Borderline (The Arcadia Project, #1)(64)
“Nope. I just like this drive. Been a long time since I’ve done it in this car, though. Not my smartest idea this time of day. But my gut told me that getting some blood pumping through your veins was the most important thing I could do this morning.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to level with you, Roper. You’re a mess, but you’re my kind of mess. You’re wasted in the Arcadia Project; it’s nothing but a lot of hard-luck cases trying to scrape by.”
“You’re serious? You want me to leave the Project for good, work for you full-time?”
“I think we’d work well together. We could start you small, see how it goes. So much of this business is just who do you like spending time with? Who gets you? I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“Not really. When I made films, I never worked with the same people twice. We always ended up hating each other.”
“That’s the kind of thing I could teach you. Give me two or three years and I could have people willing to take a bullet for you.” He looked away from the road to pin me with those sharp eyes. “Do you think I’m a nice guy, Millie? Really?”
“You’ve been nice to me. Is that an act?”
“No. I’m crazy about you. But I’m saying that sometimes it is an act, when it needs to be. You have to protect your heart, or you have to kill it. And if you kill it, well, what happens if you come across someone who needs it?”
“Nobody needs mine,” I said. “I think you have a hard time understanding the idea of complete insignificance.”
“What about your family?”
“Don’t have any.”
“Everybody has family.”
“I have redneck grandparents on my mom’s side; last talked to them on the phone when I was twelve. Never knew my dad’s parents. He and my mom were both only children, and they’re dead.”
“What happened to them?”
“Nothing happened to them as a couple. My mom got some weird cancer that killed her in about two weeks when I was a baby. My father was a suicide, about three years ago now. A four-story building, I might add. I don’t know why I’m still here after seven.”
“Destiny,” said Berenbaum, with enthusiasm. I couldn’t help but smile through my annoyance. If I was looking for commiseration, I was in the wrong car.
“Okay,” I said, “so what do I have to do to come work for you? I haven’t signed an agreement with the Arcadia Project yet; ideally we should set this up before they ask me to.”
“Well, I’d love for you to meet with Inaya, and I think now it’s safe for you to meet with Vivian as well.”
“Ooh,” I said, and sucked air between my teeth. “This is a couple kinds of awkward.”
“Why?”
As I was considering how much to tell him about my conversation with Inaya, my phone rang. I glanced at the number. It was blocked. Inaya? Caryl? I gave Berenbaum the universal gotta--take-this finger and put the phone to my ear. “This is Millie.”
“I need you at Residence One,” said Caryl’s voice, barely audible over the road noise. “Can you get there? Do you remember the address?”
“I do. What’s up?”
“An emissary from the Queen is waiting for us.”
“From the Queen?” I said stupidly.
“Of the Seelie Court.”
Berenbaum, ever alert to nuance, was already changing lanes to make his way to the nearest exit.
“I’ll be right there,” I said to Caryl, and hung up.
“Where to?” said Berenbaum.
“Santa Monica.”
30
When Berenbaum’s Valiant rounded the corner of Pier Avenue, four heads turned. Caryl was leaning casually against the BEWARE OF DOG sign while my coworkers orbited her with varying degrees of nervousness. Teo appeared to have actually combed his hair, and Tjuan was squatting down on the sidewalk, letting Gloria pick lint off his button-down. They all stared as we pulled up to the curb.
“Hey, guys!” called Berenbaum, waving from the driver’s seat like the grand marshal of a parade. “Sorry it took so long. Traffic was a bitch!”
I got out of the passenger’s side and used my cane and the hood to steady myself as I walked around the car. The devil made me lean over and give Berenbaum an airy good-bye kiss on the cheek. His eyes twinkled with repressed laughter.
“Later, darling,” I said. “I’ll call you.”
My moment of glory didn’t last. The minute Berenbaum drove away, the stares all moved to me, one blank and three decidedly unfriendly.
“We thought you were back at the hospital, or hiding out in a church,” said Teo. “All that time you’re just out for a joyride.”
“You shouldn’t have called her,” said Tjuan.
“I was working!” I said as Caryl unlocked the gate. “I can’t help it if I make it look fabulous.”
Tjuan gave me a look of such withering contempt that it smothered the last gasp of my good humor. What was his deal with me? Teo and Gloria had good reason to dislike me, but I’d never been anything but civil to Tjuan. I tried not to dwell on it; it was far from the first time a clique had reacted to me as though they shared a brain.