Chapter 69: One Might Overestimate Their Abilities If Their Net Worth Is over a Billion Dollars

“Octavia? Are you all right? Speak to me.”

“Dear god! Are you mad, woman? You could have died like that!”

“Quentin, chill.”

The voices swam in Octavia’s head but dragged her out of the darkness. She opened her eyes, and on the third blink, the vision of Raemon’s face came into view.

He had his arms around her body, carrying her, and a look of something slightly resembling panic faded from his eyes.

“Fuck,” was all Octavia could say, “you…you caught me.”

“Are you all right?” Raemon asked, a deep crease in his brow.

“I’m…fine,” Octavia replied, “I think.”

“Octavia! You could have DIED,” Quentin exclaimed, visibly shaken. “And it would have been my fault. I’ll never forgive myself!”

Gracie placed a hand on Quentin’s back and rubbed circles to calm him.

“It’s all right, Quentin, she’s fine,” Gracie said. “Lucky for you Raemon got across the room as fast as he did.”

“I…I…I think I can stand now,” Octavia said. Raemon was still staring down at her with that intense look in his eyes, but he gently loosened his hold on her.

“Whew…” Octavia exhaled as her feet touched the floor. “Um…thanks, I guess.”

“I’d be grateful if you’d stop putting yourself in danger on a regular basis,” Raemon said.

“You startled me,” Octavia protested. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Your paint?” Raemon said, he gestured to the door where two buckets of paint sat.

“My what?” Octavia repeated. “Oh yeah…um, that.”

Having been sufficiently calmed by Gracie, Quentin looked up with a spark in his previously frantic eyes. He aimed that spark at Octavia. Octavia purposely ignored Quentin’s gaze.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” she said to Raemon. “I mean…weren’t you busy or something?”

Raemon looked impatient. “Do you want the paint or not?”

“Of course, I do!” Quentin exclaimed. At Raemon’s raised eyebrow, he quickly corrected himself. “Er…that is to say…she does. It was her idea to paint the walls yellow. Yes.”

“Ignore him,” Octavia said to Raemon, “thanks for the paint. Okay, Quentin, where are your brushes and rollers at? We should paint before the furniture is arranged.”

When Octavia moved to the stepladder, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder stop her.

“Excuse me, Octavia, what do you think you’re doing?” Raemon asked with a calmness that felt uneasy.

“Painting?”

“Do you think I’m going to let you get back on the ladder you just fell off of?”

“Um…yes?”

“Not the right answer.”

Octavia huffed. “Well, who else is supposed to do it?”

Quentin shook his head. “I get vertigo at even the smallest heights.”

Gracie shrugged. “I don’t want to. The only tools I use are drills.”

“Say…,” Quentin started, looking toward Raemon, “if you’re not terribly busy, you could be of some assistance. Would you terribly mind staying to help us out?

“Especially Octavia, you could be there to catch her if she falls off from anything else.”

“Can I just remind everyone that the only reason I fell was because a certain someone just showed up out of nowhere?” Octavia declared.

Raemon sighed. He gently removed Octavia’s hand from the ladder and drew her away from it. Then he slung the dark, leather jacket he was wearing off his shoulders and rolled the sleeves up on his shirt.

“Give me a roller,” Raemon commanded.

And that was how the rest of the day went. Raemon and Octavia painted Quentin’s accent wall—and Raemon forbid her from using the stepladder.

Not one to waste a good opportunity, Quentin then had Raemon “assist” with moving furniture. He spent the rest of the day moving heavy pieces to different rooms. And he did it by himself.

Octavia subtly watched him. She noted that this was one of the few times she’d seen him dressed so casually. He was wearing a crisp pair of dark jeans and a blue long-sleeved shirt.

When at last he began to break a sweat, he helpfully took this off, leaving him in only a damp undershirt.

Octavia was both sad and happy he didn’t take off that last piece of clothing. As much as she would have relished the sight, she couldn’t trust herself around a hammer if that happened.

While Raemon moved furniture around her as she sorted through boxes of knickknacks, she kept burying her head deeper and deeper into the boxes.

“Something wrong, Octavia?” Quentin asked, seeing her head under a tangled string of bulbs.

Octavia peeked out of the box, and seeing that Raemon wasn’t there, she sighed in relief.

“Damn you, Quentin,” Octavia snarled. “Why did you have to ask him to stay? And carry stuff?”

Quentin frowned. “Is that a problem?”

“YES,” Octavia hissed. “I’m horny as hell, that’s what.”

Quentin smirked. “Ah…the perks of being asexual.”

An hour or two later, Quentin’s home was actually beginning to look like something someone could live in.

“Way to go, team!” Quentin said.

“You all have saved me from a lot of exertion that wouldn’t have ended with such great results. Especially Gracie—what would I do without you? I couldn’t assemble a shelf to save my life.”

“Aren’t you an engineer?” Octavia asked.

“An electronics engineer,” Quentin said. “I have no problem with microchips and circuits. I’m lost when it comes to anything macroscopic.”

“You did do a good job, Gracie,” Octavia said, observing the assembled foosball table. “Does this thing even still work?”

“Where is that goddamn pizza?” Gracie said.

Quentin sighed. “I have a feeling the delivery guy got lost. How hard is it to find this place?”

“He’s probably just used to delivering to homes—not factories,” Gracie said.

“I guess someone could just drive to the pizza place and pick one up,” Octavia suggested.

All three of them exchanged glances between each other. Then they looked to Raemon. He had been silent and remained so, only answering them with a look that clearly indicated he would do no such thing.

“You did the least of all of us,” Octavia told Quentin, “and you owe us. You should go.”

“I hate driving in the dark,” Quentin protested. “Why can’t you go?”

“Me? Why can’t Gracie go?”

“You want me to send my darling Gracie out there by herself? At night?”

“But it’s okay for me to go?”

“Well…how about this? Er…a…a foosball match!”

“Huh?”

“Let’s play for it. Best out of three. The loser drives to buy pizza—no exceptions.”

“Fine!” Octavia agreed.

Gracie shook her head at them. “You’re both being very childish.”

“No, we’re not,” Octavia protested.

“Yes, you are,” Raemon said.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you play for it then?” Octavia challenged. She looked between Raemon and Gracie. “Both of you.”

“Yes!” Quentin chimed in. “Both of you against us.”

“Uhh…Quentin, that might not be a good idea…”

“Fine,” Gracie said. “Are you up for it, Raemon?”

Raemon answered by joining Gracie on one side of the foosball table.

“Let the games begin!” Quentin declared, stepping up to the other side of the table. Octavia joined him.

“Quentin, this is a bad idea,” she hissed to him. “Gracie’s a whizz at this.”

“So am I,” Quentin said. “I own this table after all. Besides, I doubt your affluent friend knows the first thing about foosball. He’ll slow her down, and victory will be ours.”

But Raemon and Gracie were also having their own hushed conference.

“Something about me you must know, Gracie,” Raemon said, “I like winning.”

“You don’t say?” Gracie replied. “So do I.”

“Then we’re in agreement?”

“We’re going to cream them.”

Octavia wasn’t sure what the outcome of the game would be, but she was fairly decent at foosball and assumed Raemon was not.

So the game started. Octavia took hold of her two handles, and Quentin took hold of his two by her.

As soon as the white plastic ball was dropped into the center of the board, the rows of “players” on rods began spinning as each person spun the rod connected to their handle.

It only took a few seconds for Raemon and Gracie to land the first shot.

“That’s one,” Gracie said calmly.

Quentin blinked at the board in surprise. “So it is…”

Another few seconds later.

“That’s two,” Gracie said.

“I thought you said you were good at this!” Octavia hissed to Quentin.

“I am, damn it! But so are they. Both of them!”

And as the game went on, it became very apparent at how much better Gracie and Raemon were.

It went from being best out of three, to best out of six, best out of twelve…twenty…fifty…and so on. Tragically, Quentin and Octavia did not win even once. They had to admit to defeat.

“Enough!” Quentin moaned, unclasping stiff hands from the handles. “You win!”

Both Gracie and Raemon were composed in their victory.

“You should know better than to challenge me,” Gracie said.

“I do now,” Quentin sighed.

“How the hell do you even know how to play this?” Octavia demanded.

Raemon returned her outraged look with one of nonchalance.

“I spent years as a child playing this,” he said. “It was a daily after-school activity.”

“You could’ve warned me,” Octavia muttered.

“That would have taken the fun out of it.”

Just then, a knock sounded on the door. The lost pizza finally arrived.

Quentin was so glad he didn’t have to drive out he gave the delivery man an extra tip even as the man stammered out many apologies for his late delivery.

“God, I am so tired!” Octavia sighed. She sank into the comfy leather seat of Raemon’s car.

“Falling from high elevations can be exhausting,” Raemon remarked.

Octavia turned her head to shoot him a deathly glare, one which he ignored as he kept his eyes on the road.

“Once again, it was kind of your fault.”

Raemon smirked in response but said nothing.