Coldhearted Boss(2)
“How much?”
I pinch my eyes closed. “Over $400 just for the parts.”
Her heavy sigh breaks my heart, and I’m glad I didn’t tell her the real number.
“I’m going to figure it out though,” I insist, sounding sure of myself. “I’ve already started thinking of how we can get the money.”
“Did you ask Mr. Harris for an advance?”
She and I discussed that possibility last night.
“Yes.”
“And?”
My stomach twists as I recall my encounter with my boss at the motel this afternoon, his too-tight shirt stretched over his pot belly, his leftover tuna sandwich stinking up his dingy office. When I told him why I needed the small advance, explaining how much my family and I depend on our car—it’s how McKenna gets to school, how I get to work, and how my mom gets to Livingston on the weekends to take classes so she can finally become a certified aesthetician—he leaned back in his chair, digging between his teeth with a toothpick. Really working at the tuna fish stuck between them.
“So it’s a few extra bucks you want?” he asked, leering at my chest.
My uniform—a drab khaki dress—would have been formfitting if I hadn’t sized up on my first day at the job. I did that to prevent this very thing: Mr. Harris looking at me like I’m an all-you-can-eat buffet.
“How badly do you need it?” he continued as his eyes dragged lower. His meaty hands clenched tight. He wanted to squash me like a butterfly.
Our conversation didn’t continue after that.
“He can’t give me one,” I report to my mom, shivering at the remnants of that memory. “But there are other ways—”
“I’ll pick up some shifts at Lonny’s,” she suggests, sounding like she hates the words even as they leave her mouth.
I sit up straighter and press the phone closer to my mouth. “No, Mom. No.” I’m angry now, angry that we’ve been put in this position. “We’ll figure out another option.”
Lonny’s always been my mom’s worst vice. He’s the one who got her into drinking so heavily in the first place, a guy who’d trade his soul for a bottle of tequila. The day she kicked him to the curb was one of the best days of my life. I won’t let us slide backward, not when we’re so close to getting our feet under us for good. My mom will graduate from her program this summer and then she can start her own salon and be able to support herself and McKenna without my help. I’ll be free. Finally.
“All right. I just don’t want you to feel like this is all on your shoulders.”
I pick at a speck of dirt on my jeans, the pair I bring to work every day so I can rip that khaki dress off as soon as my shift ends. The day I quit, I’ll burn it in a dumpster.
“It’s fine. Really.”
“When’s your cousin supposed to pick you up anyway? It’s already 8:30.”
“He had a late shift.”
“All right. Call me if he doesn’t show up and I’ll see if Nancy can come grab you.”
The last half of her sentence fades as one of the suits comes up to the bar to order another round. I don’t have to glance over to realize it’s him. He’s two stools down from me—far enough away that it isn’t presumptuous, but close enough to send a message.
“Okay, I gotta go,” I say, already pulling the phone away from my ear.
“Love you,” she says, just before I hang up.
I drop my phone on the bar as the suit finally speaks.
“Can I get two Dos Equis with lime and two Bud Lights?”
His voice sends a warm shiver down my spine. It’s smooth and refined, no hint of a twang.
The bartender grunts and starts reaching for beers so he can pop the tops.
I glance to my left just enough to see that the suit is checking out my shot glass full of cherries with narrowed eyes. It dawns on me that he probably thinks I’m underage.
“I’ll take a Dos Equis too,” I blurt out suddenly, without thought. Apparently, my pride is worth the five bucks the beer will cost me, though that’s nearly an hour’s wage. An hour of scrubbing toilets and making beds and trying to avoid weird stains left by weird people, all gone because of a childish impulse.
I don’t want a beer, but now I have no choice because the bartender’s already popping the top and reaching for limes.
Country music plays softly, filling the silence that stretches between me and the suit. If he’s going to make a move, this is his time to do it.
I hold my breath, waiting for him to turn fully toward me and say something charming. I’ve heard a lot of opening lines from a lot of men in this town, nearly all of them unwelcome. It’s got me curious to see what this guy has to offer. Surely he’d be better. Surely he knows how to make a woman forget about her troubles, even if just for the night.
I peer over at him from beneath my lashes. He’s taken off his suit jacket, and his white collared shirt is rolled up to reveal his muscled forearms. His shiny silver watch winks at me under the hazy bar lights. Its dark brown leather strap is a good disguise, but I still recognize its value—likely more than the car I’m trying desperately to fix or even the trailer my mom inherited from her father that we’ve lived in my whole life.
That damn watch is a sucker punch to my gut after the day I’ve had, a visual representation of how different life is for some people.