“The devil is in the details.”
“The devil is in the details.”
I actually looked up this time. An exquisitely handsome man stood at my table, a crème de Brule frap in his perfectly tanned hand.
“May I?,” he asked pointing to the empty chair.
“By all means. I don’t often get to meet you in such pleasant circumstances. What no eau de brimstone cologne today?”
“Trying for a new vibe – more dangerous than deadly. The ladies seem to like it.” His flint eyes were sparking.
I closed the account book, slide down in my chair, and watched him over the top of my white chocolate frap with extra whip cream.
He looked calm and cool, remarkably cool considering the location of his company’s HQ. He did have a new vibe. A cross between the “most (un)interesting man in the world” and bad boy Charlie Sheen. His PR and marketing department obviously suggested it was time for a reboot of the franchise. He no doubt had a red Bugatti Veyron parked next to the curb. And, he probably had reno’d all his penthouses, too.
He smiled his simmering smile, “Like the new look?”
“Might turn a few heads.” “All the way round,” I thought to myself. “But I’m sure you didn’t drop by for my fashion sense.”
“No, seems to be we have a small matter to discuss.”
I played dumb. Let him be the one to put it on the café table.
“Damn it, you took her right out from under my nose!” Steam was rising from more than the espresso machine. He never could stay suave and cool for too long. At least around me.
“Me?” I said, the height of innocence. “You’ve always laughing at how straight and narrow I play things. Sounds like something one of your minions (don’t worry, not the cute yellow ones) would do. Rival gang set up in your neighbourhood?”
He tried to appear nonchalant. “What gang could rival mine? I recruit from the best of the worst.” Yawning, he said, “Before I fall asleep in this quiet little corner, I want to know how you did it.”
“Did what?” I said shrugging my shoulders. “You said the devil was in the details, but you’ve given me no details.”
I could see his tan turning into a sunburn. He was just too easy to wind up today.
“I seduced her. She was my sex slave. A thousand shades of red. She begged me, crawled across the floor for me. And then . . .”
“Good story, I’m listening”
“You had to interfere. One minute she is entertaining for me, next she’s gone.” He leaned closer, fixing his malevolent eye on me, “You are supposed to play fair! That’s the rules.”
“Whose rules? I don’t remember signing anything with you that held us to certain restrictions. Like you couldn’t play nice.”
His crème Brule frap was “bruling” again. “Okay, lets start over. I’ve had a string of losses lately, and she was one of my favourites. I thought there was a line in the cosmos neither of us would cross.”
“You mean the one between good and evil, right or wrong, or the start line in bowling?” I kept my grin from becoming a smirk, just barely.
“If I was trying to steal one of your players, you’d be down on me all righteous. You, however, develop a new super-heat resistant suit, and come after mine.” Smoke was starting to come out his ears.
“No superhero suit, my friend, just some gentle persuasion.”
“And what, pray tell, could you persuade her with?”
“A gig as one of the Victoria Secret’s Angels,” I laughed. “Gotcha!”
Inspired by Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Writing Prompt #107: Passenger.
© phylor 2015