I spend a couple hours dealing with the fallout from the fire before I’m able to grab a conference room with Eidith to talk about the Novus Rome land clusterfuck.
“Smithson left after a half-hour wait,” Eidith says without preamble. Then, for some odd reason, she puts her hand on my elbow as she adds, “He said he had another offer, and that he’d take it.”
I resist the urge to shake off her hand and smash my palm on the conference room desk. “Why? He has to know I'd offer more.”
She pulls her hand away, thankfully, and shrugs. “Your being late hurt his ego. Probably thought you weren’t serious.”
Fucking real estate moguls and their egos. “You couldn’t talk him down?”
As she shakes her head, not a single hair falls out of place on her sprayed-into-submission hairdo.
That’s that then. Eidith has excellent people skills, and if she can’t influence someone, no one can. She’s got the instincts of a shark, and I rely on her often in situations like this.
I decide to cut my losses and move on. There is another possibility I’ve been mulling over, anyway. “What about that other plot of land? The one in central Florida?”
She wrinkles her nose minutely. “I can set it up, but are you sure? They get hurricanes.”
“And we get fires. And earthquakes.”
“Great point, as always.” She takes out her phone. “I’ll get in touch with them.”
Okay. Maybe Florida will work even better than California. After all, everyone compares Novus Rome to a theme park—which it most definitely won’t be. But if it were, Orlando is just as famous for theme parks as Southern California, if not more so. The climate is also warm, and labor would be cheaper. And if we needed to cut down any trees, there’d likely be less pushback there.
For the rest of the day, I revisit my plans to see what changes I’d have to make if the location were Florida. Turns out, there are very few.
Tired, I go home, eat dinner, and decide to unwind. As always, that involves some facetime with my favorite creatures in the whole world: Caligula, Blackbeard, and Malfoy.
Crossing the pool area, I step into the giant air-conditioned greenhouse they call home.
The trio greets me with happy sounds and sideways hops as soon as I enter.
Feeling the tension melt away, I bend to pet each one. The petting quickly morphs into frantic play. The trio sleeps sixteen hours a day, but when they finally wake up, they have the kind of energy that humans can reach only by using deadly doses of amphetamines.
“Hi, sir,” says Vincent, the veterinarian I hired to watch after them while I’m at work. “No health problems to report today.”
I look up. “Did Caligula learn to roll over?”
He nods. “I reinforced it in the others too.”
I decide to take him at his word. “Caligula, roll over.”
He does as he is told. Then Blackbeard and Malfoy join in, and it turns into a rolling game.
“Great job,” I say to everyone, including Vincent.
“Is it okay if I go pick out some toys for enrichment?” Vincent asks.
I wave him away and focus on my charges as they start a chase—only they do it sideways, because they’re ferrets.
Not for the first time, I wish I could bring them with me to places, the way Juno does with her cat. Alas, that wouldn’t go well. At best, they’d steal every small object at my office, and at worst, they’d shred themselves in a paper shredder. Also, as far as the state of California’s government is concerned, my trio of ferrets is the “Ferrets of Rome Conservation Society.” My lawyers had to form this legal entity because ferrets are illegal to own as pets here. You need a special permit to keep them, which is only given to zoos, universities with veterinary research programs, and conservation societies.
Why did I get ferrets in the first place?
I didn’t.
My mother bought them on a whim in Las Vegas, only to decide not to keep them after they hid all the knickknacks in her apartment. Giving up instead of nurturing is as typical a behavior for my mother as stealing is for the ferrets. In fact, the term “ferret” is based on the Latin furittus, which translates to little thief. Romans kept them instead of cats to hunt mice.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
I take it out carefully. Blackbeard has stolen it from me at least five times, Caligula four, and Malfoy has not only stolen it a dozen times but has also broken it twice.
“Hi, Gram.” I lift the phone to my ear as small paws snatch for it skillfully. Yes, there’s a ferret climbing up my body, and I don’t mind. “How are you?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?” Gram sounds disappointed, a rarity in our interactions.
What is she talking about? I grab Blackbeard off my head and put him on the floor next to the other two. They look at me, seemingly as puzzled as I am. As intelligent as they are, they have no idea what Gram is talking about either.
“What do you mean, ‘girlfriend?’” I ask carefully.
“A girlfriend is that thing I’ve been telling you to get,” Gram says. “One that leads to fiancée, then to wife, then to great-grandkids.”
I shake my head, then realize she can’t see me. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
All the women I’ve met in recent years have viewed me as a piggybank with a cock, and in return, I think of them as nothing more than a way to silence biology. It was worse when I was younger and moneyless, though. They didn’t see me as anything at all.
“Don’t be coy,” Gram says sternly. “It’s all over the internet.”
Caligula nibbles on my shoe as I pull my phone away to gape at it.
“Hello?” Gram’s tinny voice sounds from the speaker. “You there?”
“I’m going to need to call you back,” I say, bringing the phone back to my ear.
“No way, mister. I demand—”
“Two minutes.” Before she can object, I end the call—the first time I’ve hung up on her in my life.
A text from Gram arrives instantly, sparing me from having to Google myself—which is why I got off the phone. The message contains an emoji of two revolving hearts and a link to an article with a picture of me and Juno coming out of my building, along with enough lies to make the most crooked politician proud.
I grit my teeth as I scan the article. The author is that idiot reporter. I’ve turned down his bungling attempts to interview me, but he hasn’t given up and stalks me like I’m some dumb celeb. Does he not realize that I could buy his tawdry publication and fire him with one phone call? Or have my security team dig up all kinds of dirt on him and have it published in the—
My phone vibrates again.
I pick up on autopilot as Malfoy takes his turn nibbling at my foot.
“See, I know everything,” Gram says. “And I’m so happy. The happiest I’ve been in a long time.”
I shake my head—which doesn’t clear it. “You’re happy?”
“Of course,” she says with a girlish giggle. “When I heard the news, I got so excited my blood pressure dropped.”
I snatch my foot away before Caligula bites it. His teeth are the sharpest of the three, and I happen to like the shoes I have on. “I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to go the other way.”
“Nope. It dropped. Also, I’ve been feeling pretty weak lately, but I didn’t tell you so you wouldn’t worry. But as soon as I read that article, I felt ten years younger.”
Here we go again.
“Say you’ll introduce the two of us,” Gram wheedles. “Can you imagine how much such a meeting would improve my health?”
Yep. She’s manipulating me. This is signature Gram. I’m certain this health stuff is total bullshit, but one day, it might not be. She’s under the care of the best doctors, but still, she’s in her eighties. If I ever ignored one of her requests and her health declined afterward, I’d never forgive myself.
Except I can’t give her this one. I can’t have her meet my non-existent girlfriend. Unless… A crazy idea flits through my mind.
“Seriously,” Gram says. “Please let me meet her. I need to make sure she’s good enough for my pumpkin.”
I sigh, loudly. “I’ll have to think about this.”
“What’s there to think about?” she asks querulously. “Are you ashamed of your Gram?”
She is really laying it on thick today. “I’m not ashamed.” As I say this, I decide that maybe the idea is not so crazy after all. Pivoting with the same swiftness I apply to business, I say evenly, “It’s just that this thing is new. I don’t want Juno to feel like things are moving too fast.”
“Her name is Juno?” Gram sounds as excited as my ferrets are acting. “I love that name!”
“It’s a nice name.” Unlike the owner of the name, but Gram doesn’t need to know that.
“Okay,” Gram says. “If it’s too soon, I’ll wait. But keep in mind, I’m not a spring chicken.”
This again? She really wants this.
“I should go,” I say. “Juno is probably expecting my call.”
Gram gasps. “Oh, no! Call her. Immediately.”
Is that panic in her voice? Seriously? “Okay. I’ll call.”
“Good. Don’t mess this up,” Gram warns and hangs up without a goodbye.
Just like in business, I analyze the decision I’ve reached quickly, all the pros and cons aligning neatly in my head.
Pros: Gram will be happy—and maybe, though unlikely, healthier too. Another benefit, albeit a minor one: this should reduce the number of gold diggers I have to dodge at events. Also, it might make me more relatable to certain types of people, thus smoothing the way for some business transactions.
Cons: I’ll have to deal with Juno, and by extension, that nightmare of a cat.
So, it’s decided. I will make Juno my girlfriend. A pretend girlfriend, obviously. Now I just need to do some due diligence to make sure she isn’t married and doesn’t have too many skeletons in her closet. To that end, I get in touch with my Head of Security and explain the situation.
“What do we know about her?” he asks.
“Her first name is Juno,” I say. “Elijah dropped her off at her place, so we have her address. Oh, and she was in the building for some plant-care-related job interview.”
“That’s plenty to go on,” he says. “Do you want the usual dossier?”
“Just check for any red flags and make it fast.”
He assures me that he’s on it and hangs up.
I refocus my attention on the ferrets.
Blackbeard is dragging a garden glove that he stole from who knows where, Caligula’s head is buried in the lilac planter, and Malfoy is nipping Caligula’s nipple, one cringingly close to his “bellybutton.”
I shake my head, watching them. Some people—including my own mother—like to kiss said “bellybutton,” or gently poke it, or tickle it, or rub it, or blow raspberries into it. Hopefully, they do it without realizing the biological reality that when it comes to male ferrets, what seems like their “bellybutton” is actually their penis.
Seriously, I can’t wait until our brains are integrated with computers. Maybe then, most humans won’t be so dumb.