Good Girl(8)

The company was founded by William Sutton.

Rhys's grandfather.

So.

So that makes him some kind of part-owner, doesn't it?

I'm getting fired. Totally getting fired. I'm in human resources and I propositioned my boss' boss' boss for sex. What is wrong with me? Seriously. I'm better than this. I'm not that kind of girl. I'm good! I dot the i's and I cross the t's! I pay my bills early. I recycle! I do not proposition my boss for sex. Ugh. I'm so gross.

I squeeze my eyes shut every time I remember the train wreck that was me attempting to flirt. My first week at my first job and I'm going to get fired. I spent the afternoon wondering if I should fire myself. Should I just go ahead and process the paperwork? We covered the company process for severing employment in training yesterday so I know how to do it.

I didn't know what to do. So instead I carried my mug of whatever latte down the hall to conference room 4C. I kept my eyes down as I sat through a meeting with my team about the training set to begin on Monday. With the resort opening soon, the front-of-house staff are scheduled to begin in waves over the next three weeks. Meaning endless paperwork. Endless W-4's and I-9's that need to be completed. Checklists a mile long multiplied by several thousand new hires who will all need to start at virtually the same time. Early enough to ensure they're trained to company standards, but not so early that we've employees on payroll before the doors open. Easy. I took notes on everything, my mind whirling with a legion of thoughts, not all of which were on state regulations and benefit meetings.

Then I slunk back to my desk, waiting for the ax to fall. I jumped every time anyone walked past my cube, expecting it to be Bethany with a sad smile on her face as she asked if she could have a word with me.

It didn't happen. I even stayed an extra half hour to give her every opportunity to fire me before the weekend. You know, in case she was running behind schedule? But eventually I noticed her office light was off, so I assumed she'd left and if I was getting fired it wasn't happening until Monday. I grabbed my handbag and left my dirty mug on my desk for the entire weekend because the thought of going back to the break room gave me post-traumatic stress. It caused me some stress to leave a dirty mug sitting on my desk too, but you gotta pick your battles.

Once I was safely locked in my car I texted Payton and told her I had errands to run and I'd be home in a few hours. I needed time in my happy place before I'd be ready to talk about this day.

Then I pulled up the Goodwill store finder for Greater Las Vegas from my phone. I realize it's not the usual happy place for a twenty-two-year-old, but I'm not the most usual of twenty-two-year-olds.

It only takes me a moment to realize I've moved to the holy land of Goodwill stores. There are so many of them! There were only a few near my parents' house back in Knoxville, but there's at least a dozen here! And what is this, a Goodwill outlet center? No way! Wait. Dang it. The outlet center is only open on weekdays during work hours. Well, at least I have something to look forward to when I get fired. I'll be able to shop at the Goodwill outlet center as much as I want.

There are two locations between work and my apartment. I plug in the address of the first and pull out of the parking garage onto Las Vegas Boulevard. My limited experience in this city is that traffic is always bad on the Strip, but luckily I've got less than a quarter-mile before I can cut over to Convention Center Drive and get out of this mess. Fifteen minutes later I'm pulling into a strip mall off of Maryland Parkway. I find a space near the door and survey the store from outside. It looks like a good one—sometimes you can just tell these things, you know?

I sigh as I turn off my car and lock it. It's so pretty here. I know most people don't think that about Vegas, but it is. Once you get off the Strip it's lovely, all palm trees and desert landscapes. I hope I get to stay. I haven't blown it. I hope I don't have to call my dads and tell them I'm moving back home.

I step through the automatic doors and breathe in the reassuring smell of mothballs and dust as I grab a cart. Of course I'll need a cart. I make note that the color of the week is blue, which means anything with a blue tag I get for fifty percent off. I tap my fingers on the cart handle as I survey the store before making my way to the first rack of adult clothing. The sizing doesn't really matter because I'm going to launder everything and tear it apart. I don't even particularly care if it's women's clothing. I've turned men's suits into all sorts of things. Scarves, handbags, a cape. Once I made a dress out of a suit jacket.

Sometimes I find a great piece, but mostly it's junk I have to wade through and rework. I enjoy it. I find it very satisfying to take something that's been discarded and rework it into something new.

My old Girl Trooper leader, Mrs. Barnes, taught me how to sew. It's not a skill most young women learn anymore. It hasn't been for some time, I suppose. I could use new fabric, but fabric is crazy expensive. Plus it's so much more fun to hunt for it, like a treasure. I exhale and start at the end of a row, quickly flipping through the hangers. The tiny screech they make as they slide against the metal bar calms me. Slide, slide, slide. Pause. Examine. Repeat. Three rows in, I'm in the zone. The stress of the day eases while I focus on nothing but checking labels and prices, eyeballing if an item will have enough usable fabric to do anything with.

I'm halfway through the women's clothing when I look up and spot the hanging rack of sheets. Old patterned sheets, folded and hanging from pants hangers. I abandon the clothing racks as an idea forms. Pajamas. I could cut up the flat sheets and make pajama bottoms. I could use the wide cuffs from the pillowcases and the top sheet on the hemline of the pants. I could make shorts with the smaller leftover. Heck, I bet I could get at least one pair of shorts, a pair of pants and even a spaghetti-strap tank top out of each sheet! I've got a pattern at home, and elastic and everything else I need. I can spend the entire weekend measuring and pinning and cutting and sewing.