3. Ephemeral
Chapter three
Ephemeral
I technically call Florida my home. Because I live on a bus, I had to choose somewhere warm enough to spend the winter months to ensure that, with minimal heating and insulation, we’d be okay. Not that there is zero, but it’s not a we can all handle minus twenty-two degrees situation. I’d have to keep the bus running instead of just relying on my small generator in places where I can’t plug into powered campsites, and that’s expensive and dangerous. I mean, I think so. Fumes and all that.
I’ve strategically planned the show circuit so that I said yes to conventions, gatherings, and all the cat and animal-related everything in the warm months. And then, in the fall, I shift my focus down south, where there isn’t usually snow.
Whoever said van life or bus life or whatever was easy probably never lived in one. Sure, you don’t have a mortgage, but your home is also your vehicle, and there are gas and camping fees and basic survival to figure out.
When I decided to commit to bringing Peach Lips to all the people out there who would love to meet her and all the people who didn’t know they would like to get to know her so we can go the extra mile in making a difference in the lives of shelter animals and those on the streets, I got down to planning, and the fact that I already lived on a bus made it far easier to make the shows a reality. I don’t know how we’d ever manage otherwise. I suppose in a car and in endless hotels with an apartment back home that I’d rarely ever see but have to pay for regardless.
Right now, I’m just getting off the bus at the convention center in downtown Milwaukee. It’s not an arena this time, but it’s every bit as large. I don’t have a ton of stuff to set up, and by now, I’m good at it. I have a little cart packed with everything that I’ll load up. Peach Lips is used to being in her little travel carrier or her backpack. She never leaves my side. I do all my set up with her watching.
She’s all loaded up and ready to go. I just have to take the small pile off the front of the bus and set it up on our foldable cart.
It won’t take me longer than an hour to set up, and then the cat con starts tomorrow morning. I’ve got my head in the let’s set up and split back to the campground for a shower, a good book, and plenty of cuddles mode, but I sure as all fack don’t fail to see the shadow looming right by the bus.
Over the past few days, I’ve literally debated about starting to carry pepper spray, but that could blind someone, and I think there could be legal repercussions to using it. It seems kind of terrifying.
Yeah, that’s basically me in my little nutshell.
I freeze, my cart still folded up in my hand. The hulking figure is none other than Thorn Stone. He has his arms crossed a few feet away from me and is staring me down directly. I’ve been here in the parking lot, on my bus, for at least half an hour. Yes, the doors were locked, but the feeling that he was just watching me in that broody, creepy way of his made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
If I’m honest, it does more than that. It makes my pulse race at an erratic, totally unpredictable, and unacceptable rate. My stomach plummets and leaps back up, clenching hard as I give him as good a staredown as I’m getting.
A quiver rattles through me in zones that aren’t supposed to be quivering. I might be twenty-five, but I haven’t spent a lot of time experimenting. It’s a bad time to find out I might have a stalker kink.
For the love of hairy cat legs.
This isn’t a damn kink. I might be nice, but one of my major faults is that I do have to rise to generally harmless challenges.
Thorn is effortlessly menacing. It’s his all-black ensemble outlining his chiseled, tall, deadly form that does it. The black T-shirt with muscles sticking out all over, huge arms, a six-pack that his shirt tightens over, black fatigues, and motorcycle/army-style boots. They could be either. I’m no expert. He’s all veiny forearms and a thick neck with an endless, impressive height to the tune of six-three or so. His dark hair, dark eyes, and almost aggressive facial features give rise to a comic book villain brought to life. He’s got the bone structure of a statue, but his physique is heavier and more rugged, with just enough imperfection that it makes him more physically appealing, not less.
I bet tons of women bust an ovary at a mere glance, but not me. I am so not in my bad guy era either.
I do get a twinge in the lady cave, AGAIN , but I have been celibate for three and a half years. Who freaking goes that long, you might ask? Well, I haven’t been a saint or anything. I’ve gone through a rough patch. A horrible patch. A devouring chasm of a soul-eating dark, chompy plant. I’ve had to get shit in order. My mom died, and my relationship at the time didn’t survive it. I also dropped out of college and became (almost) homeless.
But I’m doing better now.
I’m not desperate. I’m fine by myself, and I have a full life in a different way. I have everything and everyone I need who is still here on this earth. I have zero time or desire for a relationship, be it long-term or a casual fling. I’ve had zero reaction to anyone in the past years, so…why Satan here?
Being annoying is probably this guy’s evil villain superpower. I’m the one who breaks the staredown first, or we’ll be here all day.
“You’re here, following me across the state…” The universe forbid that it’s across the country. “I don’t want a bodyguard. Peach Lips doesn’t want a bodyguard. I didn’t call you, and I’m not signing anything with you, not even for free. That’s the end of it.” But I’m not na?ve enough to think it is. Thorn wouldn’t be here if it were.
And seriously, why are my nipples now getting stupidly excited to see him?
It’s not like I’ve thought about him as I drove from one end of the state to the other. Or at night. Or in the morning.
Fine. Fine. I did, but only because the attempt on Peach Lips became a worldwide thing that everyone has been talking about, blowing up my messages over, and commenting on, and I know I need to do something.
“Wrong,” he points out so very helpfully. “You are going to take my help for free. I can’t, under any circumstance, let you put that lovely, adored, gorgeous, amazing superhero of a feline at risk.”
He’s such an ogre. He has no manners, and he’s a sore loser. That’s just as obvious as the fact that the guy is cold, heartless, and a very good-looking monster. He doesn’t even attempt to pretend he’s the least bit warm-blooded.
That should not get me hot and bothered, goddamn it.
“I might be a heap of banana peels, but you, sir, have the emotional intelligence of a potato.” Yeah. Nice. Stoop to his level. That’s going to make him leave.
“That’s insulting.”
“You’re right,” I say with a sigh. I’m in this now that I’m the one who engaged. I should have just gone back and locked myself on the bus. Instead, I’m standing here holding my folded-up cart. Even though I have all of the rest of the day to set up and the parking lot isn’t even busy because no one else has even arrived, I’d still like to just get it over with. “Poor potatoes. What did they ever do to anyone other than be delicious? I can’t compare you to anything because that would be insulting.”
“Thank you.”
“To the object,” I add.
His face remains perfectly impassive. “Am I the object in this scenario?”
My hand tightens on the cart. It’s a warm day, and I’m in a strapless purple dress with a flared skirt that has orange felines all over it in various stages of dance. “Is it your goal to drive me to the brink of insanity, hoping that I’ll lose my mind and agree to this ridiculous scheme?”
“It wasn’t my plan, but would that work?”
“What was your plan?” I ask.
“Persistence, basically.”
“You mean harassment .”
He doesn’t blink. It’s freaky how long he’s been standing there without moving so much as an eyelash. “I’ve given you time to think. Logically, you must realize you need this.”
I slap the cart onto the ground and kick the metal sides open to unfold it. “You don’t give a furry feline behind about what I do and don’t need. I bet you’re not even a cat person. Or a dog person. Or a person person. You’re probably a nothing person.” He’s most likely a vampire person because he’d be most at home with their lifeless, cold, bloodsucking ways.
“Fine. I’m going to be brutally honest. I have nothing to hide. Last weekend was a colossal fuck-up as far as security goes. A big black stain. I’m trying to acquire another company. I mean merge . I mean…it’s complicated. I’ve been working on it for a long time.” I treat him to an equally blank stare as his own. “My offer is the most attractive one. It’s the only one you’ll get.”
I roll my eyes, but then it sinks in. I didn’t realize Thorn has the kind of clout to block anyone else from doing this job. Not just anyone in his own company but from any company.
“No doubt the most forceful and douchebaggy too,” I fire back.
“Yes, no doubt,” he responds, not the least bit bothered. “The merger was supposed to be a done deal, but the paperwork isn’t signed. Old man Smith is like me. Name and honor above all because, at the end of the day, that’s all anyone can lay claim to.”
I tap my bright purple ballet flat impatiently. The bus is still perfectly air-conditioned, so I’m not worried about Peach Lips being behind me in her carrier. It won’t start getting hot for at least forty-five minutes to an hour. “Not exactly, but do finish. I need to set up, which means you need to wrap up. Pronto.”
Surprisingly, he does. His level of transparency shouldn’t be refreshing. But it is. It shouldn’t be because it’s probably not even real. How would I know anything about his life? “He won’t sign if he thinks we’re anything less than perfect. Committed, capable, and ready to take what he’s built and what I’ve built and bring it to the next level.”
“Always the next level. Always.”
“Yes. Where else is there to go?” He still doesn’t give anything away by his expression or tone, but I can just tell he’s looking at me like he thinks I’m a few hairs short of a hairball.
“So this is just about money and prestige?”
“It’s about my honor and your safety. Peach Lips’ safety too. The whole world has read about the incident. And for me, it’s a kick to the nuts.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much. They appear to be made of stone, just like your heart.”
“But my company isn’t. You don’t like me? Fair enough. Not many people do.”
“Shocker,” I state dryly. You know what is not dry? For the love of clean litter boxes, I’m not even going there. My whole body is slightly damp because it’s hot out here, standing in the direct sun at noon on a mid-August day.
“There’s more than just me working. My company literally employs hundreds of men and women across the country. People like Amanda. This has become global news. As in, we can’t do our job. Unless you let me redeem myself, do you think anyone is going to hire us? If we can’t even keep a toothless old cat who resembles—I’m sorry to say this, but—the lovechild of a loaf of bread and a pile of newspaper, hair, and toenail clippings with an indiscriminate fur color impossible to describe as anything other than murky brown pond water dappled with rust and grey safe, then what are we good for? I need to prove that not only am I on this, but I’m on it in a big way.”
Well, that is just straight-up rock bottom. Appealing to my goodness when he doesn’t have any. “Don’t bring Amanda into this. That isn’t fair.”
“The truth hardly ever is. Life—”
“I know. Isn’t fair,” I snap. “Ask Peach Lips about that. Have some compassion before you go around calling her bog water.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think about you or your cat.” His expression now suddenly reflects annoyance. “I would guard you both with my life. My company is literally my soul and blood. You have no idea how much it matters. It’s more than just my name and my honor.”
“Let me guess your background by way of credentials.” I throw open the bus door and start grabbing boxes and luggage—all my setup stuff neatly condensed into manageable loads. I pile them neatly onto the cart, not slamming anything, even though I want to. That would imply I’m annoyed, and I’m not. I don’t care about this conversation or Thorn’s issues in the least. “Some token ex-military thug training, probably special ops, bad childhood, lacking in personality in the extreme, so you like being a lone wolf. Incredibly intelligent.” On goes the first big black trunk, followed by two suitcases, then the duffel, the backdrop stand, my background canvas, and my folding table. “Bad with people equals good with numbers. Not afraid to get your hands dirty, and not above the law, but you hold it in little regard and figure yourself a great man who can bend it to his will. You clawed yourself from the ground up and got used to living all dangerous and weird, so when that was over, you didn’t know what to do with yourself.” I set my backpack on the edge of the cart, wedging it into place to balance everything. The other one, I’ll wear on my back. I can wheel the cart with one hand and carry Peach Lips’ carrier with the other. “If you lose this, you won’t lose everything, but you will lose your purpose. Besides your honor, that’s a dangerous thing. You’ll be entirely lost. Kneecapped, blinded, Achilles heeled—”
“Yes,” he cuts me off in his flat tone. I’m not even sure this guy could experience emotion, even if he wanted to. “Exactly.”
“Did I get anything wrong?” I search his face, knowing it’s a futile gesture. I still search for something, even if it’s terribly irrational.
“Remarkably little. You’re very good at reading people. Obviously not good enough that you didn’t prevent yourself from handing your cat over into the arms of a cat nabber, but—”
Of all the freaking nerve! Being an asshole is definitely this guy’s villain power. “I didn’t hand her over! She was in her bed!”
“But you do let people hold her.”
“If she wants to be held. Usually, they just pet her. She’s very receptive to that, and generally, they only have the best intentions.”
He clears his throat like he can’t believe I could possibly be such an imbecile. “Very few people have good intentions. They don’t know how to respect boundaries. Peach Lips isn’t exactly infirm, but she’s getting older. She needs to be kept happy, healthy, and as comfortable as possible. I can ensure there are respected boundaries.”
Wow. He just went there. Straight to the guilt trip of appealing to my heart when it comes to my cat’s health. “Yeah, by chasing everyone away.”
“By helping you enforce new rules about handling and contact. For the most part, I’ll be invisible.”
“Our wishes are indeed aligned then.” Invisible, as in, not in my life.
“You won’t even notice I’m there unless I’m needed.”
“You’ll say that’s always, and in that, our wishes are not aligned. I don’t need you, and I’m not taking this job. Or letting you take this job. Whatever.” Why does that come out unsure instead of forceful?
“Despite your poor judgment so far, I’d say you’re actually a fast learner. Don’t prove me wrong. I rarely ever give anyone the benefit of the doubt.”
I’ve never had the urge to kick someone, let alone nut kick them, but my god, this guy’s south of the border is practically screaming, TARGET, TARGET, I’D MAKE A GREAT TARGET, I SWEAR! Then again, balls of steel and all that. It wouldn’t be very satisfying at all.
Thorn’s perfect square jaw juts out. He looks ten shades more alluring when he digs in. I get another sexy shiver. Barf. “You need this. You know you need this. You have no one else to lean on. I’ve done a full background check on you.”
Fuck. I say very few of those, but this is a full-on mental one.
I can feel my eyes filling with prickly, hot tears. It’s not even the probing and the fact that he crossed boundaries just because he could. Anyone could go there. I wouldn’t find it overly offensive, except I know he dug that information up in order to use it as a weapon in his own way.
He said he had nothing to hide. Yeah right. A guy like this doesn’t exist without major skeletons. All the skeletons, mummies, graves, dust bunnies, cobwebs, and, for sure, a vampire and probably a werewolf.
“I don’t have anything to hide either. My background is common knowledge and free.” Here’s me, holding my head up. I might be far too nice and too soft for this world, but I do have my pride.
“I know you think I’m trying to use it against you, but I’m not. I’m just stating a fact.”
Jesus. There goes his jaw, getting less jutty, and his face not so hard. His dark eyes aren’t even so glareish anymore. He’s not smiling, and he’s not soft, but his face changes just enough that it deceives a person into feeling safe.
It’s remarkable how effortless it is for him to make me feel like I’m not being attacked when he doesn’t want me to.
Ugh, there’s only so far I can fight this.
I was eaten up for days over what happened. I can’t even fathom the crumbling of my world if I lost Peach Lips. It’s true she’s the only one I have left. I know I have the world behind me. I had to make a statement about the last convention and then turn off comments and make it clear I won’t be checking social media for at least a week so I won’t be crushed and inundated by the messages, both good and bad. The good will far outweigh the bad. There are people out there if I want to reach out, but it’s hard. No one will ever get me like my mom did, and she’s gone. Sure, I do have relations and extended family I can lean on. But I don’t want to burden anyone when they have enough problems of their own. I feel that way about the world as a whole.
Peach Lips is the only one who gets to see me as me.
I would say the incident was well handled, and the police and security were amazing. I thanked everyone for their heroic actions, this unappetizing individual standing in front of me included. I stated bluntly that this wouldn’t scare me off, but after that, I realized what a challenge it sounded like. Thorn is right that the incident did set a precedent or, at the very least, it gave some people out there the wrong idea.
I’ve hardly slept for days, and that was on my bus, which is my total safety bubble. I hate listening to my anxiety. It’s not intuition, and it can’t predict the future, but I have to listen to what my body is telling me.
I need security.
And I have this sinking feeling that this prickly pickle of a dickle douchcanoe isn’t going to let it be anyone but him. He might resort to some special ops training and make someone disappear, and then that would be on me. He probably won’t kill them but do something awful enough that they get replaced or incapacitated or come down with a serious case of explosive diarrhea.
I step back onto the bus, leaving my cart with all my show stuff right there for Thorn to watch.
Peach Lips is right there, staring at me with her sweet, derpy, innocent, one hundred million percent loving face. Thinking of her not being here shatters me.
The door is open, so I know Thorn can hear me. “Fine. But we do this my way. And there has to be rules. After I set up for the show, I’ll have the rest of the day free. By the end of the evening, I’ll have a list prepared, and you can write our contract accordingly. If I’m in agreement, I might consider signing it before the show tomorrow.”
“Excellent.” He sounds about as nonplussed as if he’d just had to open a can of tinned liver—I hope to goodness that is not truly a thing—using only his teeth.
“One other thing, Thorns .” I smile at Peach Lips to keep me grounded and sweet and to remind me that even though so many things have gone wrong, I’ve been incredibly blessed. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise as well. Or…maybe it’s just awful—not in disguise. “Most people call me Effy, but don’t you dare. That’s stipulation number one.”
He ignores my purposeful misuse of his name and is quite pleasant behind my back. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m nothing if not utterly professional.”
It makes no sense at all that I’m even slightly disappointed to hear that.
Then again, I’d be crazy to believe this could be anything but a clusterhairwad in the making.