Chapter 8 Who Even Listens to Podcasts Anymore?
WHO EVEN LISTENS TO PODCASTS ANYMORE?
RAYA
Early September arrives before I know it.
With it comes the work trip, and the rising full moon.
I had a long chat with Zuri the other night about the Walton family.
We might have taken it a step too far when we went online and did a deep dive into Asher’s family and history, but what’s some minor stalking if my life could be at risk?
Weirdly, there wasn’t much about him from the last few years, but we guessed maybe he’s simply not the type to want public attention, which is at least one point in his favor, if true.
One thing keeps sticking in my head, though.
I can’t figure out why he’s working such a normal-person job at the consulting firm.
From what we read, it’s assumed he has a massive trust fund, which means there’s no reason for him to work. Especially not at a corporate, open workspace, shared microwave in the kitchen area job like this. Unless… consulting is his passion?
I scrunch my nose at the thought, huffing a breath with the reminder of how much is on my plate with this trip. This is why they needed someone to start so quickly; the client expects us to deliver, and I’ve had to push myself the last two weeks to be ready in time.
As the Training Lead, I need to fully understand the updates being made, problems that could arise, and all the ins and outs of the new software so I can teach the clients’ employees how to effectively use it.
An anxious part of my brain torments me with thoughts that if this doesn’t go well, my future at the company will be in jeopardy.
I’m trying to stay optimistic, packing nearly every item of professional warm-weather clothing I own for the five day trip to San Diego.
I would love to spend some time at the hotel pool too, so hoping for the best, I toss my favorite bikini in alongside a stack of panties, then sit on the carry-on sized suitcase in an effort to zip it closed.
The consulting firm is paying for the flights, lodging, and food, but not a checked bag, and since I’m still on a fairly tight budget, I’ve packed everything I can into a small suitcase and an equally small duffle bag to avoid extra fees.
Luckily, it’s a short and quick Sunday evening flight without any layovers.
Unfortunately, I’ve learned Asher will be the only one from the team accompanying me.
A couple of our coworkers will be arriving later in the week and staying for a day or two, but no one else was deemed necessary for the entire week.
Avoiding being alone with him is going to be significantly harder than anticipated when we’re the only two team members there.
Lugging my suitcase out of my room, I call for Zuri, who agreed to give me a ride to the airport while reminding me what a good friend she is, that she likes colorful seashells and ‘punny’ stickers, and wouldn’t turn down a fun new hat if one were presented to her.
Rolling my eyes, I give Reverie a light kiss on the top of her pretty pink head, promising to bring back treats for her as well, then follow Zuri out to her car.
“So, what’s the plan for dealing with the probably dangerous douche canoe?” Zuri asks.
“Ugh. I don’t even know. Can you believe I’m going to be stuck with him for nearly a week?
” I lament. “I seriously don’t know if I’m going to survive.
I mean, besides his stupid snarky attitude, I’ve got the random shifting, and the full moon, and being thrown into this job.
I hardly even know what I’m doing, yet I’m expected to train everyone else on it. ”
I didn’t realize how much I was holding in until it all came pouring out during the twenty-five minute drive across the river to the airport. When Zuri pulls up to the drop-off zone, she puts the car in park and turns in her seat, then places both hands on my shoulders.
“I know it’s a lot, but you can do this,” she says, her voice earnest and eyes unblinking.
“You’ve been through hell with this shifting stuff, and you’ve managed the stress of it your entire life.
You’re an excellent trainer, I’m not worried about that part of it at all.
You’re authentic, and kind, and easy going, and a great teacher.
They’re lucky to have you. You’ve got CBD oil for the full moon, so use it, and load up on caffeine in the morning if you need to. ”
I blink, trying to take in these solemn words from my feisty friend. She’s not the type to coddle others, but this doesn’t feel like coddling. This feels real, and if the look on her face is anything to go by, she means every word.
“Thank you," I say, my voice soft, offering a watery smile when Zuri pats my shoulder and then pulls me in for a hug.
“You’ve got this. Give him hell, stay safe, and give the others the best training they’ve ever had.”
I laugh. “You are such a dork.”
As I walk into the bustling airport, Zuri rolls the window down and yells to my retreating back, “And be careful!”
I don’t see Asher anywhere yet, and I’m starting to hope that maybe we were put on different flights. I arrived early to the gate and have staked out the area, keeping one eye peeled for Asher’s dark hair and piercing stare, while doing my best to look like I’m casually reading as I wait.
After forty-five minutes of leg-bouncing anticipation, I still haven’t seen him, and it’s my turn to board.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and my shoulders slump, though I’m not sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.
Refusing to look at that emotional mess any further, I shuffle along in line until my boarding pass is scanned, then continue my shuffle down the jet bridge and onto the plane.
Finding my seat, I step in so others can pass and grab my water bottle, book, and headphones from my duffle, then step back into the aisle to put my bags in the overhead bin.
Taking a deep breath, I grasp both handles of my suitcase and heave it up, only for it to miss the bin completely and come crashing back down, first hitting my shoulder, then landing on my foot.
With a muttered ‘oof’ of pain, my face flushes hot and I feel the dreaded tingle under my skin.
Before I can even hide behind my hair, mouse whiskers sprout along my cheeks, surrounded by short grey fur.
I take a deep breath, then peek around, hoping fruitlessly that my ordeal would have gone unnoticed.
Looking toward the back of the plane, more eyes than I can count are staring at me, and my shoulders hunch up when the tingle starts again.
My throat closes, and my tongue feels thick in my mouth as the nightmare continues.
My ears lengthen, and droopy, twitching rabbit ears poke out of my hair.
All I want at this moment is to hide, but I need to get my bags put away.
Before I can try to heft one up again, a body steps into my space and takes hold of the handle, gently brushing my hand away and setting my bag on the seat.
I let out a squeak of surprise, causing my skin to redden even further at the irony of squeaking while simultaneously looking like a mouse-rabbit.
Then I glance up and fully register the presence standing next to me.
Asher.
He’s here, somehow, and he’s… shielding me?
He has his jacket unzipped so it’s hanging loose to either side of what is already a fairly wide and muscular body, and his arms are stretched around either side of me, hands propped on the seat back and overhead bin so he’s blocking most of the others on the plane from my vision.
“I’ve got it," he says, his voice low and gentle, and my skin tingles again. This time, I don’t feel the shift, but my vision alters, becoming more sharp, with colors that almost seem to glow.
My eyes must have changed, but Asher doesn’t flinch or look away.
He doesn’t acknowledge in any way that there’s something wrong or abnormal about me right now.
He simply nudges me out of the aisle, then tosses my bags in the overhead bin with an easy flex of his muscles.
I try to avoid staring as he sits down in the seat next to me, but it’s even harder not to look at him when my vision is so enhanced.
I have no idea what’s going on. Asher must sense my confusion, because he smiles, but this only serves to make it worse, and my brows furrow even further. I’m not sure he has ever smiled at me, and it does weird, wiggly things to my insides, like I’m full of worms.
Or butterflies.
I turn to look out the window, not speaking one word to him, and he seems content to let me have my space.
I try my hardest not to roll my eyes at his performative chivalry, but can’t help glancing at his arm, right next to mine.
He’s only wearing a fitted cotton tee under his jacket, and when he lifted those bags up, I got an eyeful of bulging biceps.
Blessed Mother Moon. How do vampires build up so much muscle? Is there a lot of protein in blood?
I squirm in my seat, uncomfortable with the physical pull I feel toward someone who has such different fundamental values from myself, and that’s assuming he has any sort of values or moral compass at all.
Although, he did help me twice now when I’ve needed it, and he didn’t give me a hard time or ask for anything in return in either situation. I’m not sure how that version of him fits with the gruff work-place version I’ve seen over the last couple of weeks in the office.
As my mind circles around the conundrum that is Asher Sullivan/Walton, my eyesight returns to normal, and I briefly wonder what my eyes looked like when they shifted.
My ears shorten next, and I run a hand through my hair, tucking a few strands behind a normal, human ear, while I wait for my face to morph back into my typical features too.
Before that happens, I hear someone speaking to Asher next to us.
“Hey man,” they say, “sorry, but I think you’re in my seat? I’m in B.”
“Oh, yeah, I was going to ask if you wanted to swap? I have the aisle, but we’re together, so I’d prefer middle if it’s all the same to you," Asher says, and I do my best not to react to those words, we’re together.
Why would he say that? Why does he want to sit by me?
“Gotcha, no problem," the stranger says, tucking themselves into the aisle seat and fastening their seatbelt.
Asher doesn’t so much as glance my way, let alone offer any sort of explanation for this change.
I try to read, but I can’t focus well enough to lose myself in the story.
Instead, I spend most of the flight attempting to listen to a podcast I have downloaded featuring free tourist areas in San Diego, but my thoughts keep circling back to the man sitting next to me.
Legs taking up more space than they deserve, head tipped back with earbuds in, and arms loosely crossed over his chest. I wonder if there’s anything in the world that manages to get under his skin.
When we touch down over two hours later, I can’t recall one single thing that was mentioned on that podcast.