8. Juno
CHAPTER 8
JUNO
Atonic’s head pops out.
Okay, so the cat is out of the bag. Literally.
And Lucius is severely allergic.
He’s staring at the cat like he can’t believe his eyes. “Is that a…?”
“A cat, yes. Afraid so,” I say apologetically.
Lucius transfers his incredulous glare to me. “Is this some sort of an assassination attempt?”
My hackles rise again—a default setting when dealing with Lucius. “What are you, a king? A dictator? Kenny from South Park ?”
Having said that, his death-by-cat would look very natural, as far as assassinations go. The perfect crime. What if this is an assassination attempt—just not my doing? Maybe Pearl is not a cheesemaker as she claims, but secretly the top assassin in the world, and she arranged this whole thing: her alleged vacation, her trained killer cat who pretends to sleep until the right moment, this elevator jam?—
“Meow?”
Saguaro help us. Atonic leaps out of the bag, and I can picture the whole murder scenario unfolding. She rubs herself on Lucius. He swells up like a teen’s peen after a porn video, then clutches at his throat theatrically and goes into anaphylactic shock.
Not on my fucking watch.
“Stay back!” I shout at both of them, and then I bravely put myself between man and beast.
Atonic curls her tail and wags it. Then her ears point forward threateningly, right at Lucius.
“Stay away from him,” I say to her sternly.
It’s a mistake. Atonic always wants to go exactly where I don’t want her to go—most likely a side effect of being a cat. She’ll meow next to the bathroom door until I open it, then not go in at all. Though sometimes, she’ll just lie on the threshold as if to say, “Bitch, make sure the door remains open at all times.” So, in this case, it’s clear as day that she really, really wants to rub her allergens directly on her soon-to-be murder victim.
Yep.
She leaps forward.
Luckily for Lucius, there’s a reason I was always chosen as the goalie for my high school soccer team.
I snatch the cat mid-leap as Lucius goes into a sneezing fit.
Or at least I try to. A ball of fur behaves quite differently than a soccer ball, as it turns out. The cat twists free of my grip and lands on her paws—something that balls never do… soccer ones anyway.
Before I can grab her, she goes for him again—but meets my palm, just like that ball did when my team played our biggest rival, Daughters of Chuck Norris.
“It’s like it’s trying to get me,” Lucius says in-between sneezes. He sounds awful, all congested and annoyed.
“You bring that out in people,” I say as I grab for the cat without success. Despite the elevator being a small, enclosed space, I’m having an impossibly hard time catching her.
He scoffs. “Great. Blame the victim.”
“Shut up. You’re just making her want to get you that much more.” Not to mention tempting me to let the cat pass.
The cat gives me a look that seems to say, “Challenge accepted.” She tries to snake between my legs—which I close, like a proper lady, before snatching at her without any success.
She tries to get around me on my left. Then on the right. From here, she really picks up steam and tests all of my defensive capabilities, all the while eluding my attempts to catch her and making me wonder if Lucius is made out of catnip.
Given the way he looks, it’s possible.
The worst part is that this battle with the cat is making me thirsty again. And tired. I’m not sure how much longer I can defend Lucius at this rate. As a goalie, you’re not attacked repeatedly over and over like this—not unless your team is complete shit. Not to mention, it’s been thirteen years since I caught any balls… soccer ones, anyway.
Suddenly, the elevator lights go back to their original intensity.
Oh, my. Can it be?
Yes! We begin moving. Heading down instead of up, but that is fine with me.
“Finally,” Lucius says triumphantly from behind me before sneezing three times in a row. In a nasally voice, he adds, “Maybe I’ll actually survive today.”
The extra bonus of the sudden movement is that it seems to confuse the cat, at least for a second, but that is all I need to make my move.
Channeling David Beckham, Michael Jordan, and Mr. Miyagi, I snatch the cat.
I ignore her indignant meows as I grab my purse, stick the cat inside, and close the zipper all the way before slinging the bag over my shoulder.
There. Allergens somewhat contained.
Lucius sneezes again, twice. “Can the cat breathe like that?”
Now he’s accusing me of animal cruelty? I turn to say something biting, but at the sight of his red and watery eyes, I settle for, “There are air holes on the sides of the bag. What kind of a monster do you think I am?”
He curses under a sneeze. “Maybe the kind that sneaks a cat into the private elevator of someone who’s allergic to them?”
I guess I walked right into that one. But hold on. Did he say a private elevator? Who has a private?—
The doors open into the lobby, where a crew of firefighters is waiting for us, axes in tow.
“Are you okay?” the tallest one asks as we hurry out of the metal trap. I grab the water bottle on my way and throw it in the nearest trashcan—to hide the evidence.
“What happened?” Lucius demands when he catches his breath after another series of sneezes. “Why was the elevator jammed?”
As the firefighter explains something about a fire in the basement and how it messed up the elevator wiring, I check my phone.
Yep.
I have a pissed-off email from the person I was supposed to meet for the interview. She italicized the part of the email where she stated, “ Needless to say, you aren’t getting this job. ”
Is everyone who works in this building so rude? What if I’d been hit by a car?
“Is everyone okay?” Lucius asks the firefighter, surprising me. He sounds a bit better, though still rather congested.
“Yeah,” the firefighter says. “A few people inhaled some smoke, but we got them into the fresh air and they seem to be fine.”
“Speaking of fresh air,” I chime in. “Lucius, you should get some.”
“No. I have an important meeting.” He takes out his iPhone and curses at whatever he sees there. “I guess I might as well get that fresh air.”
Sounds like his important meeting is as much of a bust as my interview.
He pushes through the firefighters, and I follow, all the way to the front doors.
To my surprise, Lucius holds them open for me. Probably to speed up the process of getting me—and the cat—out of his life.
I still thank him as I pass and make sure not to touch him with the bag containing the cat.
He doesn’t acknowledge my gratitude, probably because he’s too busy glowering at a couple of people with cameras.
Hey, it’s interesting not to be the target of his ire for a change.
I check out the strangers. They look like reporters, or maybe paparazzi. Either way, how bad was that basement fire to draw them here? I didn’t think either group even covered fires.
“Mr. Warren,” says a man who looks the most like a weasel—and his competition is stiff. “Is that?—”
“No comment,” Lucius says sharply.
The guy doesn’t look the least bit surprised by the rebuke. Lifting his camera, he joins his brethren in taking pictures of Lucius—and, thanks to proximity, of me.
I blink at the bright flashes and frown.
Who is Lucius that paparazzi-types want to take his picture?
Ignoring the cameras, Lucius waves at a limo parked nearby.
An older man with the stiff upper lip of a butler exits the vehicle and opens the back door.
“This is Elijah,” Lucius says to me. Turning to Elijah, he commands, “Take Juno home.”
I’m getting a ride in a limo? Seriously?
Who is this man?
“What about you, sir?” Elijah asks, predictably with a British accent.
Lucius replies with a glare.
“Consider it done, sir,” Elijah says with a courtly bow.
“Lucius must be a pure joy to work for,” I say to Elijah in a conspiratorial tone as I approach the vehicle. I’m not about to turn down a free ride after everything I’ve just been through.
The corners of Elijah’s eyes smile, but the rest of his face looks dignified, stern in its butler-ness. “Have a seat, please.”
“Hold on.” I carefully place my bag on the floor of the limo. “I have to give Lucius his jacket back.”
Lucius wrinkles his nose. “Don’t.”
Is he nuts? It must be expensive, and I’ll have no use for it.
“Seriously, take it back.” I slide my arms out of the sleeves. “If it’s about the cat cooties, I’ll pay for dry cleaning.”
Lucius turns to Elijah. “Dispose of that.”
Elijah takes the jacket and gestures for me to get inside the limo.
I do so, and only after he closes the door do I fully process just how weird this is.
Why is Lucius giving me a limo ride in the first place? Isn’t he worried he’ll have to fumigate the car afterward on account of my cat companion?
Elijah gets behind the wheel. “Madam, what’s the address?”
Madam? Does he think I own a brothel?
I tell him where to go and think of questions to ask about Lucius, but before I can fire away, the partition between us goes up and the car departs.
Fine.
Whatever.
Mentally preparing to get my eyes clawed out, I open the bag.
Of course. Atonic is catatonic once again. It’s like she knows the allergic asshole is outside her claws’ grasp.
I check on my messages and find one from Pearl informing me that she wants to reunite with her fur baby tomorrow, on her way home from the airport.
Yeah, sure , I text back. Remind me to tell you about the murder she almost committed.
Pearl replies right away:
I’m going to lose reception in a second, or else I’d make you tell me NOW.
I grin. Pearl lives for three things: this cat, making cheese, and gossip.
The moment the limo stops, Elijah opens the door for me.
“How did you get here from your seat so fast?” I ask.
His eyebrows, nearly as thick as Lucius’s, lift. “Fast?”
“Are you secretly the Flash?”
“If we’re talking DC Universe, don’t you think I’m more of an Alfred?” he asks, deadpan.
I conceal a smile. “If your secret isn’t speed, is it possible there are two of you—identical twins working to create this effect?”
“I’m just good at my job,” maybe-Elijah says. “And you have a fanciful imagination.”
I climb out of the car. “Well, sure. Keep your secrets, and thanks for the ride. Oh, and please tell Lucius it was a pleasure meeting him… not.”
This time, Elijah’s smile actually touches his lips. “Mr. Warren isn’t as bad as the first impression makes one think.”
“This one agrees to disagree.” I grab my bag and head in the direction of my building. “Thanks again, and toodles.”
“So,” I croon to El Duderino when I’ve settled in my place. “I must tell you about my crazy day.” I proceed to share everything because who needs a therapist when there’s a cactus around?
Dude, that’s totally radical. This Lucius dude sounds like a dude you should stay away from.
El Duderino is my beavertail cactus who, in my opinion, doesn’t look like a beaver (either the animal or the sex organ) or its tail. His kind are native to the Mojave, Anza-Borrego, and Colorado deserts—and don’t ask me why he sounds like a water-loving surfer in my mind.
“I couldn’t agree more,” I reply to him out loud. “I will definitely stay away from Lucius.”
Of course you’d agree, dude. It’s like your voice is my voice… dude.
I’ll admit, I might be a little too into cactuses. But hey, at least if someone tries to rob my place, they’ll end up looking like a pincushion.
I check El Duderino’s soil. Yep. It’s been three weeks since I watered him last, and today is the big day.
I pour lukewarm water into a saucer and place it underneath El Duderino’s pot.
Wow, dude. That’s a big wave. Radical.
“I’m glad you like it.”
Dude! At this rate, I’ll totally flower in a week or so.
As the water absorbs into El Duderino’s soil, I feed the cat and check for new job prospects. There are none. Today was my big opportunity, and I blew it. Or the elevator did.
Dude, I’m totes cool on the agua.
I check. Yep. Soil is just right. I remove the saucer.
Thanks, dude. Drowning is a totally uncool way to go.
“Okay. My time for nourishment,” I say and start on my own dinner.
Afterward, I watch some TV, pet Atonic, talk to El Duderino one last time, and head to bed. As I fall asleep, I make it a point not to think of—or dream about—a certain man I was stuck in an elevator with.
No matter how tempting it might be.
A doorbell startles me awake.
Grr. Lucius was just licking my?—
Wait. Maybe it’s good I was awoken from that .
As usual, the cat is sleeping on top of my head, probably pretending to be one of those wigs the nobility wore in yesteryear.
I carefully move her aside and rush to brush my teeth before sprinting for the door.
When I open it, Pearl is standing there, green eyes wide and excited.
“You’re famous!” She thrusts her phone at my face.
I rub my eyes. “What are you?—”
And then I see it.
A picture of me and Lucius underneath a headline:
Billionaire Recluse Finally Gets a Girlfriend
What the saguaro-fucking fuck?