Chapter Two
Dessi
Minutes later, I watched from my desk as Josephine left Ms. Burns’ office, her face flushed. Dejection weighed heavily on her shoulders, and even the most festive, red-checked flannel couldn’t hide their slump.
“Josephine!” I called out in a stage whisper, following in her footsteps as she veered to a corner where the pantry and restrooms were.
She turned, and I noticed her eyes were red-rimmed. I stepped close, taking in her scent of leather and pine—very comforting, very familiar.
“I’m sorry,” I said, sliding the door partially shut. “Are you okay? I know she was hard on you.”
“Yeah, I’m…” She swiped a palm over her face as though that would miraculously cure the flush from overtaking her neck. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”
“It’s been a hectic few weeks with the campaign.”
She glanced down at her fingers. They were flecked with white from powder from the safety gloves.
“We’re not equipped for it, Dessi. We didn’t expect the orders to more than double.”
“I know.” I placed a sympathetic palm on her shoulder. “I tried to speak to Ms. Burns about the unrealistic expectations she has for her employees but it’s like—”
“Talking to a damn wall,” she finished for me, pushing curls away from her forehead. “She wouldn’t know common sense if it bit her on the nose.”
I nodded in agreement.
“She increases the orders each year, too. We barely scraped by last time.” She shoved her hands into well-worn jeans. “And now… I doubt we’ll be able to make it. Even with the extra hands on board.”
“I wish there was something I could do,” I said earnestly. “I see how hard you work, Jo, and it’s simply not fair that you get berated for not meeting these quotas.”
My hand dropped as she shrugged. “Sometimes the paycheck isn’t worth it. Makes me wonder why I’m even here.”
“You’re here because the Distillery would never run as efficiently without you. You’ve been here for what—thirty years? That’s longer than Burnzilla’s reign of tyranny. In my eyes, you outrank her.”
Jo scoffed, but a little smile played at the corners of her lips. “You think so?”
“I know so.” I turned to the fridge and pulled out an ice-cold can of crisp soda. “I’d like to see her do your job for one day—hell, I’d like to see her in your shoes for one hour.”
Jo’s shoulders straightened as I spoke, her chin lifting with each word. The bruised expression she’d worn moments earlier began to fade, turning into something steadier.
“She’d never last,” I said, handing her the can. “Not without the expertise of someone like you. What would a pencil-pusher know about an honest day’s labor?”
Her chest swelled, the corners of her mouth twitching as each word landed exactly how it was supposed to.
Jo popped the can open and raised it to her lips, gulping quickly. Jo’s fondness for sodas—especially fruit-flavored ones—was legendary. She went through several cans a day and was often seen with a silver top sticking out of her apron pocket.
“Better?” I asked when she’d swilled half the can.
She breathed deeply, savoring the peachy flavor.
“A bit,” she said, her cheeks returning to their normal color. “Thank you. I needed this.”
“You do the best you can with the tools you have,” I said, softer this time. “Anyway, it’s just another few years until retirement, right?”
“Five,” she said, the corners of her eyes wrinkling pleasantly as she smiled. “Just five more to go.”
“It’ll pass in a flash.”
She gulped down the rest of the can and crushed it in her palm.
Her eyes were clear now, less red, and she even looked taller as she pitched the can into the bin.
Good. I hated that it had become my job to make people feel better after Burnzilla had torn them apart, but I found that I liked making people smile.
Things like this happened more than once a week.
I pressed another cold can into Jo’s hands and she bounded down the stairs with a wave and a smile.
My ass had barely touched the seat when my intercom buzzed.
“My office.”
The icy tone shattered the lingering warmth from Jo’s smile.
Fuck.
I forced myself to pick up my pen and notepad. A breath shuddered through my lungs before I stepped back into the dragon’s den.