benefits, some new facilities. It’s not an even swap.”
I go to protest, but then I shut my mouth and consider what he’s saying, because he’s right. It’s not an even swap. He can wash dishes for the flamingos all he wants, but that doesn’t mean he will earn the public’s trust.
I mull it over, my mind racing with a possible idea.
No…I couldn’t.
But…what if…
“You’re mumbling to yourself,” he points out, stalling me in my thoughts.
“I was just thinking, what if…” My teeth pull on the corner of my lip.
“Please, I don’t have all fucking day.”
Ugh, I hate him.
I really hate him.
But I also need him. I know I do. Phil favors Travis and Callie. He also favors money, and what makes money? Merchandise.
And what does he need for merchandise? A central store.
And where would be a great place for a large central store?
The Flamingo Lagoon.