Chapter 14
ZOEY
“So you’re saying I’m running the entire operation by myself?”
I sit back in the chair, arms casually crossed over my chest as I try to keep my tone neutral even though the answer feels obvious from everything I’ve already seen.
Lyric sits behind the desk in the office at Death’s Door, and he seems relaxed but in control.
Zombie leans against the wall near the window, and Boondock, who was introduced as the club’s treasurer, flips through a folder like he’s double-checking numbers he probably knows by heart.
Then there’s Whiz.
He’s off to the side, wearing an expression that screams ‘I’d rather be anywhere else’ and looking extremely intimidating. He’s silently watching, and his silence is louder than anything else in the room.
“Yes,” Lyric says finally. “That’s the job.”
“Full prep, embalming, cremations, service coordination, int—”
“All of it,” Boondock says without looking up, tapping the folder with his finger. “Which brings us to this part.”
He hands me a contract. “Pay structure. Flat salary, housing included, plus bonuses depending on volume. Log everything and submit it to me weekly. I don’t care how you run your space as long as the numbers match.”
I scan the page quickly, and it takes everything in me not to react to the salary.
It’s more than I expected, especially since there’s only been Undertaker’s funeral since I arrived and no mention or hint of more.
Granted, the number isn’t astronomical, but it’s enough to tell me this isn’t a casual operation.
“Questions?” Boondock asks.
“Not about pay,” I reply, setting the paper down.
“Good,” he says. “I think that about covers it.”
Zombie snorts, pushing off the wall. “Yeah, right.”
“It doesn’t cover it?” I ask, glancing between them.
Lyric leans forward slightly, folding his hands on the desk. “There are some additional expectations you need to be clear on.”
“Based on my less than standard interview, I assumed there would be,” I say.
His gaze holds mine. “We’re a one-percent club, Zoey. That means not everything that comes through Death’s Door is going to be… standard. If there’s information you need, you’ll have it, but for the most part, when something comes in, it gets handled, and that’s the end of it.”
“In other words, you’re telling me I’m expected to look the other way,” I say.
“I’m telling you that discretion and a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy isn’t optional,” Lyric replies evenly.
“Fine, but that won’t affect the level of care I provide to the deceased and their loved ones,” I say after a second. “I refuse to compromise on that.”
“Good,” Lyric says immediately. “We don’t expect you to.”
“Then we won’t have a problem.”
Boondock exhales like he was worried that part of this meeting would go a completely different way. “Perfect. Love a clean agreement.” He hands me a pen. “Now, if you could just sign the damn contract so I can get outta here, that’d be great.”
After I sign, there’s a lull in conversation, the kind of pause that screams ‘we’re done here’. Zombie straightens, pushing himself fully off the wall, and Boondock gathers his paperwork without another word.
Lyric stands and reaches across the desk to shake my hand. “That’s it. You’re good to go.”
“I’ve got one question,” I say, keeping my grip firm.
“What’s that?”
“Will I have any staff?”
You’d think I pulled the pin out of a hand-grenade with the way everyone freezes. Zombie glances at me. Boondock pauses mid-stride to the door, and Lyrics gaze shifts… to Whiz.
I follow it without thinking.
Whiz doesn’t move, and his expression doesn’t change from what I can only assume is boredom. But his posture goes rigid, like he knows what’s coming.
“You’ll need assistance,” Lyric says slowly. “At least until things get back on track.”
“That would be helpful.”
Lyric takes a deep breath, his stare bouncing from me to Whiz and back to me again.
“Whiz will work with you.”