Grave Mistakes (Hellgate Guardians #1)(4)
“The Perdition Estate is very motivated to keep the graveyard gate secure, as I’m sure you can imagine. Hence the very generous package they’ve put together for future team members. The hours are from dusk until dawn, which means they will vary depending on the time of year,” Ms. Atwood tells me. “Your job would be to keep trespassers off the property and to escort any authorized visitors to and from the gate; although, the latter would be a very rare occurrence. We’ll trust that you’ll do whatever needs to be done to keep everything safe and secure. The only other thing we ask is that if there is an incident, you use the radio to contact the estate. For obvious reasons, we don’t want you to contact the authorities.”
I look at Ms. Atwood curiously. Obvious reasons?
She must read the question in my gray eyes, because she immediately addresses it. “We once had a previous team member who did that, and as you can imagine, it was a huge hassle. The estate has enough to deal with, and any member of the team needs to follow rank and report to their higher-ups. Let them handle issues that are above your pay grade,” she explains.
I nod in understanding. I suppose that makes sense. It’s very military-esque. Then again, this is a security job, so maybe this is par for the course. I want to ask more, but I also don’t want to give away that I might not be qualified for this job and lose this opportunity, so I keep my mouth shut.
Ms. Atwood studies me for a moment, and she brightens even more when I don’t express any concerns or objections to the no cops caveat. The thing is that doubt and questions are something rich people can afford, and I’m about as far from that status as someone can get. Not that I’ve ever been the kind of person to operate with much caution anyway. Fuck looking this gift horse in the mouth, I’m not even going to make eye contact with the neighing bitch.
This kind of money could make a huge difference for me, and it doesn’t require any extra schooling. I fucking hate school, which is why I’m a twenty-eight-year-old bartender. I’m a night owl who likes the hustle and bustle and gray area of working in a bar, and on good nights, the tips make the hard work worth it. This new job would lack the energy and activity that I’m used to, but I’d be an idiot to pass up something that, so far, seems easier and pays a hell of a lot more. All I have to do is guard a gate at a cemetery? I’m your girl.
Like Ms. Atwood can read the direction of my broke-ass thoughts, she immediately dives into the pay talk. “As mentioned on the site, the rate of pay is eighty dollars an hour…”
I cheer inside and try not to let out a relieved breath. I was a little worried that I would get here and they would say, “Whoops, that zero was a typo,” and then I’d have to go back to real life and quit daydreaming of what it would be like to make that kind of money and pull myself out of the pool of debt I’m barely treading water in.
“And benefits?” I blurt, sounding way too fucking eager.
She smiles kindly. “Absolutely. Full health, dental, and of course, accidental death and dismemberment benefits are included, along with hazard pay. If you note your Ring on the paperwork, then you’ll get full paid time off for any major celebrations and an additional month of PTO to be used throughout the year.”
I blink. “Okay, great.” Ring? Does she mean my marital status?
“I assume you are permitted to reside here, yes? Because if you aren’t, that’s a problem.”
“Oh, yeah,” I answer quickly. “I’ve got my driver’s license if you want to see it?”
Ms. Atwood laughs. “You’re funny,” she says, shaking her head. “Is it contingent on anything, or do you have free rein? We always need to make sure.”
“Oh, I’m totally legal,” I assure her. “A citizen with free rein all the way.”
She smiles again. “Wonderful. Well, you do seem to be a diamond in the rough. We’re lucky you came in today.”
Surprise filters through me, but I don’t want to show it and make her reconsider. “Thank you.”
“You’d be required to work five days a week on a rotating schedule, and there may be opportunities to work overtime depending on the needs of the estate and your fit with the team. Would you be open to that?”
“My schedule is very flexible, and I’m always available to work on holidays,” I offer, because working on Christmas beats being alone, or worse, getting pity invites to someone’s house where you get a front row seat to how loved and happy their home life is. No thanks.
“That’s excellent to know,” Ms. Atwood beams. “So when can you start?”
I’m taken a little aback. Wait… That’s it? No tell us about yourself and why you think you’re worthy? No reference checks or drug tests? I swallow down the excitement that bubbles up in my chest and tap into the caution my mother always told me I needed to practice more of.
“Before I accept, I just want to be sure that there won’t be any kind of bait and switch type of scenarios here. I’m not going to show up and discover some webcam girl situation or find out that I have to partake in any other questionable activity like telemarketing or becoming an overly friendly Chick-fil-A order taker? Pretty sure they’re possessed by something, and I’m just not game to find out,” I add on a friendly yet suspicious chuckle.
Ms. Atwood laughs again, but it goes from a tinkling to a full belly laugh, and I have to stop myself from joining in, because it’s a tad contagious.