More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
We have each complained to HR four times over this past year. He’s received a verbal and written warning about the nickname he has for me. I’ve received two warnings; one for verbal abuse and for a juvenile prank that got out of hand. I’m not proud.
During one of Joshua’s fervent little sales rants, Fat Little Dick boomed sarcastically, We’ve got to get you laid, Doctor Josh. Joshua replied, You’re right, boss. I’ve seen what a bad drought can do to someone. He said it while looking at me. I know the date. I diarized it in my HR log.
Imagine the wretched sales assistant who had to help Joshua choose shoes. I require shoes to ensure I can effectively run down the targets I am paid to assassinate in my spare time. I require the best value for my money. I am size eleven.
He sits up straighter but the corner of his mouth moves. I wish I could use my thumbs to pull his mouth into a huge deranged grin. As the police drag me out in handcuffs I’ll be screeching, Smile, goddamn you.
Joshua is glaring at me with angry eyebrows. I use my brainwaves to transmit an insult to him, which he receives and pulls himself up straight.
Dad is dangerously suntanned, bar the white outline of his sunglasses. It’s a sort of reverse-raccoon effect.
“Hey.” He says it more sharply. “What’s up? Tell me.” “I had a… dream.” I say it like someone might say, Grandma’s dead.
I put on lipstick using the wall as a mirror. The color is called Flamethrower and it’s my trademark. Vicious, violent, poisonous red. Slit-wrists red. The color of the devil’s underpants, according to Dad.
You drive a 2003 Honda Accord. Silver. Filthy messy inside. Chronic gearbox issues. If it were a horse, you’d shoot it.”
“Is that the prize you think I’m playing for? To see you cry?” He shakes his head. “It’s really not.”
Bruises…” I’m a Monet watercolor; purple water lilies floating in green. He says nothing.
“Dad calls you other names starting with J, but never your real name.” “What?” He looks alarmed. “You’ve told your dad about me?” “He’s mad at you for being so mean. Julian and Jasper and John. One time, he called you Jebediah and I nearly peed myself. You’d have to grovel to my dad, that’s for sure.” Josh looks so disturbed I decide to cut him a break and change the subject.
“Yes, no. No! No vibe. Absolutely no vibe. I’m single.” Then I repeat it a couple more times. Danny’s expression is doubtful. The lady doth protest way, way too much.
Is this how stalking begins? I look up and see a moth circling a streetlight. Tonight, I understand that creature completely.
“I’m out stalking,” I call. It doesn’t come out the way I’d intended. It’s not lighthearted or funny. It comes out like a warning. I’m one scary bitch right now. I hold my hands up to show I’m not armed. My heart is racing.
“So giving you my address was the only thing I needed to do to find you out here? Maybe I should have given it to you on our first day.” “What, so you could run me over with your car?”
He sits on the edge of the couch, his hair damp and ruffled in every direction. I turn the page and unfortunately a lurid diagram of an erect penis glares up at me. “I am trying to be a bit more normal.” He looks at the page. “How’s it working out so far?” “I’m glad this isn’t a pop-up book.”
“You gotta tell me why you’re here.” “I got a bit… sad today, thinking about everything changing?” “Doctor Josh diagnoses you with Stockholm syndrome.”
When I look at his face, he looks shaken. My stalking has scared the ever-loving shit out of him. Unfortunately, the next thing I say sounds deranged. “I want to know what’s going on in your brain. I want to juice your head like a lemon.”
Act natural, Lucy. Walk in there like sex on legs. No awkwardness. Go. He looks at me, my ankle wobbles, and I drop my handbag. The lid of my lunchbox pops off and a tomato rolls across the floor. I drop to my hands and knees and my stiletto heel gets caught on the dangling buckle belt of my coat. “Crap.” I try to crawl. “Smooth.” Josh gets up and walks to me. “Shuddup.” He unhooks my coat and gathers up my lunch, before holding a hand down to me. I hesitate minutely before I take it, letting him haul me up. “Can I rewind my entrance?”
I am lasering the word SECRET into Danny’s brain. I raise my eyebrows and he nods. Josh watches this exchange. “Lucy’s talking to me about an… opportunity to… work with her.” Danny is a genius. Nothing is more believable than the truth. “That’s right. Danny’s helping me with my… presentation.” We couldn’t seem more shady if we tried.
“More of your brain contents.” Josh smiles at my demand. “I’ve never had someone try to do this before.” “What, break your skull open? I’ll use a hammer if I have to.” “Get to know me. And I never thought it would be you.” “Do you want me to stop?” I almost can’t hear his reply, it’s so quiet. “No.”
“My hostage. My blackmailed, unwilling captive. Stockholm Shortcake.”
“You wouldn’t have been sitting there alone. I would have been there. It would have been me.”
The organist is making some tentative practice chords and it’s probably Josh’s expression that causes her to press several keys in a foghorn of fright.
“You need to tell me why everyone’s looking at me like I’m the Bride of Frankenstein. No offense, you big freak.”
“Who am I?” I try one last time. “Your housekeeper? Your piano teacher?” “You’re Shortcake,” he says simply. “You don’t need to make up anything. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
“Where’s your competitive spirit?” Josh gives me one last firm push and I’m propelled into a ragtag bunch of females, ranging from a lisping flower girl to a woman in her early fifties who seems to be doing hamstring stretches. Everyone looks at the bouquet. It’s lovely. We all want it.
“I speak to him on Sundays, and I’ve known you for as long as he’s known you. A beautiful girl, bluest eyes, reddest lips, blackest hair. He describes you like a fairy-tale character. He’s never quite decided on princess or villain.”
Josh’s breakfast is two poached eggs, a slice of wheat toast, and a heap of wilted spinach. He drinks his coffee in two swallows. I look at my own plate and pinch my stomach under the table. His body is a temple. Mine will be a hut made of butter at this rate.
At any moment a tiny valve could buckle under the pressure of the cholesterol from my croissants. At any moment I could die.
“You love… What? Me?” “Lucinda Elizabeth Hutton. One and the same.” “Me.” “Lucy, heiress of the Sky Diamond Strawberries dynasty.” “Me.” “Could you show some ID so I can be certain?” His eyes are lit and the smile I love best of all is glowing on his face.
“Yes. And if you get the job, I will be happy for you.” “I already resigned. My last day was Friday. Jeanette came in and did the paperwork. I’m on vacation now.” “What the fuck?” I blurt into his bed. “I don’t want anything that means I can’t have you. There’s nothing worth it.
