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And then, right as the plates were being passed out, my phone buzzed again, and my heart jumped. I realized right away that this wasn’t the quick, zap-like buzz of a text. No, it was the longer buzz of a phone call. And then another, the another.
Was Sean calling to chat? Didn’t seem like his style. I set down my plate, excused myself, and took out my phone.
Stump. Great. Last person I wanted to talk to—basically the diametric opposite of how I felt about a Sean text.
“Mr. Stump!” I said. “Hi!”
It was hard to sound chipper, but I gave it my all.
“Shania. Need you to come in.”
OK, right to the point. Like Sean had been, but this sort of point was a lot less fun to get to.
“You need me to come in? But it’s my day off. Like, my always day off.”
“Jules got sick, some kind of stomach thing.”
Read: she got drunk the night before and was currently in bed hungover. I’d been on her Instagram page enough times to know what kind of shenanigans she was into.
“OK. But Jules is front desk. I’m a massage specialist.”
“I’m sure you’re more than capable of it. Just sit up front for a few hours and look pretty.”
“Glad to hear you think that’s within my skill set.” I couldn’t keep the frustration out of my voice.
“It’s only for five hours or so, nothing worth getting upset about.”
“It’s that I’m out with my friends doing some wedding planning stuff, and—“
“Listen. You want to tell me no, that’s your prerogative. But it might be something I keep in mind when I’m making next month’s schedule.”
Asshole—fucking asshole.
I sighed. “Fine. Let me tell them what’s going on.”
“Come in in whatever you’re wearing. I’m sure you look good enough in it for public-facing.”
And then he hung up. I let out a little squeal of frustration, catching the girls’ attention. When I explained, the ladies were bummed I was going to have to miss out on the rest of the day we’d planned together, and I left feeling like the worst maid of honor of all time. At least Katy was there to pick up my slack.
I let out another angry noise once I was back in my car. The nerve of that dick, calling me up on my day off to demand I come in and not even give a “thanks” in return. Not that I cared all that much whether or not Stump felt gratitude toward me—more that I was pissed off at how entitled he was, as if I should be thanking him for the chance to help out.
About twenty minutes later, I pulled into the back parking lot of Circus. The moment I killed the engine, another quick text buzz vibrated.
Sean.
“Well, if you need an expert opinion,” he said. “I’ve seen more than my share of episodes of the Great British Bake Off.”
I had a chuckle at the idea of Sean in his mansion curled up with a nice glass of red and getting really into some reality cooking show.
“Good to know,” I fired back, a smiley emoji attached to the end.
My eyes on the building, I hit send and got out of the car. Seconds later I was inside, the place empty except a couple of girls in the hall and Stump at the front desk, looking like the least hospitable front desk girl imaginable.
“Finally,” he growled, getting up.
“’Finally’? I got here as fast as I could.”
He heaved himself out of the chair, his face red from the exertion. “There it is again.”
“There what is again?”
“That attitude. The same one you gave to me on the phone.”
“Sorry,” I said, not all that sorry. “But you kind of called me in the middle of something, and I had to get away.”
He shook his head. “You’ve got some nerve.”
“Is that right?”
“Mhmm. I find out that you’re planning on becoming my competition, and I’m still nice enough to keep you working here.”
“Also because I’m one of the best massage therapists you’ve got.”
“I would’ve had a good mind to fire you on the spot,” he said. “But I didn’t. And instead of showing me some gratitude, some team-player spirit, you act put-upon when I ask you to pitch in.”
“I’m here fifty hours a week already, and—”
“Opening your own spa,” he said, shaking his head. It was a quick pivot, and something told me it had been on his mind for a while. “Really dumb idea.”
“Well, that’s your opinion.”
“And it’s the right opinion,” he said. “You have no idea what it takes to run a place like this.” He pointed to the desk. “Get to work. We’ve got some clients that need follow-ups, and I’ve got more than my share of business in the office.”
I was stunned. Stump had always had a bit of an attitude with me, but this was something else. It was like he was taking my plans very, very personally.
