“What?” JP asks as he moves toward the exit as well. He pokes his head out and says, “I don’t know. Did he text us?”
Instead of exiting the plane to see what the issue is, we both search through our phones for a text message or email and come up short.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Fuck,” JP says. “That only means one thing. Whatever he needs to tell us, he doesn’t want to be traced.”
“What?” I ask. “Dude, you’ve been watching too many secret operative shows. That is not why he’s here in person. Maybe . . . maybe it’s good news. Maybe he has something special to tell us and wants to see our reactions in person.”
“How does it feel living in a realm where unicorn crap tastes like strawberry ice cream?” JP gestures toward Huxley. “Look at him, the scowl. He’s not here to pet our heads and tell us what good boys we’ve been. Clearly, we fucked up somehow. Just have to figure out how.”
“Will you two get the fuck down here and stop gabbing?” Huxley yells.
“Dude, my balls just shivered,” JP says, gripping my shoulder.
“My penis totally just turtled.” I step to the side and push JP forward. “You first, you’re older. You’ve experienced more life than me.”
“Barely,” he says, trying to move me toward the exit first, but I plant my feet on the floor and hold steady. Since JP’s been married, I’ve spent more time at the gym while he’s spent more time in Kelsey—with all due respect—so I have a few pounds of muscle over him at the moment.
“Just get out there before he gets even madder.” I push at JP. “You know how he hates when we—in his terms—clown around.”
“Quit clowning around,” Huxley yells.
“See,” I whisper-shout.
“Don’t push me,” JP says, leaning his weight into me, his back to my chest. “You’re going to make me tumble down the stairs.”
“Oh, good idea. If you tumble down, then there’s a good chance you could get injured, and whatever he’s here for will be put on a momentary pause while we assess your injuries. That will give us some thinking time. And maybe if you’re willing to break a bone, that will grant us at least a few days.”
“Oh yeah, let me just throw myself down the stairs.”
“That’s the spirit,” I say while patting him on the back. “Close your eyes. It will be over in a second.”
“Jesus Christ,” JP mutters before he makes his way down the stairs.
I follow closely. “Oh, I see, going to fall closer to the ground. Smart.”
“I’m not going to fall, you idiot.”
When we reach the ground, Huxley opens the back car door to his Tesla S and says, “Get in.”
I can hear JP gulp as I say, “You sure you don’t want to at least fake an injury?”
“I think it’s too late, man,” he says as he climbs into the car, and I follow.
Once we’re in the back, Huxley slams the door, causing JP and me to flinch. When Huxley climbs in the front seat, he doesn’t bother to look at us. Instead, he grips the steering wheel and lets out a long, pent-up breath.
A sigh of discontent. Great.
After a few seconds, he turns to face us and says, “Has Taylor been in touch with you?”
“Taylor, as in our lawyer?” JP asks.
“Yes, our lawyer.”
We shake our heads. “No, I haven’t gotten anything,” I say.
“What’s going on?” JP asks, his voice growing serious.
“We’re being sued for misconduct in the workplace.”
“What?” I shout. “By whom?”
Huxley lifts his sunglasses, and his eyes narrow in on me. “Your former employee.”
“Uh, excuse me?” I blink a few times. “What the hell for?”
“Let’s see, hostile work environment and wrongful termination.”
“Wait.” I shake my head, trying to get a grip on what he’s saying. “Who the hell was this?”
“Gemma Shoemacher.”
“Shoemacher?” I ask, eyes wide and disbelief heavy in my tone. “As in the girl who would secretly slip into my office, rearrange my shit, hang up pictures of her relatives, decorate for holidays, and then just leave? The absolute psycho who would corner me in the break room and ask me when my next dentist appointment was so she could watch me get my teeth cleaned? The girl who made me an advent calendar for Christmas and inside each box was homemade thumbnail drawings of me? That girl?”