Chapter 2 – Daisy
T ake this job and shove it.
Three weeks later
My fingers are cramped from the chill but I wish I had some paints and a canvas to capture the beautiful sunrise. “If only I had those colored pencils.”
“Ugh, it’s too early, Daisy. Get out and close that,” my tent-mate grumbles.
Rule Number One When You’re Temporarily Without a Permanent Dwelling – don’t wear out your welcome (even in a tent.)
“Thanks, Brella, for letting me…”
“Sure, sure. Keep your head up and watch out for trouble, girl.” She jerks the flap closed in my face after I’ve grabbed my satchel.
Rule Number Two? Never go anywhere without all your stuff.
Stamping my feet to warm them, I make my way through the encampment hiding in the hedges of a city park with a growling tummy. “Today, you’re getting a set of colored pencils and a coffee. That’s something,” I cheerily remind myself.
Just because you’re sitting at the bottom of a mountain doesn’t mean you can’t picture the view from the top, right?That’s what any artist does, even the starving, homeless variety.
Stopping at the local coffee shop, I inhale the scent of the season – pumpkin spice. This was a tradition among the Potter ladies. Mimi, Mom, Jewel and I would savor our pumpkin spice lattes every year on Mom’s birthday.
Back then, Mom or Mimi would pull out a credit card as though the expense were nothing. Now, I have been carefully collecting aluminum cans for cash to keep the tradition alive even if Jewel wouldn’t join me. I’ll tell Mimi about this later though and it may bring a smile.
“Paying customers only,” the balding manager behind the register barks before the bell above the door can even stop jingling. I feel like there’s an invisible sign hanging over my head as every eye turns my way. The girl standing beside him in her tidy dark blue apron blushes, embarrassed on my behalf while the other customers just as quickly look away from me.
“When your mere existence makes strangers feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, what does that say about you?” my twin sister Jewel loves to ask me.
“What does it say about them?” I always reply, pretending her words don’t wound any more than the looks do.
Yet today, I am undaunted. “One pumpkin spice latte, please,” I say, holding up my money.
Enjoying the first scalding sip, I pop into a nearby art store next where I buy the cheapest set of colored pencils that I can find. I’m all set to create later. But, first, it’s time to get to work so I stick the bag in my locker. Busy, busy in my janitorial career at Golden Gate Security Tech. Floors to mop, crumbs to sweep up, people to please.
“You’re nearly late, Potter,” Rusty barks when I rattle past the doorway of his tiny lair with my cart. I am never late and he knows it. The janitorial manager just likes messing with me because I’m the new girl. I’ve been here for two months. One more month and I’ll be out of trial-basis hell and Rusty will probably find another new girl to pick on.
“There’s an expression for that. It’s called being on time.” I see the hamster wheel spinning as I pair my words with a smile. Mimi often says, ‘smile more, it confuses mean-spirited people.’ Rusty is definitely mean-spirited and confused.
“No food on the job.” He is literally holding a bacon sandwich with the hand he’s using to point at my cup in the holder on the side of my cart.
“It’s just coffee and it’ll be gone in two minutes.”
“It better be,” he grouses.
I will savor this cup all day.
Exiting Rusty’s fiefdom, I head to my first cleaning stop, Mr. Reynolds’ department. The security guys are keeping an eye on me lately which is why I’m currently in tent-landia but they always have extra food around and I’ve been prodded enough to help myself that it no longer leaves me feeling as embarrassed.
Mr. Reynolds is more than a little scary (but in a hot way.) He also has a good heart. And, like a stray dog sniffing out who might give her a nibble and who’s just as likely to give her a kick, I’ve established a wary level of trust with him. “Good morning, Daisy. The sofa in that meeting room of mine was very neat this morning.”
“Was it now?” My cheeks burst with heat in a way the coffee shop manager could never make them. Unexpected kindness leaves me flustered and I think he knows I’ve been crashing in the building, on and off, since staying at Jewel’s became untenable. But, I don’t want his pity.
Luckily, his assistant draws his attention with a question and the Chief Security Officer gives me a final glance before he heads into his office while I’m left alone to clean.
And, left alone with bagels.
There’s a whole box full and just one, washed down with my pumpkin spice, will make this the best Monday morning I’ve had in a long time. Coffee cup in hand, my stomach gives an excited groan as I reach for the last cinnamon raisin bagel.
“What do you think you’re doing?” a sharp, male voice barks.
“Gahhh!” Whirling in surprise, I drop the bagel and… my pumpkin spice! How many toilets did I clean for that drink? It’s gone before I even got a second sip. It was still hot enough to leave the tops of my feet feeling blistered under my now-soaked sneakers.
Then, I behold the rest of my coffee catastrophe. My drink didn’t just get my sneakers. It’s now covering the crisp, tailored suit of Grant Barclay, the company’s Chief Financial Officer.
He’s quite dashing in that Mr. Darcy sort of way. Swoony brown eyes framed by thick black lashes. Dark hair that waves just a bit. Striking, strong features, tall with broad shoulders, impeccably dressed, reserved manners, and inevitably… rude .
Unlike Mr. Reynolds, this handsome billionaire seems far more likely to kick the hungry mutt at his feet. “I asked you a question. What were you doing? Were you stealing a bagel?”
“I wasn’t stealing it! I… Well, I wasn’t specifically invited to take one this time but-”
My stomach makes an embarrassingly loud rumbling noise, cutting off my protest. Mr. Barclay’s eyes narrow before he looks down at his soiled suit, shaking his head. “Ruined. And, what the hell did you fling on me? Five thousand dollars and it smells like a damned bakery now.” His nose crinkles up in distaste as if bakeries don’t smell absolutely yummy.
“Pumpkin spice latte,” I whisper, feeling that familiar stinging sensation in my eyes. It was one silly, little tradition to remember my mom’s birthday, something I had hoped to hang on to, even if I’m the only one still hanging on.
“Don’t you dare cry over spilled coffee.”
His gruff command snaps me out of my memories and his anger sparks my own. “Don’t you dare tell me how I’m allowed to feel.” His eyes widen - I suppose he’s not used to the peasants speaking out of turn - but my rebellious sense of victory is short lived.
“Potter, what have you done now?!” Horrified, I turn to see Rusty has joined us, no doubt checking to see if I’d disposed of my coffee. “Mr. Barclay, sir, I apologize. She was new…”
She was new.
Was.
Two months, not three. I’m still in my probationary period. He’s going to let me go. All because of pumpkin spice and hunger pains. What will I do about Mimi?
Rusty is blabbering on, sucking up while throwing me under the bus. Mr. Barclay stands tall and aloof, ready to kick both of the curs at his feet. One stupid indulgence is going to cost me the only positive thing I had going for me.
“If you’ll excuse me, my shoes are…”
With the tears threatening to spill, I quickly bolt for the door, leaving Rusty, my cleaning cart and Mr. Barclay far behind.
∞∞∞
“Daisies from my Daisy,” Mimi murmurs when I pass her the homely little bunch of wildflowers a couple of hours later. I told her I had a long lunch break today. Hopefully, she won’t question me further.
“I’m sorry they’re not anything special.” I’d picked them on the way here. She loves them and I don’t have the money to buy her nice ones from a florist.
“They’re perfect. Picked with love,” she says, affectionately.
My hair is still damp from the shower I took here as I gently pull the brush through her thinning gray hair. It was once long and lush and golden blonde like mine. “Are they treating you well here, Mimi?”
My grandmother shouldn’t be here. One cracked hip bone wouldn’t keep Mimi down for long but, a few years ago, a handsome young man appeared at her door one day and talked his way into her affections. We Potter ladies have a habit of falling for the wrong men. Before we knew it, he had talked her out of her retirement savings. The medical expenses drained what was left.
She hums without answering my question before she takes my hand in hers. “Do you like the dress? Ellie wore it to our last big summer party.” Her smile flickers at the mention of Mom. “It fits you perfectly.” She’d insisted I try it on today. She’s always trying to give me things.
“It’s lovely,” I admit, looking in the mirror. But, it’s certainly a summer party dress. In November, it looks almost… bridal.
“Good, it’s yours.” I don’t know how to tell her I haven’t much use for a pretty white sundress when there’s no way I can keep it clean in my already cramped satchel. “Here's the lovely headband that matches it. There now… perfect. Tell me about your new beau, Daisy. When I was your age, I always had a new beau.”
“I don’t have any beaux, Mimi,” I say, adjusting the tiara-style headband.
I don’t have a job either.
With dry eyes, I had walked out of the ladies’ room at Golden Gate to find Rusty waiting for me, telling me he didn’t want to fire me and he had a proposition for me. It was the same proposition I’ve refused before and not one I would agree to just to keep a job.
I doubt Mr. Barclay would care what became of the urchin who ruined his tailored suit but I could go to Mr. Reynolds perhaps. Except, after I rejected Rusty’s deal by tipping a trash can over his head and he’d called Security, I’m not sure it would do me any good.
“Fresh starts are around every corner, Daisy. You never know when you’ll meet that special man,” Mimi tells me.
I lay my head on her shoulder, wishing it were as simple as that. In my experience, men are disgusting pigs and nothing but trouble. With my Potter luck, I don’t expect that will change.
As I start to leave the shabby retirement home, I catch sight of the administration lady who’s always eager to collect my next paycheck. That’s a problem for another day so I duck out the side door, grateful for the escape and that’s when it hits me. I left my new pack of colored pencils in my locker at Golden Gate!
What’s Rule Number Two for if you don’t follow it, Daisy?
Nope, not crying again. Enough tears for one day. And, I’m getting those damn pencils back if I have to break in to do it.
Miraculously, my badge still works and I sneak into the janitorial locker room. My locker stands wide open and I find my pack of drawing pencils in the trash. Petty asshole. No matter. I pluck them out, tucking them into my satchel.
I’ve made it back outside when I see a familiar figure on the sidewalk in front of the building, pacing back and forth and scowling at his phone. He’s changed since I last saw him. Must be nice having spare five-thousand-dollar suits on hand.
I don’t know why I do it. I’m not even sure why my anger is all aimed at him instead of Rusty. I just know someone needs to hear me today instead of quickly looking away or being embarrassed by my mere existence.
“Nice suit,” I say in my best frosty witch voice as I stroll up to Grant Barclay. “Did your tailor make an emergency office call after you ruined my life?”
That scowl hits me full on as his gaze meets mine. Damn him for having such a hot scowling face. “Finally, here you are. And, I believe you were the one who threw your drink all over me.”
“Yeah, well…” Sheesh, he’s right about that. Why the hell did I come over here again? Oh, yeah. Angry, wounded woman. “What do you mean finally? And, if you hadn’t scared me after accusing me of stealing, that wouldn’t have happened.”
His scowl softens. Very slightly. “I’ll admit I was mistaken about the stealing. It’s Daisy, right? Daisy Potter?”
“Oh ho! His grace knows my name. Yeah, it’s Daisy and I’m a person the same as you, believe it or not. And, thanks to you-”
“Why are you dressed like that? Did you get married on your lunch break or something?”
The odd question cuts my flow. “No, I didn’t get married on my lunch break. It’s just a-”
“I have had your name in my ears for the past three hours. I sent for you to come to my office. You didn’t come.”
He sounds quite annoyed by the fact. And, he sent for me? Has Rusty been bitching about me this whole time? Surely, Mr. Barclay wouldn’t listen to anyone he didn’t want to for that long.
“I’m not here to answer your summons, my liege. I just wanted you to… I just wanted you to know that you can take this job and… and…” Dammit, I can’t even get the words out when I meant to sing them to him, just like that old Johnny Paycheck song.
But, my reality keeps flashing in front of my eyes - no home, no money, no prospects - and this rotten-souled billionaire couldn’t care less.
“Why are you out here looking for me anyway?”
“Because I told that man…” He snaps his fingers making a circular motion with his hand.
“Rusty?”
“Yes, yes,” he says, dismissively. “I told him I wished to speak with you and he said I could find you out here.”
“Ha, can’t believe he had the guts to say that to you.”
“What does that mean?”
“He meant you’d find me on the streets because he fired me.”
“He fired you?”
“Like you didn’t know he would after I soiled your precious suit,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Yet, my plans to vent my anger on Mr. Barclay have all evaporated. Might as well make my exit before he decides to press charges for desecrating his fine Italian silk and sue me for damages. It might take me into the next century to pay him back but I doubt that would stop him.
I turn to go when his hand clamps down on my wrist. “Wait, Daisy… what if I had a proposition for you?”
Another proposition, huh? I have had it up to here with men and their propositions.
Balls, meet my knee.