An Offer You Should Refuse
Griff
I hadn't planned to say it. But the longer we talked, the more it made sense. Call it a win-win.
She needed help. And me? I'd come to town with a list. It wasn't written down, but it was still there. Apologize. Get food. Find transportation.
I almost smiled. One down, two to go.
There was just one problem. She – Maisie – was eyeing me like I'd just suggested a conjugal visit with Shark Bike.
Then she started laughing.
I asked, "What's so funny?"
"Oh my God," she laughed. "For a second there, I thought you were serious."
I liked her laugh. The sound was warm and sweet like the first day of summer. "Who says I'm not?"
"Oh come on," she said. "I'm sure you didn't come here looking for work."
"True. But plans change."
"And even if you were serious – which I'm pretty sure you're not – it's not like I could afford you."
Normally, she'd be right. Not today.
"How do you know?" I asked. "You haven't heard my price."
She crossed her arms, giving me a skeptical once-over. "Okay. What's your price?"
I didn't blink. "For starters, a sandwich."
Her eyebrows drew together. "So you're asking me to make you a sandwich?" She looked around like she half-expected someone to jump out and yell gotcha . "I mean…I would, since you did me a favor, but I'm pretty sure you're joking."
"Nope."
She stared at me for a beat. "Oh. Well…I don't have a fridge here, but – "
"Not for the favor," I clarified. "I already told you we're even. The sandwich would be part of my pay."
She squinted up at me. "So you're telling me…you'll work for food?"
I nodded. "That's what I'm telling you."
"Oh, come on. You can't be that desperate."
"Can't I?"
She blinked, and I could see her trying to decide if this was an elaborate joke or a strange cry for help.
While she was thinking, I added, "I'd also need transportation."
Her eyes filled with mischief as a horse-drawn carriage clattered past. With a twitch of her lips, she asked, "You mean like a horse?"
I gave her a look. "You got a horse?"
"No," she said, looking ready to laugh. "I'm just making a point."
"Which is…?"
"I know you're joking."
"And I know I'm not."
She hesitated. "Seriously?"
"Dead serious. But I'd still need transportation." I glanced toward the street. "And I'm no cowboy." The analogy didn't quite fit considering that every horse within sight was pulling a carriage. But the point remained. I wasn't about to saddle up – or sign on to feed something larger than myself.
Maisie asked, "So…you want a bike?"
"Not for keeps," I said. "Just to use."
"For how long?"
"We'll get to that later," I said. "But the way I see it, if I'm working at a bike shop, it's a decent perk. Cheap for you, nice for me. Call it a fair trade."
Her expression turned thoughtful. "So sandwiches and a bike."
"And a lock."
"For the bike?" She gave me a funny look. "You wouldn't need one."
Yeah, right . "And why's that?"
She gestured toward the sidewalk. "You see any locks on those?"
I looked. Sure enough, at least a dozen bikes were lined up outside the café across the street – not a lock in sight.
"Huh," I said, taking all of it in. "Is that normal?"
"Here, it is."
I was still eyeing the bikes. "Unbelievable."
"Or maybe you just think so, because you're used to the city."
I looked back to Maisie. "Who says I'm from the city?"
Her eyebrows lifted. "Are you saying you're not?"
I hadn't always been from the city, even if that's where I'd been living lately. I replied with a shrug and nothing else.
Her mouth quirked upward. "So you're not denying it?"
"Do I need to?"
With something like a snicker, she replied, "No. Some things are just obvious."
I gave her a long look. "Why do I get the feeling I was just insulted?"
This made her blush. It was cute as hell, even as she rushed to say, "I didn't mean it as an insult."
Cute save. Not convincing, but cute. Still, I refused to be sidetracked. "So? Am I hired?"
She stared up at me. "You're really serious?"
The longer we talked, the more serious I was. Up close, I could see the shadows under her eyes – not makeup shadows – real ones, the kind you got from too many late nights and not enough help.
I could change that – at least for a while.
But not forever.
Like I said, I was nobody's hero. I just needed food and a place to hang out. The fact that she needed help was only a bonus – good for her and for me.
For my part, the time would pass a lot quicker if I was busy.
But the time would pass. And then? Like a summer tourist, I'd be on my way.
I held up a finger. "One caveat." I paused to let it sink in. "It's temporary."
"How temporary?"
"A month."
She brightened. "A whole month?" She said it like a kid who'd just discovered candy came in bucket sizes. But then her expression turned wary. "But what if you don't like it?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
She looked around. "Well…it's not exactly a luxury establishment."
"Maybe I'm not a luxury guy." Sure, I'd learned to enjoy life's finer things, but that didn't mean I'd gone soft.
She bit her lip. "Well, you don't seem like one now , but…" She shrugged and never did finish the sentence.
I wasn't gonna let her off that easy. "But what?"
"Well…the first time I met you, I was pretty sure you worked on Wall Street."
Now that was a joke. So I did the only thing I could. I laughed.
It was her turn to ask, "What's so funny?"
"I've never been there."
She looked surprised. "You mean to Wall Street?"
"That's the one." Oh sure, I'd been to New York and a whole slew of other cities. But I wasn't a trading-floor kind of guy. "I hate to break it to you, but it's not my kind of place."
"Oh." She was silent for another beat before asking, "So, do you have a resume?"
"Nope." I smiled. "And if you want one, it's gonna cost you a lot more than food and borrowed wheels."
"How much more?"
Truth time. "Trust me, you can't afford it."
With an impish smile, she said, "You're awful cocky for someone looking for a job."
I felt my own lips twitch at the corners. "And you're awful curious for someone who needs help."
Again, color rose to her cheeks. "Yeah, but it's not like I'm desperate." It was a lie – a pretty one, but a lie nonetheless. I could see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice. She was desperate, even if she was too proud to admit it.
When I said nothing, she kept talking. "I mean, sure, I need to hire someone, but this is really strange."
I cocked an eyebrow. "Stranger than Shark Bike?"
"Definitely." Her fingers twisted the hem of her shirt. "Just tell me, you're not hiding from the police or anything, are you?"
The question was too na?ve to take seriously. "If I were, I wouldn't say."
She frowned. "Well, that's comforting."
Funny or not, I hadn't meant to worry her. "Trust me, I'm on nobody's wanted list."
She gave me a dubious look. "So you're harmless?"
I wouldn't go that far. I was no pussy. Still, I got the gist of her question. "Sure, why not?"
She studied my face. "That sounds like a dodge."
"Yeah, well…" I glanced around. "If someone's robbing the place, harmless isn't much help, is it?"
She made a scoffing sound. "We're not gonna get robbed."
"Good to know." I held her gaze. "So…am I hired?"
Something in her eyes flickered. It looked like hope with a dash of disbelief.
I kept my gaze locked on hers. "It's a real offer."
"Yeah, but why?" She tilted her head. "I mean, there's no training, no break room, no benefits package. And the hours aren't terrific. We're open six days a week…not that you'd have to work that."
I didn't have to. I wanted to. I had a whole month to kill, preferably away from the shithole that Ryder had stuffed me in. "Six is fine."
She blinked like she'd misheard. "Really?"
"Six, seven, whatever. I've got the time."
Judging from her face, she was still looking for the catch. "Tell me something. Do you even own a bike?"
I owned a bunch of them – just not the kind she thought. But why complicate things? "Sure. Just not here."
"But…do you know how to fix them?"
If she only knew . "I can manage."
"But there's a lot of grease," she said.
"So?"
"So…you'd probably ruin your shoes...or whatever."
I looked down at my basic black sneakers. If Ryder hadn't stuffed them into the duffel, I'd be shit out of luck – not because I was worried about ruined shoes, but because only a douche wore jeans with Italian loafers. "Don't worry, grease isn't a problem."
"And you really think you could handle it?"
"Me?" I shrugged. "I can handle anything."
She blew out a long, shaky breath. "If I ask you something, will you be honest?"
I knew a trap when I saw it, and I wasn't about to commit to anything until I heard more. "What's the question?"
"Why would you want to work here?" Her next words came out quieter. "I mean, if you're doing this out of pity – "
"Which I'm not."
She hesitated. "But why else would you?"
"Alright, you want the truth?"
She nodded.
"For reasons that I'm not gonna get into, I'm stuck here for a month. My place sucks, and I've got nearly no cash. If I help out here, I can kill time, earn some grub, and see some of the island. It's a good deal for both of us."
She didn't answer, but her eyes said it all. She wanted to say yes. She just didn't dare.
Apparently, she needed a push, and I was just the guy to give it. "Say yes." I smiled. "You know you want to."
She let out a soft chuckle. "I must be crazy, but…well, yes."