7 Birdie
BIRDIE
He said no. Just like that, it’s over? He didn’t even give me a chance to state my qualifications. I have references. I had a whole freaking speech planned! What the heck am I supposed to do now?
God, I’m so disappointed I could scream. I don’t fail at things. I can’t afford to. Only this time, he didn’t even give me a chance to try. Which is worse than failure! I hate myself for getting my hopes up about this. It’s my own freaking fault. When has hope ever worked for me in the past?
Jasper is still just standing there. He looks out the front shop window, watching Phoebe disappear into the crowd. “So, you two are really friends?”
“Yes.” My voice sounds hollow.
He slams the register shut with a rattling ding. “How the hell did that happen?”
“We found we had more in common than meets the eye,” I reply, trying to keep the bitterness from my tone. This man just crushed my last hope, and he wants to make small talk? “Phoebe’s been a good friend to me. Better that I deserve.”
“Why do you say that?”
Feeling far too vulnerable under his direct stare, I fold my arms across my middle. “Hire me and I’ll tell you.”
He just rolls his eyes before walking away.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
“If that’s Phoebe, you can tell her my answer is still no,” he calls over his shoulder.
It hurts less this time, hearing him say it. Clearly, this was never going to work. And why should I be bitter? I don’t want to work for someone so surly and rude.
Lies. Money is money and I need money. My stipend is so small that it takes every dime to see me from semester to semester.
With my little office packing job yesterday, my piggy bank went up to ninety-two dollars.
But a bus to Pier Three and the ferry tickets cost me fifteen.
I now have seventy-seven dollars to my name.
Oh, and there’s an unopened email in my phone saying it’s time to move out of my dorm.
Homeless with nowhere to go . . . for the third time in eight years.
No family will take me in. And I wouldn’t want them to.
I cut them off at sixteen and fled. Phoebe is my closest friend, and she’s trying to leave for the summer.
Maybe Lucky at the bar can hook me up with a couch to surf on while I figure things out.
God, this just sucks so much! It’s not fair! That fellowship was mine. Why am I such a lightning rod for this crap?
Jasper disappears into the back, and I slip the phone from my pocket, reading Phoebe’s text.
Phoebe: Sorry, Birds! Jasper really is a stubborn ass, but he likes you. Just keep kicking him *thumbs up emoji*
I groan, typing a quick response.
Birdie: I’m not gonna kick your uncle
No matter how much I might want to. But I’m not wearing my Doc Martens today. Ass-kicking just isn’t the same when you’re wearing ballet flats. Feeling my frustration simmering hotter, I add:
Birdie: And I won’t keep begging for this job
The jerk already got three pleases out of me, which is two more than most people get. He’s a shop owner, not my freaking pleasure dom.
My phone buzzes in my hand again.
Phoebe: That’s good! Don’t beg for the job. Demand it. You can break him!
Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I take a deep breath.
She’s right, I can do this. No taking no for an answer.
I walk through the back of the shop in search of my new boss.
The side door leading out to the alley is open.
Just as I’m about to step out, Jasper comes in carrying a wooden crate full of bath products in glass bottles.
Spying me, he grunts. “Still here?”
“Phoebe’s not back yet. Want her to bring you a coffee too?”
Ignoring my question, he walks past me. Setting the wooden crate on the floor in the bath section, he starts restocking the shelves.
I watch him for a minute. “Do you make all the products yourself?”
“Some, not all.”
Cool. Good talk.
After another minute, it’s clear that if I don’t speak, we’ll both live in silence forever. Before I can give myself a reason to chicken out, I step forward. “Here, let me do that. I’ll officially start on Monday, but I don’t mind helping out just for today.”
Rising slowly to his feet, he holds a bottle of lavender mint lotion in either hand and glares at me. A muscle ticks in his jaw.
Ooo, I think we might be getting somewhere.
“You heard me say no, right? Pretty sure I said it twice.”
“And I said please three times. Did you hear me?” Offering him my most innocent smile, I bat my lashes and wait.
God, I can feel him calculating, trying to take the measure of me. “It’s not personal,” he finally says. Breaking our gaze, he fumbles the bottles to the shelf and ducks down to grab more.
“Yes, it is.”
He stills, not looking up, hands gripping the sides of the wooden crate. “What?”
I glance around, taking in the beauty of this shop—the plants meticulously cared for, the teas he personally blends, the soaps and lotions, all handmade. “This shop is your life. It’s your home, your family legacy, your beating heart. What could be more personal?”
Slowly, he stands. Those steely grey eyes stare me down. Right when I think he’s about to tell me to leave, he surprises me with, “What do you know about tarot reading?”
A fragile seed of hope roots in me like a weed. I can’t bear to give it an ounce of sunlight. But this is my last chance. “Almost nothing. Phoebe was giving me a crash course at brunch. And I can study,” I quickly add. “I’m good at that. I’ll read every book, watch every tutorial.”
He just shakes his head. “Tarot reading doesn’t come from the head. It comes from here.” Reaching out, he taps my chest, right over where my heart races.
“You could show me,” I offer. “I’m sure I’ll get a better feel for it if I watch you do it a few times. And I’ll practice.” Why is he still shaking his head? “Jasper, please—”
God, I hate that I said it a fourth time. This can’t be the only job worth having on this island, right?
After a moment, he sighs. “Come on.” Leaving the crate on the floor, he walks back over to the counter and opens one of the drawers. Inside, I see a collection of card decks. Standing back, he points to the open drawer. “Pick one.”
“What?”
“If you have any talent for tarot reading, we’ll soon find out.”
“You want me to give you a reading?”
He nods.
Okay, I can do this. Focus, Birdie. You’re good at tests.
I pull out the first deck I can wrap my fingers around. The cards are blue, patterned with a floral design on the back. Holding up the cards, I smile at him. “Would you mind stepping around to the other side of the counter? It’s employees only behind the register.”
Fighting his own amusement, he steps around the counter.
I shuffle the cards, my mind racing as I try to remember everything Phoebe just tried to cram into my head about tarot over brunch. Seventy-eight cards. Four suits. Major and minor arcana. Pentacles, swords, cups, wands. Something about the cards presenting upside-down.
Oh god, I’m so completely screwed.
“Okay,” I say in my most soothing spa voice. “We’re going to do a one-card pull for you today. Is there any particular question you’d like to ask the universe?”
Rolling his eyes, Jasper crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Yes.”
“Perfect,” I chime, still shuffling. “So, what I’d like you to do is think about that question. Quiet your thoughts as best you can until only that single question sits foremost in your mind.”
“I’m thinking of the question, Birdie. Get on with it.”
See, this is why I should always wear the Doc Martens. Ideal for kicking things. I hold my smile in place. “Okay, wonderful. And what’s the question you’d like to ask?”
Without hesitation, he says, “Who’s haunting me?”
My smile falls, along with my spa voice. “Seriously? That’s your question?”
“Are you judging my question?” There’s a hint of a tease in his eyes. “Not very open-minded of you. Perhaps I’ll take my business elsewhere.”
I slap the cards down. “Well, fine. Maybe you should.”
He stiffens. “What did you say?”
Oh, goodie, that little twitch in his jaw is back.
I slide the cards across the counter at him. “You know, if you’re not gonna give me a fair chance and ask a legitimate question then this is all fucked and I’m leaving. Have a great summer running this shop alone.”
“That was a legitimate question. Just get out of your own stubborn head and read the damn cards.”
I choke on my indignation, hand pressed flat to my chest. “I’m stubborn?”
“Read the cards, Birdie!”
“Fine!” Placing both hands palm-flat on the counter, I lean over and unleash.
“You want me to use my heart and read you? Well, my heart says you’re a dick, Jasper Prescott.
You’re a broody, angsty, probably paranoid, completely controlling pain in the ass, and I am never working for you.
Keep your job and choke on it! And here—” Taking the top card off the deck, I slap it down on the counter between us. “This is who’s haunting you.”
His gaze drops to the counter, eyes widening in alarm.
Looking down, I swallow a gasp.
The card looking up at us is Death.