Chapter 8 #2
“What did you say?”
She swallows. “I said I wished someone had ordered queso.” She digs around in her purse and opens her wallet, then sighs as she puts it back.
When Fernando brings me my combo—one beef taco, one beef enchilada, one beef chalupa—I ask him to bring out an order of queso as soon as possible.
“You got it, Senor Wil.”
“Did you order that for me?” she hisses. “I don’t have any cash!”
“It’s on me,” I say, then turn to Travis and ask about his latest merch eval. Let her be mad at me. I’m going to feed her, even if it’s only queso dip.
“I’m going to pay you back,” she says as Fernando sets down a gigantic bowl of queso and a fresh basket of chips. I can’t help but watch as she dips a chip and brings it to her lips. She groans.
Fuck, maybe Sam is right. Maybe I’ve got a thing for her.
A thing that can go absolutely nowhere.
Or maybe it could. Maybe this could work, once I leave the store for my AGM rotation.
I could ask her out, take her to a Twins game or a show at The Golden.
Look at Crystal and Travis. They’re both managers, although at different stores, and their relationship hasn’t interfered with their careers.
We love who we love, I guess. Not that I’m thinking that this is love, that it would go that far. A date. That’s all.
No. Absolutely not. What am I thinking?
Good talk, Wil.
“Damn it!”
Abbey swipes at a drop of queso on her T-shirt with a napkin.
Right on the f in Def, right on her breast, like the Diet Coke the other day.
I can’t stop looking at her. Even with a smear of queso on her shirt and dirt on her pants and messy hair—and let’s face it, she doesn’t smell like a rose garden—she’s gorgeous.
I frown and turn away before she notices me gawking at her.
“So, you’re the famous Abbey Rhodes.”
A petite Hmong woman pulls a chair over from another table and settles in next to Abbey.
Marina Xiong, the team captain from the Ridgehill store, is exactly who I wish Aurora could be.
If I could poach anyone, like Jefferson A.
Wilshire III encouraged, it would be Marina. She introduces herself to Abbey.
“It’s so good to meet you in person!” Abbey says. “But what do you mean, famous?”
I turn back toward Travis but eavesdrop on their conversation. It’s not hard—Marina’s loud.
“Everyone is talking about you,” Marina says. “How fast you get product on the floor, how you go above and beyond for, like, the worst fans, your knowledge of the most random bands.”
“Really?” Abbey asks quietly. “Who’s saying all that?”
“Well, Wil for one,” Marina says. Oh, great, here we go. My cheeks heat a little, and I take a drink of my beer to hide it. “On the district media call, he couldn’t say enough good things about you. Everyone thinks you’ll be fast-tracked.”
“What’s fast-tracked?”
“When you move up through the ranks really fast. You know, promotions.”
Abbey snorts. “Well, I don’t see myself getting promoted anytime soon. And no one has said anything to me about this fast-track business. I don’t even know that I’m cut out for that kind of job. I went to school for journalism, not retail management.”
“You wait and see,” Marina says. “You’re getting noticed, trust me. You’re going places.”
Marina’s right. Abbey’s getting noticed because she’s doing a fantastic job. My hunch about her was spot on. She’s sharp and efficient, and yes, she’s going places—but not until after we pass the eval.
Later, Abbey grabs her purse and tells Marina she’s going to use the restroom.
She’s gone a long time, and it makes me antsy.
She’s only had one margarita, but I worry that something’s wrong, that she’s not okay to drive.
Or maybe that the creepy guy who’s always in the bar is hitting on her.
That idea launches me out of my seat. I find Abbey at the cashier stand.
“Hey,” I say in a quiet, low voice. Even so, she jumps. “What are you doing?”
The cashier hands her a receipt and a pen, and she scribbles her signature at the bottom. “Paying the bill.”
“Why?” I look over her shoulder at the items on the receipt. Her margarita and the queso, and my beer, for some reason, and she left a generous tip. “I told you I would pay. You said you didn’t have any money tonight.”
She bites her lip, then slides the pen and receipt back to the cashier. “I said I didn’t have any cash. I used my emergency credit card.”
I frown. “Is this an emergency?”
“Kind of,” she says. “I need to go. I have to be back at the store at six.”
She steps to move around me, but I reach for her elbow to stop her. She gasps and looks down at my hand like I’ve burned her before shaking herself loose. She looks up at me with wide eyes. Is that—fear? Or general irritation?
“I’m sorry.” I step back to give her more space. “I didn’t mean to startle you. You shouldn’t have to use your emergency credit card when I offered to cover you. Here, let me give you some cash.”
She takes a step backward. “No, it’s fine. You can’t pay for my drinks and queso, Wil, okay? Not unless you’re buying for everyone, and I wouldn’t advise it with this crowd. Even if you are loaded, it’s Cesar’s birthday, and you know how he gets.”
I narrow my eyes in confusion. “What do you mean, I’m loaded?
” My heartbeat picks up speed. What the fuck?
Is this Candy, part two? Except Candy would be simpering at me, rubbing her hand along my forearm, telling me how sweet I am to pay for her drinks, not telling me I couldn’t.
And Candy, of course, would never sneak off to pay the check.
Abbey at least has the decency to flush under my scrutiny. “God, that was rude. But as the CEO’s son—”
I cut her off. “Don’t make assumptions based on my name and who my father is, Rhodes.” I try to keep my voice steady. “At least let me pay you back for my beer.”
She shakes her head. “I got it. Tell Cesar I said happy birthday.”
And then she’s gone, and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened.