He looked the girl up and down. “They didn’t, no. But then, they don’t tell anyone shit around here.” The last bit held the edge of a sneer, directed towards the carnival and it’s management, not her. He only relaxed a hair, sidestepping around the edges of the tiny space.
Carelessly he slung the suit jacket onto his bed, making sure to put himself between it and her. His journal was tucked into the inside pocket; the only adequate hiding place he’d been able to find. He certainly hadn’t been about to just leave it in his trailer while he was out for the evening show.. And good thing he hadn’t, since other people could so easily get inside whenever they wanted. That book had all his personal notes and if he lost it, or someone stumbled across it… the results would likely not be pretty. Granted this was hardly your average carnival, but these were superstitious times and the last thing he needed was to get lynched for devil worship or something stupid like that.
All the while Peter kept his eyes on this alleged new assistant. She was pretty, tiny, and there was a challenge in both her eyes and her voice. That was promising, part of him whispered, if she was telling the truth. But promising didn’t mean shit, really. It had been months since he’d last had a good assistant. None of the new ones he’d tried out back home even remotely compared to Ginger. Thinking of her brought up a stroke of emotions that he didn’t have the patience to deal with right now, so he pushed them away. “I don’t really need an assistant,” he said, crossing his arms. “No offense, just I’ve no fucking intention of sticking around any longer than I have to, so putting on a good show really isn’t my primary concern just now.”