Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107561 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
By four thirty, things are starting to pick up, with the phone ringing fairly constantly and a second girl coming in for her shift. She throws a curious sort of look my way before heading behind the counter, where she and the girl, who seems to hate me, complain about how short-staffed they are. Meanwhile, here I sit, biting my tongue rather than reminding them that I’m sitting here, waiting to be interviewed. I could possibly help out with their problem.
By the time five o’clock hits, I’m ready to call it quits. It’s obvious this man has no intention of speaking to me, and as much as I want to barge into his office and ream him out for bringing me down here, I don’t have it in me. And who knows? People might talk. My name used to be fairly well-known. I might end up screwing myself out of the opportunity to find a job if word spreads that I caused a scene.
And oh, the way my mother would take it out on me.
I’m about to stand and approach the counter when the door to the office flies open. “Laney?”
“It’s Leni,” I offer with a faint smile. He only looks me up and down before turning away and heading into his office. Does that mean I’m supposed to follow him? After a few seconds of indecision, I force my feet to move, taking me in the direction of the open door.
He sits behind a tiny desk stacked high with papers and crumpled napkins. “So you’re looking for a job here?”
“Yes.” Is that a trick question?
“I’m looking back over your application here.” He leans in close to his laptop screen, squinting. “You don’t really have any experience.”
“That’s true. I was training for the Olympics, but an injury put a stop to that, so I didn’t have the opportunity to get an after-school job like a lot of people do.”
“So you don’t know anything about point-of-sale systems or food preparation.”
The way he looks at me makes my skin crawl, and now I wish I had worn something more than a tank top. His gaze hovers around my chest and doesn’t move until I fold my arms. “No, but everybody has to start somewhere, right? I’m a fast learner. And I just spent the past hour observing the girls out there. I can take orders, wipe down tables, and refill drinks. I’m willing to put in the work.”
When all he does is stroke his chin, I add, “I really need this job. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
That was a mistake. I see it immediately in the way his eyes light up. “Whatever it takes, huh? You better be careful. Some managers would take that the wrong way and get the wrong idea.”
Tears of rage threaten to fill my eyes, but I blink them back quickly. When I’m in a situation where I can’t scream, my body always wants to revert to crying. “Then I guess those aren’t the kind of managers I’d want to work for,” I grit out.
He pushes back from the desk, shaking his head as he makes a big deal of shuffling papers around. “I’m sorry, but you are not a good candidate. Thanks for coming in.”
That’s all he wanted? To get a look at me and see if I’d be willing to put up with his perverted ass? I practically launch myself out of the chair and waste no time bursting out onto the sidewalk, running along the businesses up and down the strip. I need a shower. Two showers. Scalding hot.
Terrific. Now what do I do? I guess I’ll go home, though the prospect fills me with about as much happiness as does the idea of working for a pig like the man I just interviewed with. There’s a bus stop up on the corner, a metal and glass shelter with benches. I’d rather sit on a bench and wait for the next bus than reach out and ask for a ride. I shudder to think of the hoops I’ll have to jump through for that. Besides, it’s been way more than an hour since Colt and Nix dropped me off. I’m sure they’re done working out by now and are probably home. Not that I particularly care about inconveniencing them, but I’m sure they will care very much and will find a way to take it out on me.
With that in mind, I duck beneath the shelter and take a seat before pulling out my phone to check the bus schedule. The one that runs closest to the house will still have me walking a few blocks, but that’s nothing.
“Dammit,” I whisper, checking the schedule again to make sure I’m not looking at the weekend version rather than the weekday. No, I’m in the right spot, and according to this, the last bus ran at five o’clock. If the jerk hadn’t kept me waiting all that time, this wouldn’t be a problem.