Because I did.
I liked it way more than I should have.
And I need to lock those feelings up, right now.
Day one of training, here we fucking go.
Deep breaths.
She’s already been annoying this morning by pestering me about why I brush my hair with my left hand instead of my right, but no big deal.
And at breakfast, she burped louder than a sailor, rattling the table we were sitting at—still, no big deal.
And right before we came into the room to start training, she told me a story about a guy who once painted her breasts in front of a live audience, once again, still not a big deal—just hoping to God Himself that there’s no photographic evidence.
“Why does this feel like an interrogation room?” Lilly asks as she shifts on her chair. “And why is there nothing else in this room, but it has the most windows? What the hell is this?”
“It was an art room.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” She gestures to the windows. “All the bright light. I can see how this would appeal to someone with a paintbrush.” She presses her hands to her thighs and looks up at me. “Okay, so this is kind of weird. Are you going to interrogate me? I feel like I’m in trouble. Am I in trouble?”
“No, but this is where we’ll be doing your training.”
“Ah . . .” She glances around. “Cozy.” Her sarcasm hangs heavy in the air. “Wouldn’t hurt to have more than a chair.”
“I don’t want to be distracted.”
“I see.” She slowly nods. “So, an area rug would distract you?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Why did I think the first day would be a breeze? I want to do a good job, I want to teach Lilly everything she needs to know, but she also knows how to grate on my nerves—and quickly—especially when I feel stressed.
And I’m stressed to the max right now.
“An area rug isn’t necessary.”
“What do you mean an area rug isn’t necessary? Every interior designer will say an area rug is essential for warming up a space. Look around, Keller, we’re surrounded by stone walls. Also, are you just going to stand the whole time? That’s kind of weird.”
“I’m not someone who sits often.”
“Why is that?” she asks, crossing one leg over the other.
“My job requires me to move around.”
“I see. What about a table? This is a wooden chair that my ass is occupying at the moment, a simple wooden chair. Don’t you think I’m going to want something to rest my arms on?”
“Are you that unsteady that you need something to prop your body on?”
“You were witness to my attempt at running. Do you really think I’m sturdy?”
Good point.
“And, you know, it’s less intimidating, having you sitting with me. Also, when you pictured today, did you really envision me in this uncomfortable chair, sitting ramrod straight all day, not a surface to lean on while you pace the room like a—sorry to say it—psychopath, grinding your feet into an area rug-less surface and expect me not to nauseate over the fact that you’re not only rubbing your feet raw, but also that there isn’t one single plant in this room to help with the oxygen flow?”
Jesus.
Fucking.
Christ.
Through clenched teeth, I ask, “What do you need in order to be comfortable?”
“Well, you know, perhaps a seat for yourself? Maybe a table? A plant.”
It feels like our first meeting all over again when she wouldn’t stop jabbering. But if this stuff will get her to be quiet so I can start the training, then she can have whatever she wants.
Without a word, I tear out of the room, flinging the door open and startling both Brimar and Lara, who are sitting on the couch together.
“I need a table, an extra chair, an area rug, and a plant in that room. Now.”
Lara snags a plant and a chair. Brimar drags a table, and I walk into the entryway, roll up the rug, and hoist it over my shoulder. Together, we all lay it out in the room while Lilly startles out of her chair, drags it to the corner, and watches us unfold everything.
Once Brimar and Lara leave, shutting the door behind them, I pick up Lilly’s chair and move it to the console table so it’s across from mine. I leave it partially out and gesture for her to sit down.
“Well, I can’t say you’re not efficient.” She smiles and takes a seat. She places her hands on the table and tests it out, making a show of it. “This can work. It’s no talk show set with comfy couches and a mahogany desk with secret compartments, but it will work just fine. Although . . .”