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“Riley, can I talk to you before you go?”
I worked hard not to show my annoyance. It was past midnight. My feet ached, my back hurt, I was covered in butter and bits of lobster shell, and I could still see the astonishment on Deacon’s face. I had my bag in my hand and was steps from freedom. I wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for twelve hours before I had to return to the Lobster Shack.
Instead, I pasted on a smile and turned around to smile at the manager. “Sure, Shannon. What’s up?”
“Come to my office,” she said.
My smile faltered, and I followed her to the tiny office crammed at the back of the kitchen. The smell of lobster and butter assaulting my nose, I sat on the rusty folding chair she pointed to as she sank into the chair behind her desk and gave me a solemn look.
“Did I do something wrong, Shannon?” I asked.
“No, no,” she said. “Nothing like that. You’ve been a great server for the last two weeks, Riley.”
I relaxed against the chair. “Okay. For a second there, I thought you were firing me.”
She flinched, and I said, “Oh shit. You are firing me.”
“I don’t want to,” she said, “and it isn’t because of anything you’ve done. But the owner wants to cut costs, and since you were one of the last servers hired, we have to let you go.”
I stared blankly at her as she said hurriedly, “You’re not the only one. We’re also losing Jemma and Greg, too.”
“But… it’s so busy here,” I said.
“Tell me about it,” she said with a sigh. “Honestly, between you and me, we’ll be fucked once the three of you are gone, but the owner has no idea how to run a restaurant. He’s just looking at costs.”
I chewed at my bottom lip, ignoring the stinging pain. “I really need this job. Could I maybe talk to him or -”
“No, I’m sorry. I hate to lose you, but he’s got it in his head that we have too many servers.” Shannon reached into her desk and handed me an envelope. “Here’s your last paycheque. If you need a reference for another server job, use my name, okay? I’ll give you a glowing one.”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Shannon.” I left her office, walking slowly through the kitchen as I took off my ridiculous hat. I stared at it before setting it on the counter and walking out.
* * *
I parked in my spot and shut off the car before staring blankly at my apartment building. It was after midnight and freezing, and sitting in the car as it slowly got colder wasn’t smart.
But I felt nearly glued to the seat by the weight of my anxiety and the thought that tomorrow, I would be back on the job hunt again. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. Maybe this time, I could find a job where I didn’t have to wear a fucking lobster on my head.
My cheeks burned as I thought about Deacon standing in the Lobster Shack. The look on his face… fuck, I was embarrassed, and I hated that I was. There was nothing wrong with working there, and I didn’t have to feel ashamed that Mr. Money Bags saw me.
Why the hell did he even show up there?
Does it matter? Ask him on Monday if you have such a burning need to know. Right now, you need to get your ass inside and start looking for another job.
Yeah, I did, but not tonight. Tonight, I would have a bath in my dumb, too-small, and not nearly as nice as Deacon’s bathtub, tub, and drink that bottle of wine I’d been saving for a special occasion. In the morning, I would start applying for jobs.
Or you could email the Twisted Sisters. You busted your ass for two weeks, and all you got for it was a potentially permanent smell of butter on your skin and a rash from that cheap polyester shirt. It’s a fuck of a lot easier to be someone’s good girl. You know it is.
Maybe, but despite the coldness radiating from Deacon every time he was within ten feet of me, I couldn’t return to the agency. I couldn’t be someone else’s good girl. Not when every part of me wanted to belong to him and only -
I screamed at the knock on my window, the rush of adrenaline making me feel sick as my heart thumped way too fast. I rubbed at my chest, staring wide-eyed at Deacon standing next to my car.
My legs shaking, I shoved open the door and got out, grabbing the top of the car to steady myself. “What the hell, Deacon?”
“Hi,” he said.
“What are you doing here? It’s after midnight,” I said.
“I know. I was hoping to talk to you.”
