Chapter FiveFischer #2
Her eyebrows shoot up, and it seems to take her a second to find a response to that. “I did not take you for the roommate-having type, Fischer.”
“I wouldn’t be if I didn’t have to be. I’m an assistant, remember?”
“So am I, but I can still afford my own apartment.” She says this with a healthy measure of pity in her words, which has my chest growing tight.
I have never missed my penthouse more than I do right now. And maybe it’s because this conversation is stirring up all of the mess of the last six months that led me to this point, but I’m not even a little bit nice when I say, “That’s probably because Daddy is funding it all for you, Princess.”
For the first time since I met her, her smile drops, and it feels like I punched her in the face instead of making a comment.
I’ve never wanted to be a mean person, and even though I’m generally not the friendliest man in the world, I don’t think I’ve ever thrown a remark that cut quite so deep as that one seems to have done.
This is it. This is rock bottom. I rub my chest, ducking my head, and hope the sidewalk swallows me whole.
“You looked into me,” she says. There’s not as much hurt in her voice as in her expression, but it’s there. “And clearly you’ve made some assumptions.”
“That’s all they are.” I don’t bother looking up. “Assumptions. I shouldn’t have—”
“My dad would love to pay for my apartment, but I don’t let him. Do you know why?”
The question pulls my gaze upward until I meet her eyes. By some miracle, her smile is back, and I know I don’t deserve that smile.
“My brother is Houston Briggs,” she says, as if I didn’t already know that.
“My other brother? He’s a PI. Probably the best in the state.
My sister is a teacher and changes lives every day.
And that’s just on one half of my family.
I’m not going to get into the other side, but my half siblings are all extremely successful and wealthy and know their value. Then there’s me.”
Whatever point she’s trying to make, she’s going to be right, but admitting that to myself isn’t making me feel any better. Besides, I want to know what she’s going to say, so I’m hanging on her every word even though I really need to get back to the office.
Stepping closer and grabbing my arm, Micah gazes at me with those soft blue eyes of hers, without a clue of how much she throws me every time she gets this close.
“I’m the baby of the family. On both sides.
And I refuse to be anything less than they are, so I refuse to let anyone help me with something I am capable of doing myself, no matter how hard it is. ”
“You are inspiring.” My words come out breathlessly, and I almost don’t care.
Almost. I’m better than this, and once upon a time I had enough confidence to match hers.
It’s incredible how quickly things can change, and I’ve probably wallowed enough that my irritability and jealousy are more childish than justified.
“I’m sorry, Micah.” I hope she knows I mean that, though I have no way to tell because her smile could mean any number of things.
“What were you saying about your roommate and bad energy?”
We’re back to that? “He’s very soul-centered,” I say, which sounds relatively neutral. Half of what he says is nonsense, but the other half I swear he’s more intuitive than the average person and sees more than he should. This from a guy who doesn’t believe in zippers because they ‘look shifty.’
Micah gives me a smile. “He sounds nice.” And then she turns, pressing the button to change the crosswalk to green.
“Micah, will you please let me give you a ride?”
She looks at me like I’ve just asked her for the biggest favor. Is a ride with me really that awful? Yes. I know it is. I don’t even like my own company, so I have no idea why she would want to spend any time with me that isn’t required by her job.
“Fine,” she says with a heavy sigh, and then she shoves the box of leftovers into my hands as she passes by on the way to my car.
“Don’t sound so excited,” I mutter. But she’s smiling as she leans against the passenger door, which I should have expected.
When I unlock and open the door for her, she stands there for a moment instead of climbing inside.
I would think she was waiting for something if she didn’t have a little smirk shifting the nature of her smile.
“You should really learn not to take life so seriously,” she tells me, like I have ever once asked her for advice.
I’m going to have a headache from stopping myself from rolling my eyes before this day is through. “I will take that under consideration.” I set the catering box on the backseat and slip into the driver’s side.
I have barely pulled out of the parking lot before Micah twists to face me and says, “Would you rather be stuck eating salad for lunch the rest of your life and never breakfast or only get to eat breakfast and never lunch or dinner?”
I groan. “I’m going to regret giving you this ride, aren’t I?” Partly because the question is convoluted and ridiculous but mostly because she smells like vanilla and jasmine. The combination has me wanting to breathe in deep and get lightheaded.
“No one said you have to answer.”
She’s sort of right, but she’s also wrong. Because she’s the one who asked it, the part of me that is inexplicably drawn to her wants to do anything to keep that smile on her face. It doesn’t matter if she’s prone to smiling no matter what I do; I won’t give her a reason not to.
“Just know,” she adds, “I really want you to answer.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to figure you out, Fischer.”
It’s fifteen minutes to Ember, but with the lunchtime traffic, it’ll probably take an extra ten to get to her office.
Micah is going to use every single one of those minutes to dig, and I shouldn’t let her.
The more questions she asks, the closer she’ll get to the truth that is always one step behind me.
Still, this question is innocent enough. “Salad,” I mutter, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
She gasps. “You would give up breakfast?”
“I don’t eat breakfast anyway.”
“How can you not eat breakfast? Breakfast is the best! I am shocked, Fischer. And here I had you pegged as a Ron Swanson.”
I glance at her. “Who?”
Another gasp almost makes me smile because it’s so overdone and dramatic. “Fischer Price, are you telling me you have never watched Parks and Rec ?”
“That would require time to watch TV.” I’ve seen a few early episodes, but they weren’t great. Not exactly a selling point for me to waste time I didn’t have back when the show aired. “And it’s just Fischer.”
“Ron Swanson loves breakfast food, just like the main character Leslie Knope.”
“Okay.”
She folds her arms like I’ve just told her that all of her interests are dumb.
I check my expression in case my face was actually saying that.
“Would you rather be followed by a cat who never leaves you alone no matter where you go or have a pet parrot who says inappropriate things to your house guests?”
As I do my best to keep my focus on the Sun City traffic, a mental image pops into my mind of Micah curled up on a blanket in a sunbeam.
She has golden retriever energy, but the way she acts physically reminds me a lot of an affectionate cat, like the one I had growing up.
I haven’t thought about that cat in years.
“Cat,” I say, though it’s more of a grunt. Mittens is probably long dead by now. Did I ever get a call about when she died? My phone suddenly feels heavy in my pocket. I don’t think I did, though am I really surprised?
“Would you rather be caught in a hurricane or a tornado?”
I glance at her. That’s a dark one. “I’m not sure I can make an informed opinion, as I’ve never experienced one or the other.”
She grins. “Me neither! Isn’t New Mexico great?”
“Sure.”
“Would you rather eat a gallon of mayonnaise or a gallon of ranch dressing?”
She goes on like that for the next twenty minutes until we reach the parking garage beneath Ember Events.
Sometimes the questions are innocent, like when she asks my preference between growing a beard or growing my hair.
Other times she gets deep, like when she asks if I would rather lose all of my childhood memories but remember the rest of my life or lose all short-term memory when I hit sixty.
Some of my answers come easily—I would rather have hair on my head than my face—while others I don’t answer.
If I’m silent for too long, she moves onto the next question.
Grant’s GPS says he’s still in the building, so when I pull into a parking space, I step out of the car alongside Micah.
She doesn’t question me, instead leading the way to the elevator as she continues to ask questions that can’t possibly give her any useful information about me.
My preference for ranch doesn’t reveal any deep, dark secrets about me.
When we reach the elevator, I press myself into the corner, putting as much distance between us as I can.
I already get nervous in closed spaces, and Micah fills it up so much more than a normal person with her huge personality.
Thankfully, she gets a message right as the elevator starts moving, which stops her tongue for long enough to let me breathe.
Weirdly, I almost don’t like the silence.
Micah reads whatever’s on her phone, and then she does a little whoop and a jump with an impressive vertical. “Houston is in for the reopening!”
“Oh.” Is that really all I can say? That’s actually huge. He might draw in some good crowds if people find out he’s there after a World Series win. His team hasn’t actually won yet, but they’re most likely going to beat the Oklahoma Burrs after the season they’ve played.