You have a great frame; you just need to do a little weight training to build up some muscle.”
I don’t know why this is making my face get even hotter and my body all tingly. He’s looking at my frame? He thinks I have a great one? Didn’t he see my big butt?
“It wouldn’t take you very long, either,” he continues, oblivious to my freak-out. “If you’re anything like your sister, you could get it done in less than six months.” He shrugs. “Not that you need to do anything. I’m just talking about strength training here, not changing your body. Your body is fine the way it is.” He almost says something else, but then he stops himself and looks away for a second.
I flap my hand around the front of my face, trying to wave away his comments and the waves of heat coming off my skin. Talk about embarrassing. I eat way too many Fudgsicles to look like I imagine Toni does, not even in six years, let alone six months.
He’s just being nice when he says my body is fine the way it is. He must have gotten too much sweat in his eyes or something. “I don’t have time for that stuff. I have three kids and a job . . .”
He shrugs. “You could find the time. If you did more freelance work, you’d probably have more free time right away. You could make your own schedule, work out when the kids are in school or daycare.”
I snort, no longer embarrassed by the conversation or my weird reactions to being in an enclosed space with him. “Oh, believe me, I will not be doing any more freelance work. Not that I did any to begin with.”
“Why not?”
My hands drop to the seat on either side of my legs. I stare at him intently, waiting for him to figure the answer out on his own.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” He’s grinning, the fool.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“No, I really don’t.”
I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, to tell him that you don’t invite a prospective freelancer to your warehouse, lock her in a panic room for an hour, tell her that some crazy person is trying to break in to the job site, and then suggest she work more hours for you. Calling them Bourbon Street Boneheads is giving them too much credit. It’s more like I’ve entered the lair of the Bourbon Street Bimbos.
Before any of these choice words can make it out of my mouth, though, I hear a beep and a click, and the door to the panic room opens.
CHAPTER FIVE
May’s head appears around the side of the door. “Jenny? Are you in here?”
I stand up and grab my purse off the floor by my foot and throw the strap over my shoulder. “Yes, I’m here. But I’m not staying, you can be damn sure of that.”
I walk quickly to the door as it swings open more fully. Behind my sister is the hulking form of her boyfriend, Ozzie. He takes up almost the entire doorframe.
Ozzie looks over our heads and fixes his gaze on something behind me. “You good in here?”
Dev answers. “Yeah, we’re fine. Just a little antsy, maybe.”
I look over my shoulder and narrow my eyes at him. “Antsy?”
He’s grinning as he shrugs. “What would you call it?”
Honestly, I could call my attitude a lot of things. Antsy might even work. But right now, I’m too mad to debate the issue. I turn my attention back to my sister. “Sorry, May, but I have to get out of here.”
She holds her hands out at me. “No! Don’t go! Please stay.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Sorry, but I’ve had enough.” I step around her and her boyfriend and out the door. I’ve got to get out of this warehouse before they lock me up in another windowless room.
I’m moving fast, but my sister is having no problem keeping up. “Jenny, you don’t understand. None of this was planned. It’s totally random! Everything’s fine now. You can get the work done in an hour, and then you can go back home, and it’ll all be over. And you can have the money and the gift certificate.”
“You can keep your money and your stupid gift certificate. I’m done.”
“Why are you so mad?”
I stop so fast, she runs into my back and scrapes my heels with her shoes. I twist my head around to