with me, and not like she’s a real damn alien enjoying her first gimme-five.
Instead of heading for the Centaur Stable escape room, they ask Stacy if they can make a last-minute switch. When Stacy confirms that they can, just like every group before them, they jump at the chance to go to the escape room with Inara.
Not once did Tansy and Cooper get this kind of reaction. Despite the fact that their costumes cost a fortune and they were cool looking, there’s something about Inara… a genuineness, I guess. And it’s evident to everybody who sees her, even if they don’t believe she’s the real deal. They still sense it.
And as if thinking of Cooper and Tansy has conjured them, Stacy hollers, “Tansy just called!”
Speak of the wayward pair of newlywed runaways. “Yeah? Were their ears tingling or something? I was just thinking about them.” I amble out to the front desk. “You didn’t transfer the call to my phone because…?”
Stacy purses her lips and folds her hands on the desk in front of herself, giving me judgemental eyes. “Because she was afraid you’d yell at her.”
“That was not for you to be concerned about.” I match her concerned stare with an unforgiving one. “That was my opportunity to say my piece to one of my employees who ran off with one of my other employees, no notice, leaving my ass in the lurch with a pre-registered group on their way to see said employees perform the role I paid them good money to perform.”
Stacy pauses, glancing down as she considers my side of this argument that she doesn’t need to be sticking her nose in, and she inclines her head, conceding my point.
Although she did it nonverbally, I verbally acknowledge the point she gave me. “Thanks. Now. Next time, should there ever be a next time?”
Stacy sighs. “I’ll transfer them to you so you can yell at them.”
I lean in until Stacy leans back, her startled eyes flying up to mine. “Next time, you transfer her so I can say what I want to say to her. And now you can call her back and ask for her to give you their address if it’s different than what we’ve got on file.”
“Why? Their paychecks are direct deposit,” Stacy doggedly goes on. Her loyalty is admirable. “You don’t need to mail them—”
“Fuck,” I say, grabbing the bridge of my nose. “Sis, when did I make you the boss?”
Stacy sounds like she’s both rueful—as she should be—and smiling, which she definitely shouldn’t be. Damn twit. “You didn’t.”
I snap my fingers and straighten. “That’s right—I didn’t.” I give her a meaningful look. “Address. Get me it. Then call the florist. Get them something nice, including a congratulations card.”
I turn and head for my office.
“Really?” Stacy asks my back, clearly surprised.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” I call over my shoulder.
“No! Just… what do you want me to have them put in the flower shop’s card?”
“‘Congrats, you two. From: All of Us?’” I suggest.
“You got it, boss. You’re a good man!” Stacy chirps.
“Stop it or you’re fired,” I order before I shut my door to block out her chipper voice chatting up the florist.
***
I’m not settled behind my desk ten minutes before I get a new notification. And I’m not talking Facebook.
My computer bleeps at me, and a surprise popup reads: Safety sprinklers have engaged.
...Excuse me?
The popup window is something I’ve never seen—I was aware of the possibility of receiving this notification, of course, because I paid for the program to alert me to shit like this, but we have never had a fire here, not in any of the escape rooms. Yet this message claims a sprinkler’s gone off.
I pound my finger on my desktop’s mouse, left-clicking like a madman for details. Like WHERE?
It’s the alien escape room.
I fly down the hall.
You know how in movies, when the sprinklers activate—the fire department is automatically alerted?
Yeah, small businesses can’t always afford that. Me, I thought about it, I really did. I want everyone safe. But in the end, I shelled out for the single station system which alerts me to the problem, but not the authorities—because I was stupidly optimistic that if there was a blaze, we’d be able to hit it with extinguishers and all would be well.
Fire doesn’t care if you’re optimistic.
My heart is racing and my stomach twists in horror as I realize I may have made a bad call. A call so bad, people could be hurt. Perfectly innocent