Page 33 of I Saw You First

“Oh, good,” Abbey says. “It’s in the ad next week. Are they scanned in? I’ll price them.”

I’m close enough that I can hear Sam slide the box over to her, then the click of the pricing gun as she changes the numbers to the correct amount. The gun snaps as she stickers the first one, then sets the CD on the desk. Snap, click. Snap, click. For a while, she doesn’t say anything, and I think maybe this mission is pointless and I won’t find out why she’s so upset.

“Sam,” she finally says, “how long have you worked for Hometown?”

A-ha. Let’s see where this leads.

“Eight? Nine years? I started as a part-timer when I was in high school, unloading trucks, doing carry-outs, stuff like that. That’s when I met Wil.”

“Did you go to college?”

“Yep. I got a degree in hospitality management. Figured I’d work at a hotel or a casino or something. But I like it here.”

“Are you on the fast track?”

He barks out a laugh. “I don’t want to be a manager.”

“Why not?”

“I like inventory. I’m good at what I do. It’s a numbers game, and I like to win. None of this people business for me, dealing with feelings and shit.”

“Jeremy said they want to fast-track me,” she says. Something hesitant in her tone concerns me.

“I’m not surprised.”

“What if I don’t want to be fast-tracked?”

“What are you thinking? Do you want to go back to what you were doing before?”

Thank you, Sam.

“No. I mean maybe. Probably.”

Damn it.

“I just got promoted,” she continues, “and they gave me a measly five dollars more a week. I’d definitely make more money if I went back to a paper or magazine, and it’s what I went to school for. It’s kind of insulting, you know? Five dollars.”

“Believe me, I know. But hang in there. It gets better. The pay, I mean.”

There’s a long pause before Abbey continues. “What if… what if I think it’s… shady?”

“What do you mean? You think the fast track is shady?”

“I guess…” She pauses again and I can almost guarantee that Sam’s looking at her, patiently waiting for her to collect her thoughts. Finally, she continues. “Uh, recent events have made it hard for me… to trust… that this isn’t some… power move. Does that make sense?”

She must mean what happened with Tyrell the night of Cesar’s birthday party. I wonder if someone else here has harassed her. A flare of rage burns through me, hot and insistent. And something else, something unfamiliar. An urgent need to protect her.

But then another thought hits me—hard, like a gut punch. What if it’s me? What if Abbey thinks she needs protection… from me? What if I’ve upset her, said or done something to make her feel like she can’t trust me?

Oh, shit, like trying to buy her a margarita and queso. Maybe she thinks that was a power move, or a payoff for something. God, the same night that Tyrell spoke to her so disrespectfully, too.

“Hmm,” Sam says. “I can see where you might think that. Sometimes it seems like there’s a lot of favoritism around here,” he goes on, but she interrupts him.

“Seems like?”

“Okay, point taken. Yes, some of the managers play favorites.”

“What about Wil?”