Doubull Indemnity

10

Isla, Wishes Greggy Was Here

I whistled upon entering Billy's governor's suite at the Ritz. An elegant foyer cloaked in marbled tones of beige and gray greeted us. My heels clicked smartly on the fake wood floors, though genuine chandelier even twinkled overhead. The foyer bled into a sitting room with a leather sofa and glass coffee table adored with some kind of marble orbs in a basket art piece. Framed by sheer curtains, the floor to ceiling windows afforded guests the perfect view of Billy Penn's ass from his perch atop City Hall.

"How'd you manage to score such a lengthy elevator ride, huh?"

Billy cleared his throat and shrugged. He had been quiet whole ride up to the twenty fourth floor. The silence really accentuated the creaks and squeaks of the mechanics straining under the minotaur's massive weight. And my munching on the final birthday cake batter cookie.

"Informative."

I moseyed to the window for a better view of the cursed statue's posterior and heard a soft flop behind me. When I spun around, Billy had draped his jacket over the arm of the sofa. He stood awkwardly and broad shouldered between me and the entryway to the bedroom.

"Nice digs, right? Yeah, you know, I'm actually in town for investor meetings. A potential, a, benefactor, set me up in here."

"Uh, huh." Boring. I pointed at the open door behind him. "Shall we take this party—"

"Hey, actually, ah, stay here a second, 'aight?"

I raised a brow. "You're acting kind of shady, Billy."

"I got a surprise for you."

Before I could tell him to hold his horses. Or steer. Or rodeo clowns, or whatever, Billy squeezed snuggly through threshold into the bedroom, closing the door behind himself.

"You're not even calling me baby," I muttered. And then, much louder, called out: "Better be a real sexy banana hammock you're saddling into, cowboy."

Billy grunted. Rustling fabric and the distinct sounds of the bull slamming his knees into a piece of furniture followed. Clumsy dufus.

"Aren't you, uh, anemic to bananas," he vacantly called back, voice muffled slightly through the door.

"It wasn't the banana-rama flavor of that condom I was choking on—" I paused for the obvious that's not the only thing you choked on joke I just served Billy, but instead of spiking it back at me, the stupid boy just kept fussing around in the bedroom. "I'm actually just allergic to latex," I finished lamely.

As Billy continued on with the world's least magical costume quick change, I continued with my tour of the room. Popped the cork off the champagne I'd been hauling in my pocket. There had to be a little kitchenette in a suite like this. A mini bar with some real glasses in it, at least.

Touring the room I finally spotted the sleek, black mini bar near the bedroom door. "Bingo."

Beyond a little tray with cocktail napkins the surface of the bar was spotless. Hm. Usually that kind of tray was where the glasses were kept, right?

Standing this close to the bedroom, the sounds of Billy's awkward wardrobe malfunction became clearer. What seemed like a zipper tearing followed by the crinkling of paper wafted from beyond the thin wood.

"Aha!" Billy cheered. "I got you."

"Billy, did you bring toys? You can't pretend I tricked you into a booty call if you come out that door dressed as Inspector Friggin' Gad...." I yanked open a cabinet. My hands hovered over a pair of wine glasses. The dried, red crust of wine stained the bottom of both. A mauve lipstick that really wasn't Billy's shade smudged the rim of the other. "...get."