Priced to Move

“Camping out in a third world airport is progress?”

“No, Andie. The airport isn’t progress. Talking without sniping is progress.”

I blush. Okay. I’m more than a little guilty here, but come on. This is Max, trouble for me. “You have to admit it’s kind of outrageous to take a job where you know nothing about the subject matter.”

“And you’ve got to admit I’ve got plenty of on-screen time under my belt.”

“True, but what good are you if you can’t contribute a thing to the show?”

“Who says I can’t?”

“You haven’t yet.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

“Maybe when barbecued sparerib dinners replace those jetliners in the skies.”

“And the pigs haven’t even left the runway yet.”

“I didn’t say it. You did.”

“Sometimes it’s better to take the jab at yourself before someone else throws you the knockout punch.”

I step back, look him from head to toe. “You don’t strike me like a guy who’s had much experience with that kind of punch.”

“You’d be surprised what I have and haven’t experienced.” “Can’t argue that. But I do know you haven’t experienced a course in gemology.”

“True. But it won’t be true for much longer now.”

“Huh?”

“I’m thinking of taking a continuing education class on rocks.”

“Really?” Uh-oh! There he goes again, doing something to make him more appealing. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, Andie. Think fast! Think of a new brick for that wall you’ve been building between the two of you.

“Aren’t you going to give me any credit?”

I bite my tongue—hard. He’s got a point. My conscience stings and I wince in shame. Oh, Lord, in my cowardly efforts to protect myself, I’ve been unfair and mean.

When I don’t answer, he throws his arms upward, frustration on every feature. “What kind of super-Christian are you? You don’t give a guy half a chance.”

Another stab of guilt. “It’s not that I won’t give you half a chance. It’s more that I’m waiting for you to go even half that mile, never mind the extra one. And now you want me to believe you’re ready to do the homework you should have done before you started the job.”

Arms crossed, he now takes a step back and studies me. I don’t like it.

He doesn’t seem to care.

The silence starts to get to me. My back itches right smack in the middle of my spine. Where I can’t reach it.

“You’re stubborn enough for ten ornery mules,” he says after a long while of pitched eye-to-eye combat.

My hackles rise. “I am not.” Did I just say that? Oh, am I ever in trouble. But right now, in front of Max, isn’t the time to deal with this little personal issue. It’s time to take a stab at an answer—a better one, this time. “I’m a perfectly agreeable woman.”

Great! I just dug me a bigger hole. I don’t know anyone else whose mouth flaps before their brain engages as much as mine does.

“And I’m one of those flying pigs you’re waiting for.”

“If you want to call yourself a pig, who am I to stop you?” “Miss Mona was right, but I don’t think she knew even the half of it.”

I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean? What was Miss Mona right about?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

“She said you’d be a handful, but that you’re smart and know your business. I’ll give you the brains and the book smarts, never mind the handful bit. But what you really are is more trouble than you’re worth.”

Ouch! “What do you mean?”

“That a guy can crack his head on a brick wall only so many times before he decides it’s just not worth it. I really want to make this job work, but I can only do so much. The other half is up to you.”

My jaw nearly clips the dingy floor. He thinks he’s been trying to work with me?

You’d never know from where I stand.

Right?

Or have I been so busy shielding myself that I’ve missed his attempts? Could it be my fault?

I shake my head. “It’s way too late in the night to do this. I’m going to try and sleep. I suggest you do too.