Overnight Sensation(75)

“You hang in there,” Jana says. “Gotta jump! The spa manager is giving me the stink eye for using my phone in here. And it’s time for my full-body facial.”

I let out a little sigh, just picturing it. What I wouldn’t give for a day at the spa right now. “Enjoy!” I tell her. “Toodles!”

After we hang up, I hurry down the shiny hallway floorboards and into the executive suite. But instead of continuing into Rebecca’s office, I skid to a stop right in front of the reception desk where Rebecca used to sit.

There’s someone else sitting at it now. A stranger.

My pulse jumps and not in a good way. I’m staring down at a young woman with a shiny manicure, a crisply tailored suit, and perfect hair. There’s something familiar about her. Oh wait—that’s because she reminds me of me. Last year I was the glowing young intern who always showed up for work after a good night’s sleep and with perfect grooming.

She’s me, only without the exhaustion from a month of petty humiliations. And what the heck is she doing at this desk? “Can I help you?” I ask her.

The girl looks up at me, startled. “I’m pretty sure that’s my line.”

“Who are you?” I demand.

“Again, I’m the one who’s supposed to ask those kinds of—”

“Heidi Jo!” Rebecca interrupts by calling to me from within the owner’s office. “Come right in.”

I give the newcomer a searing look and then march toward Becca’s office. “Hi,” I say stiffly. “Did you already hire someone for—” I jerk my thumb toward the outer office.

“She’s a temp,” Rebecca says kindly. “It’s a rent-to-own situation.”

“But I want a shot at that position.” That’s my job! I want to scream. “How much more experience could she have than me?” My voice gets high and squeaky when I’m upset.

“I understand,” Rebecca says. “Nothing’s been decided. But I can’t leave that desk empty for months. And your father sent me an email demanding that you work through your internship jobs for an additional ten weeks.”

“He’s being irrational,” I argue. “I’ll calm him down and make him understand.”

“Okay. Let me know how that goes.” She gestures towards a chair. “You said you needed to talk about the Ice Girls’ gig?”

“You bet.” I plunk down and face her. “Randy Cavanaugh is—to use a technical term—a dick weasel.”

Rebecca flinches. “I don’t enjoy his company, either. And if his behavior is unprofessional, I’m going to need specifics. Start at the beginning.”

So I do. I give Becca chapter and verse about the tiny uniform and the arctic breeze that turns my toes to popsicles as we greet the fans before the game. “‘Welcome sir! Here is my cleavage for your viewing pleasure. Ignore the blue tint of my skin! Beer is half-priced until warmups begin. Now retrieve your eyes from my ass and have a pleasant day!’”

Becca claps a hand over her mouth and tries to suppress her giggle. “I’m sorry to laugh, but you are a cutup.”

“I don’t see how it’s legal to freeze me.”

“It’s not.” She shakes her head. “There was no reason to change the uniform. Last year they wore long black spandex tights and long-sleeved tops. They were still low cut and bare at the tummy.” Becca rolls her eyes. “But they had to be warmer, more practical.”

“If the team had matching warmup gear, it could still work,” I point out. “But he has us dressed the same as his dance team, even when we’re just standing around shivering.”

“You’re right. What else?”

I hesitate. “Where did the new guy come from, anyway? There’s just something off about him generally. I know this is unhelpfully vague, but he took this girl named Amber aside last night, and afterward she was crying.”

Becca’s eyes widen. “Did you ask her why?”

I shake my head.

“Well.” Becca looks thoughtful. “If Amber was late for work six nights in a row, he might have simply delivered a well-deserved warning. Or he could be a horrible man asking for sexual favors.”

I can’t even hide my shudder.

The boss taps the tips of her fingers together. “Listen, I have an idea. You are under absolutely no obligation to do this, though.”

“What is it?”

“Let’s keep you on the Ice Girls team for longer than this week. We’ll work in your other jobs around it. I’d want you to pretend to be really invested in advancement—tell Cavanaugh that you want to try out for the dance team. Tell him you’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Goodness!” I gasp. I’m afraid to know what it takes.

“Let me be clear,” Rebecca adds. “You are not to endanger yourself in any way, or to do anything that makes you truly uncomfortable. And meanwhile, you’re going to collect evidence to support the fact that he’s mistreating his employees. Buy a thermometer and record how cold it is where you’re standing. If he touches the girls, take a photo.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “Hiding my phone is going to be tricky. The skirt is about four inches long. No pockets.”