Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Marley
How the hell is a bag of apples nearly ten dollars?
All the money I have for groceries this week is a crumpled up twenty-dollar bill that I happened to find in my jacket pocket.
Being in the city, paired with inflation and a barely-pays-anything dancer’s salary, is a lethal combination.
At this rate, I’ll have to hope my body can survive on tap water and a ten-pack of instant noodles for the next several days.
Two weeks have passed without hearing anything back from Prescott Investment Corp.
After getting caught taking mints by the CEO, I haven’t had much hope I’d land the job anyways.
It’s not much of a surprise considering I never expected them to want to hire me in the first place.
I’m sure they hired one of those dweebs with the briefcase and shiny resume instead.
Noah has sworn up and down that the delay is because they haven’t officially decided. But fourteen days is an awfully long time in the fast-paced business world.
I stand in line to check out my value pack of store-brand noodles, when the lady ahead of me breaks out into tears.
The baby on her hip is splotchy-faced and wailing.
The only items she’s purchasing are a small canister of formula and a few jars of baby food.
When the snooty clerk informs the young mother that her formula isn’t covered by WIC, you can physically see the cracks of desperation seeping through the woman’s pores.
The mother pleads with the worker that her baby is hungry and asks if there’s any other way to get her two items. But times are fucking tough, and you can tell this exact scenario with other customers has hardened him to having even a drop of sympathy.
The crotchety silver-haired man points to the exit and tells the mother to take it up with the welfare office.
At this point, the mother looks like she’s lost all hope.
Her shoulders sag as she begins to pack away her wallet, both she and her child in tears now.
Everyone in line avoids eye contact when she looks back at us, the situation almost too painful to swallow, even though none of us are living her reality.
I really wanted one of these cups of noodles, but what kind of person lets a baby starve?
Apparently, everyone else in line at this grocery store will.
Or, perhaps, they’re in the same exact place as she is.
Everyone barely surviving, scraping by because it’s all we can do until the next paycheck rolls through.
Right before the cashier cancels out the woman’s transaction, I slip the woman my single twenty-dollar bill.
It barely covers her amount, but it’s enough with a few cents to spare.
She looks at me, tears streaming down her face, asking if I’m sure.
My stomach would disagree with me, but I nod, a confident smile on my face like this isn’t my only food for the week.
I tell her I’m absolutely sure. The woman thanks me so much that I wish I could have anonymously donated to her instead.
Even the baby stops crying, looking at me with wide, wondrous eyes like she knows I caved, all for her.
In general, I’m not a good Samaritan. I don’t need recognition or any type of praise. But the look on their faces, like maybe, possibly, there’s some hope for humanity, leaves an airy feeling in my chest.
That is, until I leave the store empty-handed.
Then suddenly, that lightness is quickly replaced with a deep pang of hunger.
The next morning my phone rings, Noah’s name flashing on the screen.
Throwing a fresh leotard and change of clothes into my dance bag, I answer. “What’s up, doofus?”
“You didn’t hear it from me. But you got the job, Marley. You got the fucking job!” he whispers excitedly from the other end.
“You’re kidding,” I reply.
I’m stunned. I got the job? Are they insane? This has to absolutely be Noah’s doing. I’m hands down the least qualified person they interviewed. Or maybe it’s because all the other candidates have already quit by now.
“I am not kidding. I repeat, not kidding. They pulled me into HR this morning to ensure it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest by having you work there since we’re related and all. I won’t be your supervisor, so they went ahead and approved hiring you.”
Holding the phone between my ear and shoulder, I fumble to slip on my shoes, my fingers stumbling over the laces. “So, who’s my supervisor then? Are they nice?” I haven’t been told anything except that my role will be as someone’s assistant.
Noah, for once in his goddamn life, is silent. The kind of silence that has me freezing mid-tug on my shoes, dread already creeping in. He clears his throat, the sound stretching out painfully. Finally, he mutters, “You’ll be working for Theo.”
“I know I’ll be working for him. He owns the company, after all. I mean, who exactly will I be assisting?”
“Marley, you’ll be his assistant.”
My heart drops. “I’m not going to survive five minutes with him. He’s been wanting to fire me since before I even knew the job existed.”
“I know, I know. But he can’t fire you. Someone else high up will technically be in charge of your employment. He’s on some sort of firing freeze. So, he’ll just have to deal with it.”
“This is bad, Noah. Really fucking bad.”
“He’s not that horrible. He’s … misunderstood.”
“Is that what all twenty of his assistants that he fired last year said too?”
“No. They had much more colorful language to describe him.”
I sigh. “He better not be a creep. That would just be the cherry on top, wouldn’t it?”
I can hear his eyes rolling through the phone. “Theo would never. You’ll be lucky if he even attempts to say more than three sentences to you. Plus, he’s got a very strict no-fraternizing policy. He just expects a lot from people. He wants things done, and he wants them done well.”
“You’re telling this to the person who lied on their resume by saying I’m ‘extremely proficient’ in making spreadsheets. There is no possible way I can do the job well. I know I shouldn’t be telling you that, since you technically helped me get this job. But what the hell were we thinking?”
“We were thinking that a $100,000 salary would get you out of that shithole you’re currently living in with your mother.”
He’s got a point. I’d do nearly anything for that amount of money. Even if it means working for the devil incarnate himself.