16. CEO Ass Grabber #2
“I’m in a pickle,” I admit at last. “I need to tread carefully.”
Tucking her hands into her armpits, Angie concentrates on the fissures in the blacktop. “Let me think.”
Like me, she’s old enough and world-weary enough to know that snitching on Sam to the board is a moot point.
They already kiss his ass. Making excuses for his bad behavior is the logical next step.
Ousting him would be an uphill battle. He’s more powerful, more connected, and richer than I’ll ever be. I can’t win.
But I refuse to lose.
I’m suddenly seized with a white-hot blast of rage. The injustice!
I can’t believe I have to navigate all these corporate obstacles, making my life more difficult just because my boss has a hard-on for his underlings.
It’s a good thing I have a scheming friend.
“Okay,” Angie lifts her head up, her eyes blazing, “I’ve got it.”
“Yeah?”
“Start scratching.”
“What?”
“You’ve got an itch.”
“A what?”
“You heard me,” she says.
“Where?”
She clears her throat and nods in the general direction of my pelvis.
I grimace. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes. A crotch itch. Start scratching right now. Those crabs are not going to scratch themselves.”
I’m reluctant to be so afflicted. “Does it have to be crabs?”
“It could be lice if you want.” She sighs in exasperation. “Do you want to repel him or not?”
I grit my teeth and, glancing from side to side, I maneuver my hand to my crotch and start working it.
“Good,” Angie whispers, “but more vigorously and follow my lead.” Making sure that I’m scratching myself to her satisfaction, Angie takes my hand and leads us toward Sam. “Act normal…”
“There’s nothing normal about this,” I mutter.
“Hey... so Sam,” Angie says. “We’d better call it a night. Carina has more than just a blister problem.”
Sam’s gaze zeros in on my crotch. It’s not like he could avoid it. My hand is working a frenzy between my legs.
“Er, Carina?” he says, not looking disgusted per se, just uncomfortable.
“Yeah?” I ask, switching up my rigorous scratching to a premeditated pinch. I’m pinching areas of my body that’s not polite to pinch in public.
“Are you...” Sam stares at my hand for a moment, then averts his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Just scratching an itch,” I say matter-of-factly.
Sam gulps. “What kind of itch?”
“Oh, you know…” I switch to the other hand to give my wrist a break. “Just another crab outbreak, you know how it is...”
Turning away from Sam’s horrified expression, I meet Angie’s eye.
She’s fighting the urge to laugh. “I’m taking Carina home so she could um... trim her business. Sorry to ruin your night.”
“Crabs?” Sam rakes a hand through his hair.
“Yes, Sam,” I say, trying to drive the message home. “Crabs.”
“Lots of ‘em?”
“Lots. Loads,” Angie says, “Very contagious. That’s why we have separate bathrooms. Come on, Carina. We’ll get you taken care of.”
As we turn to go, Sam calls, “Carina, wait!”
Taking a deep breath, I turn around, halting in front of Coyote Flame’s entrance, and give him my sweetest smile. “Yes?”
He shrugs. “I don’t mind crabs.”
“Huh?”
“What I’m trying to say is,” he holds up his hands, “no judgement. In fact, I’ve suffered a case of crabs myself. Got them from an old girlfriend.”
“It’s the gift that keeps on giving,” Angie adds.
“Exactly,” Sam continues, “I just want you to know: I don’t think any less of you because I know what you’re going through. If you ever need emotional support, I’ll be there. In fact, I’ve got a balm in my medicine cabinet which I can lend you.”
We stare at him, speechless. Of all the inappropriate bosses in the world, I had to meet someone who’s supportive of my genital crabs.
And what’s this about him having crabs as well?
My gaze zooms toward his crotch. Does he still have them?
I didn’t have an itch before, but I do now.
Psychosomatic crabs. And what’s this about a balm? I’m not borrowing his used balm. Gross.
“You aren’t kidding,” Angie says under her breath. “He’s really persistent.”
“He’s sticking to me like glue,” I whisper back. “Okay, let me think...”
And I attempt to think, except my synapses, usually so quick to fire, have been doused in cheap tequila.
I’m stumped. So far, my social deftness involved getting strangers to like me, which I don’t have to work hard at as I exude a natural charisma.
Sam likes me. He likes me a little too much.
Not even a contagious genital parasite could deter him.
I’ve never had to try to get someone to dislike me.
That’s Rhys’ speciality.
I wish Rhys were here right now. He’ll know what to say.
“Um, Sam?” I begin. “Did I say ‘crabs?’ It’s a lot worse than that. What I meant to say was... was…” I eye Angie for help. She shrugs apologetically. “Herpes. Yes. I have herpes.”
Angie’s head snaps back at my proclamation. Fortunately (or unfortunately) Sam barely registers that he’s heard me. The double wooden doors burst open, drowning out my last word.
Two ladies stomp out, livid. I immediately recognized them as Rhys’ dates.
The blonde’s face is pure puce while her friend is practically foaming at the mouth.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve saying that to us!
” The blonde one whirls around, pointing her finger at the culprit.
“If you ever run your mouth like that again, you skinny little shit, I’ll shove that drink up your ass. ”
Angie and I exchange another ‘oh shit’ glance.
We’ve exchanged so many unspoken messages with our eyes tonight, my facial muscles actually feel tired.
Something tells me Rhys forgot his manners and reverted to his core asshole self and said something he shouldn’t have.
Maybe I shouldn’t have abandoned my wingman duties and left him with the cougars.
I figured all the odds were in his favor, as they were interested anyway.
They just want to hit on a young man with great hair.
All he had to do was keep his mouth shut, remember his manners, and look pretty.
I step forward to help smooth out the situation, but Sam beats me to it.
“Mom?” Sam steps forward, frowning. “Aunt Debbie? What’s going on?”
“Sam!” The blonde one (his mom?!) breathes a sigh of relief and runs into his arms. “Your aunt and I are ready to go. Please drive us home.”
“Go?” Sam’s eyes widen. “But you just got here!”
“Well, this fucking asshole,” Sam’s mom cocks her head toward the entrance, “ruined our night.”
As if on cue, Rhys walks out, drenched in red slush.
“Looks like Sam’s mom had one of those strawberry daiquiris,” Angie mumbles.
“He’s had a drink tossed in his face before,” I mumble back. “This time it looks like two drinks...”
I had to hand it to Rhys. He’s pretty calm considering that he’s covered in two jumbo-sized daiquiris.
“Jackie,” Rhys sputters. “I was only trying to compliment you.”
Jackie, mother of Sam, snorts. “In what world is calling us ‘old’ considered a compliment?”
Rhys realizes he has an audience. He hesitates for a moment, bewildered by our presence.
Then his gaze flickers downward. His reaction is obscured by a coat of strawberry slush and the red glare of the neon sign, but I can pretty much guess what Rhys is thinking: “Why are you scratching your privates?”
I take my hand off my crotch.
Yanked back to his own problems, Rhys starts toward the offended party. “Old’ never left my mouth. I was merely saying—”
Oh no. No good ever came from Rhys trying to explain away an insult.
I step in front of him, blocking him from the cougars. “Rhys, whatever explanation is about to come out of your mouth,” I say, “think about it for a moment and don’t. Just say you’re sorry and leave it there.”
Rhys mashes his lips together and swallows his words. He turns to Sam’s mom. “I’m sorry, Jackie. Of course you don’t look eighty. I should think it was obvious—”
“Rhys!” I shake my head. “Shut up!”
Chastened, he stops speaking, his attention suddenly drawn to Sam. “Rylan? What are you doing here?”
“Hey…” Sam peers at him. “I know you! It’s the ASSET man!” He offers Rhys his fist to bump.
Rhys taps his fist to Sam’s, then eyes me suspiciously. I know what he’s thinking, and I don’t want to get into it. I shrug my innocence.
“What are you doing at Coyote Flame?” Sam asks. “Here to break some hips?”
Angie snickers under her breath. “Yeah, your mom’s.”
It’s long since occurred to me that Sam, despite being the CEO of Rylan, isn’t very quick on the uptake.
I guess you don’t have to be very smart to hold a C-suite position so long as you inherit Daddy’s company.
But I wouldn’t want to be around once he puts two and two together and realizes that Rhys is here hoping to bang his mom (and aunt) and the ladies are intending to hook up with a man half their age. And maybe have a threesome.
“I hate to break this up,” I begin dragging Angie back to her car, “but I really have to go. My condition is worsening and I have to… you know...” I’m about to scratch again, then remember that I have a bigger audience so I gesture vaguely at my pelvic area.
“Of course!” Sam says, who is also being dragged in the opposite direction by his mom. “Feel better! And let me know if you want the balm.”
“I have my own balm, thanks.”
“Condition?” Rhys asks, scrambling after us. “What condition?”
I share another glance with Angie, and we both start laughing like rabid hyenas.
“She has crabs,” Angie explains with no shortage of glee.
Rhys whips his head in my direction, speechless. At last, he says, “That explains a lot.”
“I’m pretending to have crabs,” I correct her.
“Why would you—” Rhys frowns, then remembers that he’s talking to the queen of make-believe. “On second thought, I don’t want to know.”