Released (Caged #3)(27)
“Of course you do,” Michael said. “How you react to all this is your choice. So let’s focus on that, shall we?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” Michael said as he took a long breath, “let’s think about the goals here.”
“Goals?”
“You must have a goal,” Michael told me. “Don’t you remember? Figure out where you are, where you want to be, then start taking steps to get there.”
“That sounds like something Dad would say.”
“He did. Many times. So what’s first?”
“I need work.”
“No—goals first. Getting a job is just a stepping stone, not the end goal. What’s your end goal?”
He focused his dark eyes right on mine and held me in his gaze for a moment. I knew exactly what he was saying; it was a lesson ingrained in me from a very early age. I could still hear his words: “Figure out what you want or need. Then come up with the steps to attain it. Know your target. Then set your sights and make it happen.”
“I want my family—me, Tria, and the baby. I want us all together.”
Michael’s smile spanned his whole face in a way that was probably really creepy to anyone who didn’t know him. His eyes widened and his eyebrows rose as he gave me a broad smile.
“Now that’s a goal!”
*****
After arguing for quite some time over the breakfast table, Michael and I managed to rule out a ton of potential positions with the hotel side of the business. He wanted to set me up as an executive and give me six figures, and I reminded him that I never did get that business degree and didn’t even have a high school diploma, for that matter.
The lack of a diploma limited the jobs I was qualified to even apply for, and I wasn’t willing to take nepotism to the next level by allowing him to hand over a job I wasn’t even remotely capable of doing. Despite everything else, I still had an ounce of pride left, and I knew I didn’t need anywhere near the kind of money Michael was offering. I just needed a basic job with a steady paycheck.
Michael hauled over a laptop and started searching the database of open positions. Almost all of them required at least a high school diploma, and Michael was trying to push me away from doing janitorial work at one of the buildings. I rolled my eyes and let him keep looking though I was pretty certain it was going to be the only job I was qualified to do.
At twelve bucks an hour, I could at least work enough hours and make enough money to get Tria some health care. Michael seemed to think I would lose my mind doing such work, and I wasn’t going to argue that point. It didn’t matter, though, because I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t get Tria back, and this was still the first step.
“Hmm…” Michael hummed as he tapped a finger on the mouse button. “This could be interesting.”
“What’s that?” I asked. I moved a little closer so I could see the screen.
“If I recall, you did a little stone setting in your youth, did you not?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “Not a lot or anything, but I can do the basics. Bezel and tube settings, at least.”
“Well maybe we have something for you here.” Michael looked over at me with his brows raised. “It’s one of the main shops—the one over on Glendale. There are two open positions for stone setters.”
He pointed out the relevant portion of the website listings, and I leaned over to get a better look. The position was for someone who could do fairly simple bezel and burnish settings, which I had done many times in my sophomore year of high school. I was no expert at it, but I had made a few nice pieces for my mother’s birthday that year.
“That’s your basic sweatshop, isn’t it?” I asked. “I mean, it’s not like you get a lot of artistic work going on there. Just set a stone and move on, right?”
“True,” Michael agreed, “but you’re qualified for it.”
He tapped the screen with his finger, and I looked over at the qualifications. He was right—it didn’t require a high school diploma and only specified minimal experience. For the briefest moment, I was hit with a wave of optimism.
Then something else hit me.
“You don’t run the jewelry side of things,” I said.
“Uh…no, I don’t,” Michael admitted.
“You can’t give me this job.” I sat back in the chair and folded my arms across my chest. My skin was tingling as the implications of what he was trying to set up became clear. “I’d be working for my father.”
“Very, very loosely,” Michael explained. “It’s not like you would be in the building where he works. You would likely never see him.”
“But it’s still working for him,” I repeated.
“Yes, technically, it would be.”
“Fuck, Michael!” I stood up and glared down at him.
“Twenty-five dollars an hour, Liam!” Michael stood up beside me. “It’s that or the janitor’s position, and this one is nearly twice the pay. What’s better for Tria?”
He was getting a little frustrated with me. I could tell. Not that it wasn’t warranted. I didn’t have the slightest idea how to perform any of the jobs we’d talked about. Even cleaning out toilets was hardly my forte. This one though—I knew how to do this. I’d be rusty and out of practice, but I remembered the basics. If I were to be completely honest, I had once even enjoyed the task.