Chapter 5 Melanie
MELANIE
Iblinked rapidly, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with these people.
“Excuse me?” I said in a condescending tone.
“We’ll give you a call after we have made a decision. We still have some other candidates to interview.”
“It’s fucking cookies and tea, what could you possibly have to think about?.”
The overweight lady winces as she covers her mouth.
Stop being so dramatic, lady. It’s just a curse word.
“Excuse my French, but I sat here and bullshitted for twenty minutes, talking about your cat and plants at home, and now you’re telling me you are going to think about it? It’s stocking tea and pouring it into a cup. It’s not brain surgery, for God's sake.”
“A lot goes into what we do, young lady, and it’s much easier to train someone with experience.
Besides, the only thing on your resume is babysitting, and you acted for a few years when you were younger.
That’s great and all, but it doesn’t meet our standards, so I was trying to be nice by saying we’ll give you a call, but to put it to you straight, you are not hired.
How about you try being interviewed by a male next time?
Maybe you’ll have better luck.” She eyes me up and down conspicuously.
“Have a great day.” She says, handing me my resume over her messy desk.
“And maybe you should try skipping lunch.” I grabbed my purse off the floor and stormed out before giving her a chance to process my insult.
After we got Nick's truck from the parking lot, I drove back to the lake house, showered, and decided to get back to job hunting. I thought that if I showed up early at these random businesses, I would have better luck today at landing a job. I figured nothing could be worse than what I’ve been forced to do in my past, but the difference was that men and producers wanted me, but here, not so much.
As I walked out of the tea shop, I paused.
Scanning my surroundings. I noticed a couple of other stores to my left and a boutique next to a liquor store.
As much as I was trying to stay sober, this place only made me want to drink more.
Who knew finding a measly job would be this hard?
As much as I wanted to give up, the last thing I wanted to do was ask my parents for money.
I started to walk toward the liquor store.
“Hello, welcome in. Can I help you find anything?” A male employee asks.
I look up and spot the different categories of liquor hanging above each aisle. I found the one I’m looking for. “No, thank you,” I say, and walk down the aisle to see my favorite champagne and vodka.
“Would that be all for you?” the clerk asks.
I stare at the bottles, and a surge of remorse rushes through me, but I brush it off and tell myself I deserve this.
“Yup, that’s all.” I handed him the little bit of cash I had left.
The money I brought was dwindling quickly.
Who knows, maybe going broke is the only way I can be sober.
Who would have guessed being poor would be the blessing in disguise I needed?
The cashier bags my liquor, and I thank him, slip my sunglasses on, and head to my car.
The moment I round the corner. I’m met with a body, causing me to lose my grip on the two bottles, and they go crashing to the ground.
“Excuse me,” the girl says, and when I look up, it’s Abigail. “Mel? I’m so sorry, what are you-” she pauses and looks up at the sign behind me that says liquor store, then back at the ground.
Fuck. That was probably my last chance at buying alcohol before I got a job. I try not to curse and get mad, but I want to go off on her.
“I thought you were out looking for a job?” She asks as I throw pieces of glass into the garbage can.
“I am, can’t you tell? " I motioned to my business-looking attire, which consisted of a Blake blazer, a black mini skirt, and a white lace top underneath.
She clears her throat. “So it’s not going well, I take it.”
“Nope, not so much, and all these places are owned by overweight older women, so they’re all jealous the minute I walk in.” I brush my hair out of my face, feeling sweat come on.
“Are you sure you can’t create a position at the rehab house?
It’s not like Colt isn’t a millionaire. I did it for you with that matchmaking company that you refused.
I’m glad you did now, since it all worked out for you, but everyone hates me here.
And it’s like you have to know someone to get a job. I had no idea people lived like this.”
“It’s definitely not L.A.,” she says.
“You got that right,” I say as i cross my arms over my chest, peering at the main road, watching the cars driving by.
“Why don’t you just go back home?”Abigail says.
“Gee, thanks for making me feel so welcome.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean for it to sound like that, but I’m not sure why you’re here exactly.
I had no choice because my parents weren’t willing to help me financially.
But you, you have all the money in the world.
If this is too hard, then I don’t know why you don’t go back home.
I’m sure your parents are over the whole car crash thing now. ”
I stared at her, debating whether to tell her. I haven’t told anyone, and I’ve watched enough Dr. Phil to know that it’s not healthy to hide the truth.
“It’s not that simple, and I’m tired of being the fuck up,” I say in qoutation marks. “I want to prove myself this time. Prove I can survive without them.”
She stares at me for a beat before saying, “I tell you what, if I offer to buy you another bottle of champagne, will you hear me out with the idea I have for you?”
I flicked my gaze to her. Didn’t she give me a lecture the other day about getting sober if I wanted to stay at her precious lake house?
“You’re willing to buy me liquor?”
“If you aren’t willing to give it up, then I can’t stop you, but you won’t be able to stay at the lakehouse.”
I raise an eyebrow at her, “I don’t want to be the third wheel staying at your house.”
She laughs lightly. “You’re not going to be. Do you want to hear my idea or not?”
Of course, I wanted to hear it; I was desperate, but I didn’t want her to know just how desperate I was, so I played it off by shrugging my shoulders. “Sure.”
“But only if you come with me to this boutique store. I am starting to get stuff for the nursery. And I could use a friend since I have no idea what I’m doing.
” She giggles, and I’m taken aback by how she’s glowing.
I see what people mean when they say pregnant women glow.
She has this overcast angelic aura around her and looks so beautiful and happy.
“You never had any sense of fashion before, so might as well.”
After we finished shopping, Abigail handed me a bottle of champagne and thanked me for coming with her.
It was a small gesture, but it landed heavier than she probably meant it to.
I knew she didn’t have much—just her sister—and when she told me her mom had reached out, I caught how her voice faltered.
Not because she was pregnant, but because she’s marrying an NFL player.
That kind of betrayal is a wound you stop trying to explain. I understood. Too well.
My mom and I used to be best friends. Now, we talk like strangers with matching DNA. If someone told me this was how our relationship ended, I would’ve laughed them off. But here I was—grieving someone still very much alive.
What I didn’t expect was the jealousy. That sharp, shameful twist in my gut when I watched Abigail’s eyes light up as she held up a tiny dress.
That ache I felt when she talked about her baby girl’s nursery, like she was already painting the walls in her mind.
I’d never wanted what other people had. If anything, I was the one everyone else wanted to be.
Tall. Blonde. Pretty. Wealthy. Living in a mansion in one of the most expensive cities in America.
I had curated envy like it was art. But none of that glitter mattered today.
Not when I saw a different kind of wealth radiating from Abigail—joy, purpose, belonging.
She wasn’t just shopping for a baby. She was dreaming. Planning. Building a life.
And me? All I ever planned was how to get away.
I looked forward to college not for the degree, but because it meant escaping the house.
The house where my stepdad lurked in every shadow, and my mom turned a blind eye.
Where meals were measured in shame and silence, I learned it was easier not to eat than to feel his stare track every bite like a loaded weapon.
My mom called me a vampire because I hated bright lights. She thought it was a personality quirk. But really, I just didn’t want to be seen—not by anyone, especially not while I was eating, especially not by him.
Now, sitting alone as the hostess’s ponytail bounced out of view, I scanned the restaurant’s soft, low-lit ambiance—modern and intimate, like a secret kept safely between four walls.
It was the kind of place that made you want to exhale.
The type of place that made you wish you’d come here with someone who made you feel safe enough to let your guard down.
But safety was a luxury I had never been able to afford.
And for the first time in my life, being pretty, rich, and envied felt like the loneliest costume in the world.
I can hear my mom’s voice so clearly, like it was just yesterday when she said that.
She was right; he did change our lives, but I can’t say it was for the better.
“He’s going to change our lives, baby, you watch. He’s our ticket out of our old life. He's going to take good care of us, and he promised to make you a star one day, doesn’t that sound good, sweetheart?”
I yank my phone from my back pocket and check the time—twenty minutes.
I let out a sharp breath through my nose, jaw tightening.
I already don’t like this manager. People who make you wait like this?
They don’t respect you or your time. And when they’ve got authority?
It’s worse. They think they’re gods. Like you’re some bug they could squash just to watch it happen.
I unlock my phone, thumb hovering over the Kindle app, desperate for something to distract me before I start pacing. Just as I pull up the book—
“Sorry to keep you w—”
My eyes snap up. We freeze. My stomach drops.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I blurt out.
Nick’s eyes narrow. “What are you doing here?”
I scoff. “What do you mean, what am I doing here? I’m here for a job interview.”
He tilts his head, blinking like he didn’t just walk out of my nightmares. “You’re the girl?”
“You’re the manager?” I throw the same incredulous tone back at him.
He flashes that arrogant smirk. “How ya doing, princess?”
Oh hell no. This cannot be happening. “No. No, no, no.” I shove up from the booth so fast my knee bangs the table. “Absolutely not.”
“I take it you had no idea.”
That smug tone in his voice makes my blood simmer.
“No,” I snap, spinning to face him. “Abigail told me the manager’s name was Bianca. Not you.”
He shrugs. “Technically, I’m the one in charge. But my mom, Bianca, handles the back-end hiring. She’s got final say.”
I stop mid-step, eyes narrowing. “Wait—your mom works here? And I thought you were in the Army?”
“I am. Well, not active duty anymore.” He leans against the booth casually, arms crossed like this is just some casual catch-up and not the most awkward job interview of my life. “I was gonna re-enlist. Do another five years. But things changed. Cooking’s always been the dream. So… here I am.”
My mouth opens, then closes. I fold my arms, bracing myself for the headache this is going to be. “And why would you hire me? You hate me. And don’t act like you think I’m cut out for this job. I mean, even a monkey could do it.”
Nick’s smirk grows sharper. “No, you’re definitely not cut out for the job. And no, a monkey couldn’t do it. It’s harder than it looks.”
“Then why even offer?”
He straightens, walking toward me slowly. Too slowly. Like a lion sizing up a meal. “Because Colt asked me to. And Colt’s engaged to Abigail. And since Abigail’s friends with you, that makes us…” He lifts his brows. “Well, not friends. But you get the idea.”
“Unbelievable.” I tighten my arms across my chest, knuckles white.
“Look, princess,” he says, voice low, stepping in just close enough that I catch the sharp chill of wintermint on his breath. “Makes no difference to me if you walk that pretty ass out of here or not.”
My eyes narrow. “What’s in it for you? No one just does favors. What—do I have to sleep with you or something?”
He chuckles. “Again, with the sex.” He leans in, just a hair. “And no. But if you’re offering, I won’t decline.”
“I’m serious.”
“Me too.”
I throw my hands in the air, spinning away from him before saying something I’ll regret. “God, you are such a dick.”
“I don’t know what your deal is,” he says, tone suddenly more grounded, “but not all men are scum. All I need is someone who can get a liquor license. If you don’t want to serve alcohol, fine. But that’s where the tips are. Everything else? Up to you.”
His voice is close again—too close—and I don’t just hear the words, I feel them this time. They vibrate down my spine.
“What’s it gonna be, princess?”
I stare at him, hard. My jaw clenches. My pride screams to walk away. But something else… something deeper… won’t let me.
He turns to walk off when I blurt, “Nick.”
He pauses. I close my eyes, already regretting it.
“When do I start?”
He looks over his shoulder, and there’s a glint in his eyes now—something smug and satisfied—but also something else I can’t quite name.
He grins. “How about now?”