Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 129986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
He watches me for a few more seconds, but since he thinks I’ve ceded to his ridiculous demands of my time, this time, he drives away.
___
“Thanks for covering tonight.”
“No problem,” I tell the manager as she heads to the office to retrieve her things. She asked me to come to the office with her, so I figure she has some paperwork to show me since I’m closing on a night I normally don’t.
“I need you to sign this,” she says, grabbing a white sheet of paper and handing it to me along with a pen.
I take the pen and scan the page before I sign it. My heart sinks into my stomach when I see it’s an employee write-up form. “What is this?”
“It’s just a formality,” she assures me. “You’ve never been in trouble before so it’s literally nothing to worry about.”
My heart races faster and faster as I skim the “employee warning” form. There’s a box for me to write a statement and give my side of things, but I’ve literally never been in trouble for anything before, so that doesn’t make me feel any better. I’ve never had a detention or a speeding ticket. I’ve damn sure never gotten in trouble at work.
Scanning what she wrote on the report, I see this is about the day Anae came in and tried to return a shirt we didn’t sell here. She called to complain, which I knew she would, but that’s why I gave her a heads-up.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, Stacey,” I state.
“I know,” she says, her tone appeasing. “Don’t be upset about it, honestly. But I had to do something on paper, just to make it look like you were scolded. Her mom spends a fortune here. I can’t afford to lose her as a customer. It’s rich people problems, but we have to dance when they pull the strings, don’t we?”
She’s trying to joke around with me, but I’m pissed.
“I’m not signing this,” I say, putting the paper down and dropping the pen on top. “If I sign this, I’m acknowledging wrongdoing. I did my job. What? You wanted me to make up an amount and give her store credit just so she didn’t throw a fit? That’s crazy.”
“Welcome to life as a small business owner,” she says, throwing her lip balm into her bag and grabbing her iced coffee. “I’m not excited about it, either, but I didn’t have a choice. The customer is always right, you know?”
“No, they’re not,” I state. “Sometimes, the customer is batshit crazy.”
She cracks a smile. “That’s so true. Just sign the paper so I can file it away, okay? Then we never have to think about this again. If you don’t sign it, I’ll still file the paperwork, it just won’t have your side of the story.”
This is complete and utter bullshit, but I’m not going to pass up the chance to defend myself. I angrily jot down my explanation for not doing the return on the shirt that was not purchased here and note that I was perfectly nice and even the customer behind her was shooting me sympathetic looks because of the unwarranted fit Anae was throwing.
Stacey thanks me, but I’m so annoyed, I don’t even want to talk to her. I can’t believe she’s chucking me beneath the wheels of the bus just because Anae’s mom made a call.
I don’t know why shit like this still surprises me. It’s how things work around here. A rich kid wants something, so the world bends and bows to see that they get it.
I don’t usually go on my phone while I’m at work, but being disciplined for not doing a damn thing wrong has drained me of the desire to go above and beyond tonight. Typically, I would straighten things and do what I could to put tomorrow’s opening crew ahead. Tonight, I stay behind the register, lean against the counter, and scroll through social media while the store is empty.
On impulse, I pull up Anae’s account. I don’t follow her, of course, but her stuff is public so anyone can see it. I don’t know why I’m surprised to see a picture posted from just a few minutes ago—the beach at dusk with a roaring fire and a bunch of their friends gathered around it—but I guess since Dare asked me to come to that bonfire tonight, I took that to mean she wouldn’t be there.
I have no interest in being anyone’s side piece anyway, but it seems like you shouldn’t invite some girl you’ve decided to start paying weird attention to, to the same bonfire your girlfriend will be at.
Maybe it should be reassuring. Whatever has compelled him to start paying attention to me, maybe it’s innocent. I can’t picture that word and Chase Darington in the same sentence, but the shady thing to do would be to keep us apart.