Chapter 27 – Mindy
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Making plans
Mindy
“So you threatened him?” Caroline shrieks, eyes wide from my phone screen.
I bury my face in my hands, peeking through my fingers as I groan, “Yes. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t expect him till next week, and then pewwww, there he was. I was hoping to formulate a plan by the time I saw him, and then when he said he was firing me, I went rogue and winged it.”
Aubrey nudges Caro in the head so she can share the space. “You’re my hero, Mindy.”
“I was a complete maniac,” I whine.
“Did you really say, ‘I think you’d be surprised at what I can handle, Mr. Hale?’” Caroline asks, eyes wide. I nod, and she looks impressed instead of horrified. “That’s such a boss bitch thing to say.”
“Plus, it has a hint of innuendo,” Aubrey adds. “I like it.”
I slide my hand down my cheeks, stretching my face until I resemble a big-eyed alien. “Really? You don’t think it was too much?”
“Oh, it was definitely too much, but he deserved it,” Caroline assesses. “You explained the situation, and he still acted like a douchebag.”
“Just do your best and don’t let him get to you,” Aubrey suggests. “Make enough money to get your lawyer back on the payroll, and once the divorce is done in a few months, you can quit and find another job. You’ll have your money back from Roger by then.”
“Hopefully,” I tack on.
“You have all the receipts and your parents’ wills, so they’ll be able to trace where the money came from. Any judge in his right mind will see that your savings account belongs to you.”
“And what if I get a judge that’s not in his right mind?”
Both my friends look wary because they know that’s a definite possibility. Finally, Aubrey speaks up, her voice confident. “Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Until then, hold your ground. You’re fantastic at your job, so there’s no way he can fire you.”
“Right. You’ve got the upper hand here,” Caroline says. “Have you had any luck getting your stuff back from Roger?”
I shake my head. “No, he won’t respond to my calls or texts. All I really want is my salt and pepper shaker collection. So many of them belonged to my grandmother, and it breaks my heart thinking about him destroying them like a big man-child pitching a hissy fit.”
Aubrey’s nose scrunches up. “Have you thought about maybe reaching out to Rose? You said she’s always been nice to you, so maybe if you appeal to her, woman to woman, she’ll let you come by and pick them up.”
“Rose has her nose so far up Roger’s ass, she can smell his breath,” I reply, gaining laughs from my friends. “But she’s never been mean to me at all. So I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.”
“Mindy! It’s so good to hear from you,” my mother-in-law says when she answers my call a few minutes later.
“You too, Rose. How are you?”
“Well, it’s been difficult trying to cheer up my sonny boy. He’s been simply heartbroken since you left him for no reason.” Her voice is as sweet as ever, but that only makes the accusation grate on my nerves.
“He refused to continue marriage counseling, Rose. That was his decision, not mine,” I say calmly.
She makes a tutting noise. “I’ve never thought it was a good idea to involve another person in a couple’s private life.”
Says the woman who lived with two newlyweds. I want to say it but I hold my tongue.
“Right. What I was calling for… I’d like to get my salt and pepper shaker collection as soon as possible, and I’ve had trouble connecting with Roger.
” I clench the phone tighter in my hand and close my eyes to keep from crying.
“A lot of those are family heirlooms, and they’re very important to me. ”
“Of course they are,” she says with her usual kindness. “They were your grandmother’s.”
“Right. I think maybe it would be more comfortable for everyone if I came when Roger was at work. Is there a time you’ll be home and I can stop by to get them?”
“Hmmm,” she hums. “Roger has said he’d rather you didn’t come into his house when he’s not home.”
“I paid half the mortgage, Rose,” I point out, trying to sound reasonable and not snarky since she’s lived there rent-free for three years. “It’s my house too.”
“Yes, well, you left, didn’t you?”
I grind my teeth until I’m sure there are only nubs left. “So you’re saying you get to keep my family heirlooms because you’re offended I dared to leave your precious son who does no wrong? They’re mine, Rose.”
“Oh, no, sweetheart,” she says in her soft, soothing voice. “But you need to speak with Roger about that since it’s his house.”
“And mine,” I shoot back, clenching my phone so hard it will probably bear fingerprints tomorrow. Then I ask the question I’m not sure I want the answer to. “Can you at least tell me if he destroyed them?”
“Destroyed them?” She actually laughs. “Why would he destroy your things, honey?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Rose. Why did he burn all my clothes?”
She gasps. “Roger would never do that.”
I massage the ache forming at my temples. “Rose, I literally came home and found him standing over the barrel, tossing my clothes and shoes into the fire. I have nothing except two suits and a few things from my dresser.”
“It… it must have been a misunderstanding,” she flounders. “He probably thought you wanted to get rid of some of your old things.”
I flop back on my bed and shake my head at her utter ignorance. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself to sleep through the night, Rose. Now, about my collection… can you please check and see if it’s still there?”
“Hold on a second; let me walk back there.” I gnaw on my thumbnail until I hear her say, “Yes, they’re all still here on the shelves.”
I release the breath I’d been holding in. “Oh thank god.”
“See? I told you Roger would never do something like that.”
Is she really this naive or is it an act? I’ll probably never know.
“Since you won’t let me into my house to get my things, is there any way you can meet me somewhere and I can pick them up from you? I really want them back.”
“Of course, dear. I have a roll of bubble wrap around here somewhere. I’ll wrap each one individually to make sure none of them get broken.”
Tears of relief and gratitude well in my eyes and clog my throat. “Thank you so much, Rose. I can meet you any time, night or day, on a Saturday or Sunday.”
“All right. I’ll handle it, but I can’t meet you this weekend because Roger is taking me to San Antonio to the Riverwalk.”
I almost say, “how romantic,” but I bite back the snarky comment. I’ve already said too much about her precious sonny boy, and I need her at least a teeny bit on my side.
“That sounds like fun,” I say with false cheeriness because he’s probably using my fucking money to take mommy dearest on another trip. “Just let me know when we can meet, and I’ll drive down there.”
“Okay, sweet girl. I look forward to seeing you.”
“You too,” I lie.
She makes a little hum of disappointment. “I do wish you’d been willing to work things out with Roger. Then you could be going to San Antonio with us. I’ve heard it’s a very romantic city. I think you two could have used that.”
I absolutely want to scream right now, but I don’t. Instead, I ignore that remark and say, “Thanks for getting my collection together, Rose. Give me a call when you want to meet up.”
We say our goodbyes, and I disconnect before immediately texting Aubrey and Caroline to fill them in. Then I slide beneath the covers and pray Rose follows through on her promise.
And maybe I pray just a little bit that Roger falls in the river and gets run over by one of those tour boats.
The rest of the week is blissfully easy, mostly because my new boss doesn’t come back into the office. At four on Monday morning, I enter through the back door of Whisk and Whimsy, the bakery I work at before going to my job at the Hale building.
“Morning, Clarissa! Hi, Luke!” I call, setting down my purse and donning an apron.
“There’s my cookie queen,” Clarissa calls back from one of the stainless steel prep tables where she’s kneading dough for some of the bread.
“Just give me my damn tiara,” I tease, washing my hands and putting on a hair net before grabbing a bag of peaches and hauling it to the other prep table. We work together in companionable silence as I cut up peaches and roll out the pastry crust for today’s cookies.
Though the bakery offers a variety of cookies every day, Clarissa offers a “cookie of the day” on Monday through Friday.
Those sell like hotcakes, and she’d been unable to keep up with the demand, so she hired me.
My job is to prepare whatever cookies are on special that day, while her husband, Luke, makes a couple dozen of each of the rest of the cookies offered.
Less than two hours later, I have twenty-five dozen peach pie cookies cooling on the racks.
“These look fantastic, as usual. I’m amazed at how quickly you can work,” she says, grabbing a pink bakery box adorned with fluffy clouds. With a gloved hand, she adds two dozen to the box and hands it over to me with a smile. “There you go, sugar. Did you have any peaches left over today?”
I nod. “There were three left.”
“You take those home with you,” she insists before pulling fifty dollars from her apron pocket and tucking it into my hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow. The shipment of lemons should be here this afternoon.”
“I love lemon butter cookie day,” Luke says, scooping chocolate chip treats from his pan with a spatula.
“That investment firm across the street placed an order for three dozen of those for tomorrow, so do you think you’d be able to handle twenty-eight dozen?
I can work the juicer for you, if that helps. ”
“Easy peasy,” I say, removing my apron and hanging it up.
“I’ll pay you a little extra,” Clarissa says, smile lines crinkling at the corners of her brown eyes.
“You don’t have to do that. You already give me two dozen cookies every day for free.”
“Perks of the job,” she sings, giving me a light shove between the shoulder blades. “Now get on out of here.”
I pocket my money, bag up the three leftover peaches, and grab the bakery box before calling a goodbye to Clarissa and Luke.
Then I head home to get ready for job number two.
After showering and dressing, I survey my refrigerator, hoping some food magically appeared there overnight.
I’ve been saving up every penny for rent, so I haven’t been grocery shopping in a while, and the shipment of chicken and veggies Caroline insisted on sending is long gone.
Finding no offerings from the food fairies, I stick one of the peaches into my purse and put the other two in the fridge. I’ll grab a free scone from the coffee shop and eat it with the peach for lunch.
I’m starting to get worried about my finances and whether I’ll be able to make rent on October first. My first paycheck from Hale should have hit my account over a week ago, but it hasn’t shown up yet.
I went to the payroll office last week, but they said to give it a few more days since I was a new employee and it was probably just taking a little extra time.
I wanted to ask, “How much time, Sharon? Because ya girl is getting hangry over here.”
Grabbing the bakery box from the counter, I hook my purse over my arm and walk out into the hallway. A dull green eye peeks out from a crack in the door across the way.
“Good morning, Ms. Dingle,” I say.
She immediately slams the door closed, and I shake my head. Her constant spying freaked me the hell out at first, but I figured out if I spoke to her, she scurried away like a frightened mouse.
I make my way down the stairs, avoiding Jerry, who’s sleeping off last night’s boozefest on the landing. The man has an apartment in this building, but for some reason, he insists on drinking on the stairs whenever he manages to buy a bottle.
My landlord, Apollo, is changing a lightbulb over the door when I exit the building. “Jerry’s on the second floor landing again,” I tell him as I walk down the crumbling stairs.
“Goddammit, who keeps giving him booze?” he asks.
“It’s sure as hell not me,” I reply, turning left to the parking lot. This is the only good thing about this place. Every resident has an assigned parking place, and it’s included in the price of rent.
I arrive at the Hale office building at a quarter till eight, saying hello to everyone I pass on the way up to the top floor. I certainly don’t want to be late on the first day my new boss is scheduled for work, so I decide to check in with payroll during lunch.
“Hey, Ambrosia,” I say, handing over the bakery box to the barista on the executive level. I’m still fascinated—and tickled to death—that we have our own coffee shop.
“Ah, it’s peach day. These are my favorites,” she squeals, pulling a glass-domed pastry stand from beneath the counter and arranging the peach pie cookies on it. “That bakery does a fantastic job on these. Look at the perfect crisscrossing over the top.”
I simply smile. No one knows I actually make these myself. I guess maybe I’m a little embarrassed to admit I’m having to work a second job. Sure, I do it to make a little extra money, but baking is also my passion. Specifically cookie baking.
Since I finished culinary school, I can make practically any kind of sweet imaginable.
My cakes are delicious, my soufflés are fluffy, and my brownies are divine.
But my cake decorating skills are… meh. I can do a decent enough job, but I’m nowhere as good as Clarissa.
She’s a master, and that’s why I was so excited about working for her.
Sometimes I’ll go in on the weekends to watch her decorating wedding cakes or specialty birthday cakes, and I’m always in awe of her talent.
“I’m going to get to my desk. Have a good day, Ambrosia,” I say on my way out.
“You too, girl,” she calls back.
I’m relieved when I get to my desk and see that the crack under the CEO’s door is dark.
That means he’s not here yet. I sit down to mentally prepare myself for Remington Hale’s arrival.
I hope he’s not one of those bosses who shows up whenever the hell he feels like it, because he’s got a busy day today.
And that’s when Dave walks in with a goofy grin on his face.
Dave works in accounting, and he’s a pest of the highest order.
His blond hair swoops across his forehead, and he wears these huge metal-framed glasses with the double bar across the top.
It makes him look disturbingly like Jeffrey Dahmer.
Great. Just what I needed today. A serial killer look-alike who loves to chat.