I was trying to be a good sport.Really, I was.But between the blonde's rudeness and the realization that Brody had made me beg merely for the fun of it, I was feeling more than a little cranky.
I gave the blonde an annoyed look. "Put what back? The mower?" If that's what she wanted, I'd be all too happy to return it to the garage across the street, if only to escape all the drama.
I probably would've left long ago, if not for the fact that I'd been hungry for more information. And Roy, for his part, had fed me plenty.
Turns out, my grandparent's place was one of several properties they were featuring during the show's upcoming season. Apparently, Brody had picked this one personally and had even mentioned the possibility of living here after the house was fully restored.
The jerk.
The way Roy talked, this had been Brody's plan all along – not that Brody had bothered to enlighten me himself.
I knew why, too.
It was because he was a total vindictive bastard. That's why.
And now the blonde was saying, "I don't mean the lawn-mower. I mean the lawn."
Huh?
When I gave Roy a perplexed look, he appeared to be just as confused as I was. I turned back to the blonde and asked, "What do you mean? I can't exactly regrow it, you know."
With a derisive snort, she replied, "No shit, Sherlock."
I felt my eyebrows furrow. "So…?"
"So grab the clippings already." She gave a frantic wave of her arms. "Scatter them around, like an animal got into them or something."
I was staring now. "An animal?"
"Yeah. Like a goat." She sighed. "I mean, they eat grass all the time, right?"
"I, uh…" I shook my head. "Not around here, they don't."
"I don't care," she said. "Landon Tarrington will be here any minute, and I need this place to look like shit."
I stared with growing confusion. "What?"
"Yeah." Her mouth tightened. "The shittier the better."
I frowned. Gee, maybe Ishould'vecrapped on the front porch.
I gave Roy another questioning look. "Landon Tarrington?" I said. "Who's that?"
"The executive producer." Roy flicked his head toward the blonde. "Her boss."
The blonde gave a loud huff. "He's not my boss. He's myboss'sboss." She turned back to me. "Now get your ass in gear. Or else."
I felt my gaze narrow. "You're notmyboss. Or my boss's boss for that matter." With a brittle smile, I informed her, "For your information, I have no boss."
Her lips twisted. "So you're unemployed? I can't say I'm surprised."
AndIcouldn’t say that I wouldn't smack her with a shovel. But that was a fantasy for another time.
In the end, I told her to shove it. If she wanted the grass clippings scattered or whatever, she could damn well do it herself.
And boy, was she delighted to hearthat.
She was just in the process expressing this delight when a big black pickup pulled into the driveway.
