“Yup.” Elle shifts in her seat, holding the hem of her skirt in place as she adjusts her position. “All women have to know basic self-defense in the event that someone attacks them. So ifyouare planning to attack me at any point during this drive, just be aware that it’ll only result in you passing out and wrecking your fancy ass BMW. And then you’ll miss Isla’s engagement party because you’ll be in jail.” She turns to me again with a wide smile that pulls her full lips away from her white teeth. “Fair warning.”
Staring back out the front window, I offer a single, drawn-out nod of my chin. “Fair indeed, but you really don’t need to worry about that. I have a bottom line for this trip, and attacking you doesn’t exactly contribute to it.”
“That’s what I thought, but, full disclosure, I did tell Celia all about our little agreement. So if something happens to me this weekend,shewill know who to send the cops after.”
I’ve had nothing but three cups of coffee this morning, and my stomach suddenly sours as I whip my face sideways to meet Elle’s snarky gaze again. “You toldCelia?”
“Of course I did.” She leans forward to reach for her purse on the floorboard and begins sifting through it. “Why wouldn’t I? You might be a serial killer.”
I scoff as she pulls out her phone and swipes her thumb across the screen. “I amnota serial killer, andCeliaof all people knows that. She’s known me for like five years or something.”
“Well,Idon’t know you that well, so I needed to tell her.” Elle presses the pad of her French manicured thumb to something on the screen. “I’ve only known you for six months, andthatstarted with you proving to me that not only are you two-faced, you also hate me.”
“Jesus, Elle. I don’t—”
I’m cut off by the sound of a call ringing over the speaker on her phone that immediately clicks into a connection.
“Hey, my girl,” Celia’s voice comes over the line. “Has he tried to murder you yet?”
I scoff again. “Jesus Christ, I amnota fucking serial killer.”
Elle snickers, holding up the phone between us. “Interesting. That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.”
“Hey, asshole—I mean, Colin,” Celia retorts.
“You know, Celia, youdowork for me,” I remind her, cutting my eyes sideways at the phone. “I could fire you for that, andalso, the fact that I haven’t yet basically proves that I’mnotan asshole.”
“Youarean asshole, and you won’t fire me for that. Know why?”
I do know why, and she knows I know, but she’s going to tell me anyway.
“Because you onlyreallycare about one thing, and that’s driving revenue.” Celia clicks her tongue, and I can practically see the sarcastic, dismissive flip of her fingers. “As long as I keep getting rich douchebags like yourself and yourilkto charter planes, I can say whatever the hell I want to you.”
She’s not wrong, and I purse my lips in annoyance, slumping in my seat, and what-the-fuck-ever. I have a bottom line, Celia contributes to it regularly, and I couldn’t care less about being thought of as an asshole.
Being thought of as anice guyisn’t going to solve the ever-present Archer problem. Lots and lots of moneywill.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Celia continues. “Anyway… Elle, you still there, my girl?”
“Yep.” In my peripheral vision, I can see Elle eyeballing me with what seems like validation. I can also see the delicate slope of her nose and lush eyelashes and long, blonde hair framing her face.
“He hasn’t done anything shitty yet, has he?”
Elle draws in a long breath that sounds like she’s about to make up something shitty that Ihaven’tdone, but then says a bit vaguely, “No. He’s fine.”
There’s an audible ellipsis to her statement; audible enough that I glance at her, and apparently, Celia notices it, too.
“He’s fine,but,” Celia prompts.
Elle is silent for long enough that I can’t help looking at her more directly, cutting my attention equally between her face and the road.
“I kind of,” Elle starts, then shifts in her seat again. She draws the phone back toward herself as she curls up against the door and drifts her gaze out the window.
“You kind of what?”
“Just…” Elle pauses again before thumbing the screen to take the call off speaker, and then places the phone to her ear. “It’s the road,” she says, her voice dropping to a quiet decibel like she’s trying to avoid letting me hear her. “And the drive. And being in the car like this.”
She goes silent for a second, turning farther away from me. “Yeah. No,hehasn’t. It’s just this situation feels just like when…” More silence stretches, and then she blows out a huff through her nose. “I’ll text you, but I’m fine. No, I’m really not worried about him.”
