Chapter 22
WILLA
The “charred cutlery” turned out to be a selection of deli salami, sweet gherkins, cocktail olives, Wheat Thins, Swiss cheese slices and individually wrapped American cheese.
With my income level and a lifetime of thrift and frugality, I absolutely did not turn my nose up at these food offerings.
My stomach was unaffected by the choppy waves of the river, so I dug in, sipping barely chilled sparkling wine in between bites of pickles and cheese.
“I have been near the commercial port and have seen the size of those ships.” Eng shook his head. “I’m not sure even fae magic could have protected the bridge against such an impact.”
“It wouldn’t have needed fae magic,” I told him.
“There are fenders and things called dolphins that protect bridge piers and divert the impact of an approaching ship so it doesn’t hit the supports.
The Key Bridge had some of these features, but they were fifty years old and needed to be replaced.
Risk assessments and recommendations were made, but there wasn’t the funding to support the upgrades. ”
“And six men paid for that lack of funding with their lives,” Marlin said. “If the collision had happened during rush hour instead of so early in the morning, hundreds may have died.”
Eng winced. “I understand the limited availability of funds and that priorities must be made, but I hope that we will always put the safety of our citizens first.”
“To be fair, it was kind of a perfect storm of horrible failures from the container ship’s engine and backup propulsion systems to the protective structures around the bridge piers.
Sometimes money went to prevent disasters that seemed more likely to happen.
But I’m sure we also wasted money on some politician’s friend’s pet project that should have been spent here.
” I shrugged. “We vote. We make our voices heard. But sometimes it’s hard not to feel like we’re shouting into the void. ”
Marlin began the complicated process of turning the sailboat around, then we headed back with a series of back-and-forth movements to make the best of a wind that was not at our back.
Half an hour out, Eng took charge of the rudder at the back of the boat and the sails.
Marlin helped himself to the remainder of our “charred cutlery” and cracked open a can of Dr. Pepper as he occasionally shouted advice to Eng.
The orc was a natural, and before long Marlin was doing nothing but admiring the scenery and pointing various landmarks out to me.
Once the harbor came into sight, Eng helped Marlin drop the sails and start the motor to pull us into the dock.
We thanked our captain for the outing, and as we walked down the dock, I looped my arm through Eng’s. He dialed for the Uber, and we sat on a bench as we waited for our ride, his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close to the heat of his body.
“Do you want to eat?” Eng asked, his breath warm against the top of my head. “I know many restaurants are not open on Mondays, but we should be able to find one that is.”
I snuggled against him. “I just ate my weight in cheese and pickles. Let’s go back to your place, work off our ‘charred cutlery,’ then think about food.”
“I still do not have a television or entertainment at my hovel,” he warned.
I smiled. “You are entertainment enough, Eng. Let’s get naked and have sex until we collapse with exhaustion.”
I felt his sharp intake of breath, felt the arm around my shoulders tighten. “As you wish, my miskal-temek. As you wish.”
I spent every evening with Eng, dreading Thursday when he’d be on the road with the team for two weeks.
What had started as a one-and-done, then shifted into a series of sweaty booty-calls had become something incredible.
I was terrified that I’d blink and find out the whole thing was only a dream.
Yes, Eng was an arrogant ass, but he was also an orc who cared about his people and about my people as well.
While we had a lot of sex, we also talked about the role of government in society, what taxes should provide in terms of services and infrastructure, and the importance of diplomacy in international relations.
I was a personal trainer, but Eng seemed to consider my opinions as if I held a PhD in political science.
We didn’t always see eye-to-eye on the best course of action, but we held the same basic values.
Our conversations weren’t all academic. We spoke about our friends, our family, and at one point had a lengthy debate on the best seasoning for steamed shrimp.
(Old Bay, of course). I’d never been so happy.
I felt as if I were flying, a balloon only tethered to the ground by a thin, fragile string.
All my doubts and fears were swept away by Eng’s smile and warm embrace.
He’d let me in. And in return, I’d let him in as well.
I was in love. So when I left him snoring in bed early Thursday morning I wrote my number on a sticky pad I’d found in a kitchen drawer along with the suggestion that he call me at night from his hotel room so we could connect in a very not-suitable-for-work way.
I slapped the note on his refrigerator, grabbed the duffle bag that seemed to be as much an accessory as my purse lately, and headed to the gym.
The whole way there I thought about all the naughty sexting we could do, the very dirty things I’d say to him each night.
I really needed to start keeping some clothes at his apartment.
This duffle bag thing was getting to be a pain.
And his apartment was so awesome. He might call it a hovel, but it was twice the size of my place, and the new furniture and artwork he’d purchased were incredible.
I taught two classes, worked with three of my clients, then drove back to my apartment to shower and put on the only suit I owned.
My nerves nearly got the best of me on my way over to the arena, but I kept driving.
Parking on the street, I walked two blocks, straightened my shoulders, walked through the door, and asked for Escalates Johnson.
“I have a two o’clock appointment,” I said as I wiped my sweaty palms on the polyester fabric of my navy blue suit.
One of the security guards escorted me through the building.
I was at the edge of cardiac arrest during the short journey to the owner’s office, equally scared about running across Eng or one of the other orcs as I was about pitching my services to a professional hockey team.
I hadn’t said anything to Eng about this.
I hadn’t said anything to my family about my decision to shoot my shot.
It would be easier if I didn’t have to break the bad news about my failure when I was shot down.
It would be better for me to lick my wounds in private than have to deal with the sympathy of my friends, family, and…
boyfriend. I think Eng was my boyfriend?
The demon was seated behind a massive mahogany desk in a dimly lit room that was fogged with cigar smoke.
A cut glass decanter of amber liquid and several glasses were at the right side of the desk, and a topaz glass ashtray that could have held a small bonfire to the left.
I felt as if I’d been transported into the 1970’s of my parents’ era.
“Willa Filipkowski. Please sit.” The demon stood and gestured toward one of the two chairs opposite his desk, then rubbed his hands together. “You said you have a proposal that would result in an increase of profits. I’m very interested to hear about this.”
I sat, clasping my hands tightly in front of me, then with a deep breath, I began my pitch.
“I’ve been a personal trainer for the last eight years helping people reach their individual goals whether that is being able to play with the grandkids in the back yard or reaching a personal best in a marathon.”
I was losing him. I could tell by his expression I was losing him.
“I can do the same for the Tusks. I can devise individualized plans to help each orc improve their performance, and group plans to help them play cohesively as a team.”
The demon waved his hand, as if batting away a pesky fly. “I don’t care about any of that.”
Here’s where I sell my soul.
“With my help, they’ll all look super hot as they skate shirtless across the ice.
We’ll do group runs through the city without their shirts on and tiny little jogging shorts that show off their legs.
Women will go nuts. Think of how much women pay each year to watch erotic dancers.
The team will be their way to ogle hot orcs in a socially acceptable sports setting.
Guys will come to see the hockey and the fights and laugh at the orcs.
Women will come to see buff dudes with hardly anything on. ”
The demon shrugged. “I don’t know. Those guys are pretty muscular right now. I’m not sure paying you would bring enough extra in ticket sales to cover your cost.”
Forget selling my soul, I was now practically giving it away.
“But the group training outside in the city is advertising that will bring in extra ticket sales. You can sell merch, like sexy calendars and cards with each orc’s picture on the front and stats on the back—stats like their biceps measurements in addition to whatever hockey stats you might want to include. ”
Still losing him.
“I’ll charge half my normal fee for two months just to prove to you that this will increase your revenue.”
He pursed his lips at that, expression thoughtful.
“What do you say? Two months at half-price with no contract, no penalty to cancel if you don’t see profits. If you do see profits, then we can talk about a season-long contract that includes the end of this season.”
There was a long silence. I held my breath, clenching my hands so tight on my lap that my fingers were turning pale.
The demon stood. “Leave your information up front. Let me think it over. I’ll call you if I’m interested.”