Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Bess
"Make sure you get the book in shot," I whisper.
"I know," Mistral whispers back and positions herself for a close up.
I sit in a chair, legs crossed, shelves of books behind me to establish the setting, and read Only Ever You by Natalia Lackberg. This one I have actually read. It's pretty good.
Jason Travers' conversation partner can be clearly heard complaining about the cost of tyres these days. Apparently retreads don't have the stamina for decent burnouts.
Now I know who's been shredding their tyres on the intersection out of town.
"And go," Mistral says.
I turn a page and read.
Jason says at a volume entirely unreasonable for even a modern library, "I know, man.
It's like the rubber magnates have a monopoly or some shit.
They force you into buying subpar product by pricing the rest high, then make the same money off you anyway by having the cheap stuff fail. It's a conspiracy, right?"
The person on the other end of the phone agrees it is, indeed, a maternal fornication of a conspiracy.
I look in his direction, lower the book slowly, and narrow my eyes.
Then I stand, taking the megaphone from beside my chair with me.
I walk up to Jason sitting at the table in the study nook with his phone on an open magazine in front of him. From the looks of the sleek vehicles mid-drive through glossy European forests and American salt plains, it's a car mag.
I stand on the other side of the table from him and place the megaphone to my mouth.
He doesn't notice. He's too involved in his rant, his hands matching the emphasis of his words with each gesticulation ending in a palm slap on the table. "I had to borrow cash off my nan to pay for the last lot. It's, like, totally undermining of my right to express myself as an alpha male."
The person on the other end grunts sympathetically.
"I'm flush now though, so I don't have to worry."
I wait three seconds for dramatic effect, then empty my lungs into a single, "Shhh!"
Jason jumps so violently, he almost falls out of his chair. "What the fuck?"
With a jab of my finger I disconnect the phone call and walk back to my chair.
I place the megaphone back down beside me, settle my features into an expression of smug self-righteousness, and open the book again to read.