Why We Fight (At First Sight Book 4)

by TJ Klune

  “We’re not down for the count yet,” Marina said. “I’ve got a few more irons in the fire, but we need to make a plan. I spoke with the accountant. We’re good for the rest of 2016—barely—but after?” She shook her head. “That’s where we come up short.”

  Jeremy looked thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair. “Okay, so let’s plan. What’s the next step?”

  Marina pulled out her phone and began tapping on it. “My wife has some good connections through her law firm—”

  “She’s a lawyer?” I asked.

  Marina grinned at me. “Right? I don’t know what I was thinking. But she’s not all bad. Denise is the one who helped me find the immigration lawyer who would help us through the red tape should it come up for Diego or any of the others.”

  “Then I forgive her for her chosen profession.”

  Marina rolled her eyes. “I’ll be sure to let her know. Anyway, she’s going to put me in touch with some people who might be able to help. There are still a few more grants I’m waiting to hear back on, but they’re long shots. I was really counting on the one we just got turned down for.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have, but at least I didn’t put all our eggs in one basket. What about you? You got anything?”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Um. Well, yes? Maybe. I mean, I know drag queens, and if anyone knows how to guilt you out of money, it’s drag queens.”

  Jeremy snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”

  I glared at him. “Are you mocking me?”

  He looked solemn when he said, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Marina glanced between the two of us. “Uh-huh. So, drag queens. Could they raise a hundred grand to keep us funded through the next two years?”

  I felt my eyes bulge out of my head. “A hundred what and how many zeroes?”

  “This place isn’t cheap, Corey. There’s rent and utilities and taxes, not to mention all the programs we’re running and the ones we’re trying to run. And the financial crisis wasn’t too long ago, and people have long memories. Everyone is tighter with their money these days, and for good reason.” She tapped something else on her phone. “Which makes this whole Cheeto thing all the more baffling.”

  “I taught her that,” I told Jeremy.

  “I’m sure you did,” Jeremy muttered as he pulled out his own phone and began to type on the screen.

  “I don’t know about a hundred thousand dollars,” I said. “But Helena Handbasket can be really persuasive when she wants to be, even if you don’t want her to be. And every little bit helps, right? I’m sure we could use Jack It again. Helena has enough shit on the owner that he doesn’t even sneeze without making sure it’s okay with her first.” I glanced at Jeremy, trying to choose my next words carefully. “And I’m sure we could use that… other… bar… if we needed to.”

  Jeremy laughed. “Marina knows.”

  Marina nodded. “My wife’s into leather. She’s known Jeremy for years.”

  “What? Explain!”

  “Later,” Marina said, not even looking up at me. “Bigger things to focus on.”

  She had a point, but still. I had questions.

  Jeremy’s phone vibrated. He frowned down at it before typing out a response to whoever had texted him. “You have a suit?” He looked up at me, head cocked slightly. “Or that dress you wore at the barbecue could work. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  I was confused. “For what?”

  He set down his phone on the desk and leaned forward. “I have an idea.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “Do I even want to know? And yes, I have a suit, but it’s peach, and I wore it when I was pretending to be a jazz flautist named Slim Trim Colvin.”

  Marina dropped her phone as she choked. “You did what?”

  “Oh no,” I told her. “Bigger things to focus on, remember?”

  “But! But—”

  I shook my head. “You should have told me about your wife the leather goddess.”

  She groaned. “I regret so much.”

  That was satisfying. “You should.” I turned back to Jeremy, narrowing my eyes. He should have been quaking in fear, but he barely looked affected. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m really going to have to see that suit one day.” He sounded amused.

  “Can it, Olsen,” I barked. “Spill before I destroy everything you hold dear.”

  “Oh my,” Marina breathed. “I make excellent hiring decisions.”

  I definitely did not preen. Mostly.

  “We have a date,” Jeremy said.

  Somehow I fell out of my chair. One moment I was sitting there as a normal human does, and the next I was staring up at the ceiling, wondering why everything in my life was an absolute train wreck.

  Marina stared down at me as Jeremy stood and leaned over his desk to do the same.

  “I slipped,” I said.

  “Is that what we’re calling it?” Marina asked.

  “How the hell did that even happen?” Jeremy demanded.

  “This place is haunted,” I said as I picked myself up off the floor. “I didn’t want to say anything because I know how delicate you are, but there are ghosts here. One of them is an angry bandito who doesn’t like chairs. He kicked it and I fell down. Simple as that.” I made the sign of a cross over my chest before sitting down in the chair again. “Ay, Dios mío. Eventually we’ll need to find a priest, but we don’t need to worry about it now. Let’s not focus on anything that happened in the last five seconds.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if that’s possible,” Jeremy said as he slumped back in his chair.

  “There’s an awful lot of judgment in your voice.”

  “That’s because I’m judging you,” he retorted.

  Marina was looking at the both of us strangely. “Is there something—” She shook her head. “Forget it. Jeremy, what were you saying?”

  He sighed. “Stephen Morgan.”

  “Oh boy,” Marina said. “Are you sure?”

  “Who is Stephen Morgan?” I asked. The name was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

  “The former director,” Jeremy said. His lips quirked. “One of the people you refer to as a Super Gay.”

  “Oh dear god,” I whispered.

  “Super Gay?” Marina asked, sounding confused. “Do I even want to know?”

  “Rich homos,” I muttered, trying my best not to throw a pen at Jeremy’s head. I’d only had a couple of interactions with Stephen while he was here, and while he’d been kind, I still was uneasy at the idea of Super Gays. Neither I nor anybody I knew was in the same tax bracket as they were. But that shouldn’t matter. Because if Jeremy needed to go to them to beg for money for Phoenix House, then so be it. I would help him plan before he— “Wait. What do you mean we have a date?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Do you really think I’d be going by myself?”

  “Yes,” I hissed at him. “That’s exactly what I think. They’re your friends!”

  “You’re friends with Super Gays?” Marina asked. “Are there Super Lesbians?” She frowned. “My wife and I have never gotten an invitation if there are. That’s disappointing.” She brightened. “Probably because we’re not rich. I feel better now.”

  “It just so happens Stephen is having a dinner party at his house this Friday,” Jeremy said, running a hand over his face. “I hadn’t planned on going, but I just texted him asking if he’d be willing to hear a pitch to part with his money for a good cause. He seemed amenable.”

  “What the hell does that have to do with me?” I asked. “They’re going to see me and think I’m the waiter!”

  Jeremy rolled his eyes. “They aren’t that bad.” He paused, considering. “And I think they had to let their waitstaff go last year.”

  I threw up my hands. “Take Marina. Or the accountant. You know, someone who actually knows what they’re talking about when it comes to money? I don’t have the first clue. Do you want to know how much I suck at math?
Because I’ll tell you how much I suck at math.”

  Marina stared at me thoughtfully. “I think Jeremy has a point. It should be you.”

  What a goddamn traitor. “I trusted you,” I growled at her. “Mata Hari!”

  She ignored me. My second-greatest weakness after soft compliments. Damn them both for knowing me so well. “I actually think it’s really smart to bring Corey. He’s sure to burst their bubbles.”

  “Subtlety isn’t exactly his forte,” Jeremy said dryly. “But when you need to break something, you should probably bring a sledgehammer.”

  “I’m sitting right here!”

  “You really think this could work?” Marina asked.

  Jeremy shrugged. “Maybe. I think I can get something out of them. They know me. And since most of them are Republican—”

  “What!” I shrieked.

  “—I can probably guilt them into opening their wallets given the current… political climate.”

  “Yeah,” Marina said slowly. “I think this could work.”

  “No,” I snapped at them. “Absolutely not. Find someone else.”

  Marina looked at me with wide eyes. “But Corey. Think of the children.”

  “And you wouldn’t make me go by myself, would you?” Jeremy asked. “That would just be cruel.”

  “Fuck you both right in your faces,” I snarled. “This isn’t going to work on me. I refuse to be the token person of color in a vat of vanilla bean—”

  “Adam is black,” Jeremy said mildly.

  “Who the hell is Adam?”

  “Stephen’s partner.”

  I stared at him. “You’re telling me their names are Adam and Steve.”

  “Ooh,” Marina said. “He hates when people call him Steve.”

  “That’s what I’m telling you,” Jeremy said. I could see he was struggling not to laugh. I hated everything about him.

  “You’re telling me he’s a rich, black, gay Republican.”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine,” I snapped. “I’ll go, only because I don’t believe you. No self-respecting—you know what? Doesn’t even matter. You want a sledgehammer? You’ll get one. And I better not get any shit for anything I do, because you asked for this.”

  Jeremy looked taken aback. “Hey, no, Corey. Look, if you really don’t want to go, you don’t have to. I won’t force you into a situation you’re uncomfortable with.”

  I shook my head as I stood. “Too late. I’m going to fuck some shit up. You mess with the bull, you’re gonna get the horns.”

  “I thought you were a sledgehammer,” Marina said.

  I turned to glare at her. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten you in all this. One day, when you least expect it, you’ll look in your rearview mirror and find me sitting in your back seat. And then I’ll say something that will be mildly upsetting to you as a person, and you will know what it means to face my wrath.”

  “Oh no,” Marina said. “Anything but that.”

  “I’m leaving,” I announced grandly as I headed toward the door. “I have to make plans, seeing as how I now have to pimp myself out as a courtesan to white men. Good day.”

  Jeremy squinted up at me. “I don’t think it’s going to be that kind of dinner. At least I hope it’s not.”

  “I said good day!” I bellowed, slamming the door behind me.

  I grumbled angrily to myself as I stalked toward my own office. I was going to give Jeremy so much shit for the rest of our lives for this. I heard the sound of laughter out in the front of Phoenix House but didn’t think the kids deserved to see what I was sure was the dashing and brooding look on my face. I shut the door behind me and pulled out my phone, meaning to text Sandy that I needed a new outfit ASAP. There was an inherent danger texting a drag queen such a thing, and I knew I had to make it abundantly clear that there could be no sequins or feathers involved.

  But before I could type the first word, I heard my name being said.

  I looked around, wondering if there was an angry bandito who was about to cover me in his ectoplasm. I probably wouldn’t fight it too much, seeing as how it’d be the most action I’d seen in forever.

  Of course there wasn’t an angry bandito.

  The voice had come from the vent above Marina’s desk.

  I took a step toward it.

  “—and while I understand the… allure,” Marina was saying, “it’s not something you should be pursuing, given your position.”

  “I’m not pursuing anything,” Jeremy said, his voice faint but clear. He sounded pained. “Jesus, Marina.”

  “Don’t try that bullshit with me, Jeremy. I’ve known you a long time. You may be able to hide it from other people, but I know flirting when I see it. And you and Corey are definitely flirting.”

  “We’re not flirting.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing?”

  Silence. Then, “It’s not like that. He’s a student of mine. I would never—”

  “Former student,” Marina said, and my heart tripped all over itself. I could barely breathe. “And I’m not saying that because I’m trying to blur the lines. But you are his boss. You have power over him. That isn’t fair to him. Especially because you know he’d do anything to make you happy.”

  “He’d do that for anyone,” Jeremy said. “He’s a good person.”

  “Yes,” I whispered as I nodded furiously. “Damn right I am. Keep saying nice things about me.”

  “Did you hear that?” Marina asked.

  I slapped my hand over my mouth.

  “What?” Jeremy asked.

  “Nothing. I thought—it doesn’t matter. Maybe if things were different. If he wasn’t working here, or you weren’t. And I’m probably fucking up by saying this, but maybe after we find a new director, you could—”

  “Look,” Jeremy said. “Corey is… my friend. Yes, I’m his boss, and yes, we socialize outside of work, but that’s all it is. Fuck, Marina. He’s barely older than any of the kids out there. I wouldn’t do that.”

  Call it, Doctor. Time of death is 2:47 p.m. on Wednesday, July 20, 2016. He’s listed as a donor, so we’ll need to harvest all his organs while they’re still viable.

  “We both know that’s bullshit,” Marina said, sounding annoyed. “Corey is smarter and more mature than people twice his age. That shouldn’t—”

  “You flipped on that rather quickly,” Jeremy muttered.

  Marina scoffed. “You know what I mean. I like him. A lot. He’s going to go far. You could do much worse. I know because you have. But now? Right now? It’s off-limits. You can’t mess with him or his future. This job is important to him, not just because of the work we’re doing but because he actually needs it for his degree.”

  “I know.”

  “Just… let him down easy, okay? If it should come to it. Having a broken heart is like shattered glass under your skin that you can’t figure out how to extract, and I can’t have it spill over to anyone here. Moving on. Here’s how I think you need to play it with the… Super Gays. And if Corey calls them that to their faces, I expect you to record a video so I can laugh about it. I have a feeling we’re going to need something to smile about in the coming weeks.”

  I didn’t hear anything else they said above the buzzing in my ears.

  There. That was it. That was all I needed to hear.

  Great.

  Fine.

  Perfect.

  It didn’t matter. I had already come to the same conclusion.

  I was almost able to convince myself the prickling in my eyes was because of something else entirely.

  Chapter 12: Mess With the Bull, You Get the Sledgehammer

  THAT FRIDAY night, I found myself doing something I never thought I’d do.

  I was wearing a suit and going to the rich section of Tucson—Catalina Foothills—in order to beg Republican Super Gays for money to save a youth center.

  Fucking eighties movies.

  Sandy had laughed himself silly when I told him (conve
niently leaving out what I’d overheard through the vents). When he finished laughing almost a full five minutes later, he wiped his eyes and demanded that I steal some of the china, because all of our dishes had come from Target. I told him I would do my best, already trying to figure out how many forks I could take without being noticed. And since I knew rich people at dinner necessitated the use of sixteen different types of forks, I thought I could snag at least a few that no one would miss.

  Being a drag queen meant Sandy had connections. But it also meant that he had to first try to get me to wear something garish and off-putting. Naturally, he first suggested the peach suit I’d worn as Slim Trim Colvin, just because he thought it would knock the Super Gays off their feet. “And,” he said, “since we now know they’re Republicans, they would be able to use the health insurance they don’t want anyone else to have.”

  When I politely declined the peach suit (“I’m not going to fucking wear that, you hag!”), he made a phone call I didn’t hear, given that I was furiously stomping around the living room, stepping over Darren, who, for reasons I didn’t care to know about, felt the need to do push-ups in our living room.

  “Thank you,” Sandy said into his phone. “We’ll see you in a bit.” He set his phone on the coffee table before looking down at Darren. “Keep going, big boy. You owe me a hundred more.”

  Darren grunted but didn’t argue.

  I did not want to know what kind of twisted sex game was going on.

  “I’ve got you covered,” Sandy told me. “He’ll be here soon.”

  “Who?” I asked, bewildered.

  Sandy grinned at me.

  I was appropriately terrified.

  HE TURNED out to be Flavius the hairdresser, and when Sandy let him in an hour later, I immediately wondered how it’d gotten to this point.

  Flavius was carrying two black garment bags over his shoulder. “Delivery service,” he announced cheerfully. “Fashion to the rescue. I didn’t bring shoes because you didn’t mention them, but I can always come back if needed.”

  Sandy shook his head as he closed the front door. “No, we should be fine there. If you brought what we discussed, I already know what’ll match.”