Greg held the person hostage on the other end of the phone line and repeatedly berated him. He sat on the recliner and yelled as his coffee cooled to the perfect drinking temperature. “You’re a bunch of incompetent idiots that can’t tell the difference between a yellow-green color and blue. I want expedited delivery, and the color better be yellow green this time. Yeah, I’ll send the other ones back after the right ones show up.” Greg clicked off the call and whipped his phone across the room. It bounced off the couch and fell to the floor. “You’ll never get those eyes back unless you want to pick the glass shards out of the trash can.” He pulled the handle on the side of the chair and lowered the footrest then wrapped his hands around the sides of the coffee cup. “Finally, it’s cooled down enough to drink.”
Greg thought about Tristan and the fact that it was Monday and a new workweek. That meant he’d be at the butcher shop until six o’clock every evening, and he wouldn’t be prepared to start his at-home project until seven. He’d be working until the late hours of the night if he intended to have the new Kamila completed by Halloween.
He checked the time—8:57. In less than a half hour, he’d be leaving for work—not enough time to sedate Tristan and dye her hair. He wondered how he’d fool her the next time. She was well aware of his lies now and wouldn’t come close enough to the cage’s sides to let him poke her with a needle.
I’ll have to offer her food after all, but I’ll worry about that tonight. Now, I need to make my own breakfast and leave.