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“No. This is temporary. If you have a problem with it, you’re more than welcome to quit now. Save us both the hassle of firing you later.”
She cocks her head, those emerald eyes narrowing to slits. She thinks this is a challenge. A game.
If it is, I’ll make sure I win this time.
“No problem at all.”
The phone starts ringing as if it’s mocking her and I hide my amusement, turning away to head out the side door and into the garage. The guys should be here any moment.
“Have a good day,” I pause, nodding to the phone that’s caked in years of dirt and grease. “And don’t forget to answer that.”
Hannah
“Can you repeat that, please?” I swear this phone is affecting my ability to hear clearly. It has enough prehistoric dirt and grease embedded in the receiver that it’s hard to tell if it’s a phone or an ode to uncleanliness.
This isnotwhat I signed up for. Part of me wanted to run for the hills this morning when Mason presented my “job”. The other, more stubborn half couldn’t let him win.
It’s a game to him. I know it. He wants me to quit.
I’m not going to make it easy on him. I’ll make him fire me before I ever give up.
I hope.
I mean, why can’t I clean? There’s so much dust in the office, I haven’t stopped sneezing since I sat down. The counter is piled high with what looks like every piece of paper Los Angeles has to offer and the lobby looks like a tomb for old, torn car magazines.
My skin itches to clean, but I also don’t want to get fired on my first day. Mason said not to touch anything, so apart from the phone and my one brave trek to the bathroom that ended in me chickening out — it was bad— I’ve sat right where he told me to, all day.
No one has come to check on me. Make sure I’m still alive and haven’t been devoured by a dust bunny yet. Not even Mason. I haven’t seen a soul all day and I think I’m starting to go stir crazy. Like the people on the phone aren’t real people and just a simulation to drive me to quit.
I wouldn’t put it past him.
I don’t even know why he hates me. Every time he looks at me, it’s like he’s thinking about how I personally wronged him. Like my breathing air is sucking the life from his lungs.
Like I’m a cockroach that needs to be exterminated.
Well, screw him. I have been nothing but polite, given the circumstances. He’s the one who cut all ties. He couldn’t even give me the decency of a politefuck youbefore he vanished.
Okay, Hannah . . . Let’s not rehashthoseold scars.
Believe me, if he wasn’t the single person who might be able to help me find Missy, I would have never bothered to come here, but . . . unfortunately, Mason Carpenter knows a little more than he lets on.
My first day ends five minutes after five when Mason stalks into the lobby without even looking at me and orders me to go home. Then, he promptly shuts his office door in my face.
He’s got a bad habit of that.
If I didn’t need his help so desperately, I wouldn’t have come back the next day, but I do, so I make sure to arrive ten minutes early, just like the day before.
Plus, nothing beat the satisfaction of seeing the disgruntled look on Mason’s face when he realized he hadn’t, in fact, won this little game we’re playing.
My second day’s a bit slower. A whole lot lonelier. Only so many people call an auto shop. One elderly man called three times to ask if his car was done before lunch, but I think he was just lonely.
Honestly, I didn’t mind.
Michael: When are you coming home?
I chuckle at my phone, rolling my eyes. Listen. I know it’s bad to text at work, but there are only so many ceiling tiles in the lobby and I’ve counted them enough times to know there are exactly twenty-two.
Sliding my phone behind a stack of papers that make it impossible to do anything else, I shoot him a quick text back.
