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I hate to admit it, but the guy wasgenerous. The order left me enough money to take the van in with plenty left over for other disasters.
I’m already eying a new computer and a few other neglected upgrades. Like lunch for everyone today.
Best thing of all, knowing he’s a rich, traveling jerkwad, I’ll never have to see his arrogant—and irritatingly attractive—face again.
Jake sighs in delight as he finishes his sandwich and uses his napkin to wipe his mouth. “That was awesome. So much better than my mom’s homemade sandwiches.”
The homemade sandwiches in question lie abandoned on one of the tables. Cling-wrapped and soggy, they’re possibly the least appetizing thing I’ve seen all day.
“Gross.” Emmy pulls a face.
“You’re telling me. Who thinks cream cheese and a pickle needs jelly on it?” He groans and lets his head flop down. “You’re a lifesaver, Junie.”
“Speaking of saving lives, it’s time for me to get back to the accounts.”
“That,” Emmy says firmly, “is the least lifesavey thing I’ve ever heard.”
I ruffle her hair as I pass. She’s a good kid.
Most businesses claim they’re a family, but this place reallyfeelslike it sometimes. Sarah and Jake are busy saving up for college; Emmy’s trying to get her art career off the ground and working part-time to cover costs, and then there’s me, desperately holding it all together.
The computer whines to life with less complaining than usual today. When I open the dreaded spreadsheets, they don’t feel so miserable after all.
In fact, I almost feel—
Okay,lightmight be an exaggeration. But when I look up at the pictures of Nana on the walls and the way the store was back when she was kicking butt, I feel like less of a failure.
I’ve almost had enough time to settle into the accounts and start crunching numbers for real when Emmy knocks on the door I’ve left cracked open.
“Junie,” she says hesitantly.
“What’s up? Didn’t I say I have a hot date with a calculator?” I call back, trying not to groan. I’mso closeto finishing this quarterly crap and being able to focus on something besides profit margins and expenses that finally have a shred of breathing space. “This better be important.”
“It’s him. The guy from a couple of days ago…” she says too quietly. Her blue eyes are hesitant as she looks up at me. “You know. Big Fish.”
Oh my God.
It’s crazy that with justoneridiculously bear-sized order and awful attitude, they’ve given him a nickname.
“Shit.” I thread my fingers through my hair, tugging the resistant strands out and staring at them, red and worn in my grip.
Why the hell is he back?
Did he realize he grossly overtipped and now he’s here to correct the error?
Holy crap, no. My stomach knots.
But what if it’s even worse? If the food somehow made his big boss sick…
I do the calculations in my head.
It was three days ago now when I presented the food to this man with all the pomp of a Roman emperor. Plenty of time for his big boss to get sick and for him to take the brunt of the abuse—and to figure out how to make my life miserable.
“I don’t suppose you can tell him I’m out?” I ask.
Of course, I can’t ask her to hide me.
Letting her or Jake deal with him wouldn’t be fair or wise. Even if it’s amazingly tempting right now.
