Between moving into the house and cleaning the office, I’m exhausted from organizing crap. At least at the house, I’m working with a blank slate. The office is a frigging mess. I have to check every slip of paper in every box. I’ve counted at least thirty boxes, but I know more are hidden behind the main stack. Half of what’s in the boxes is trash, and the half are business papers dating back a decade. I can’t believe Hayes is so successful with such a train wreck system.
“How do you function?” I ask Hayes when he appears from his office.
I notice he comes out every hour or so to check on me. I don’t mind since it saves me from checking on him. We’ve been playing this peeking game since the weekend.
“I have a company that deals with payroll and the financial crap. These are my personal copies.”
“Why is it such a mess?”
Hayes crosses his arms and leans against a desk hiding under boxes. “Years ago, I had a real assistant. Tammie was a good woman, but her back went out, and she got behind on shit. Then she started calling in sick a lot, and the temps didn’t know what the fuck they were doing. Once she went on disability, I was stuck with morons. This is the result.”
“Is Tammie still alive?”
“She moved to Florida to be closer to her grandchildren.”
“Do you miss her?”
“No.”
Suspecting he’s lying, I smile at his bravado. “Will you miss me when I move to Florida to be closer to my grandchildren?”
Hayes shrugs. “You’re not horrible at your job so far. Too mouthy, but most women are.”
“So you’ll miss me then?”
“You have your skills.”
“Can you be more specific about my qualities? I’m feeling insecure.”
Hayes rolls his eyes, but I catch him smile. “I’ve been thinking.”
“I’m sure you have. A big businessman like you probably thinks all the time.”
“I’ve been thinking about having an heir.”
“An air?”
“An heir like a kid that’d inherit my business.”
“Oh. Yeah, you wouldn’t want it to end up in the hands of the government.”
“I’d rather burn everything down than have that happen.”
Grinning at his reaction, I nod. “I’m sure you’d make a great dad.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
“No, but you’re smart. You might learn how to be a great dad by the time the kid is old enough to notice.”
“You’re healthy, right?”
“Healthy like I eat salads?”
“No, like you’re capable of creating and carrying a baby.”
“Sure,” I mumble, unsure where he’s going with this line of questions.
“You didn’t break anything having those twins?”
“You mean my beloved children? No, I didn’t break anything. What are you getting at?”
“I’ll need to breed with a woman capable of carrying my large kid. You carried two at once so I figure you’ll do.”
“Well, that’s a tempting offer. Whenever you’re ready, just fill a cup with your swimmers, and I’ll pick up a turkey baster on my drive home. We’ll make you an heir.”
“There are easier ways to make a kid.”
“Easier?” I say, looking him over. “I’d say a turkey baster is simpler than climbing you, boss.”
“No climbing necessary,” he says, and I realize he might actually be serious. “You lay on the bed, and I’ll do the work. I’ve heard women make boys if they get fucked in the missionary position.”
“You heard that, huh? Where?”
“Donna was telling some broad at the Waffle House.”
“Well if Donna said so, I can’t really disagree. She’s the Google of diner waitresses.”
I snicker at my joke while Hayes just watches me.
“I’m not kidding.”
“I sense that,” I say, feeling a little overheated. “What would you name our giant baby? It wouldn’t be something stupid like Angus, would it?”
“Said the lady with the stripper name.”
“I didn’t pick my name.”
“You picked your kids’ stupid names.”
“No, their father did, and he only picked them to punish me.”
“Punish you for what?”
“For not having an abortion. He didn’t want kids. He nagged me constantly until I was ready to pop. When I wouldn’t give into his whiny bullshit, he chose the names,” I explain with a hint of anger and then add more casually, “The joke was on him because my kids are cool enough to walk off silly names. I’m not sure our giant baby would be, though.”
“My kid won’t give a shit what anyone thinks.”
“Or he’ll be very sensitive and cry easily. You never know.”
“I know,” Hayes insists.
“So you’re saying you’d name him something dumb like the dad in the song A Boy Named Sue?”
“I’d name him something strong.”
“Like Bullet?” I ask, snickering again. “Shotgun maybe?”
“Buckaroo Banzai actually.”
“It has a nice ring to it.”
Hayes frowns. “It’s a movie title. You know that, right?”
“I don’t watch movies.”