Chapter 14 #3
“Find somebody else to help, Sam.” I can barely get the words out. I push past Tyrell and speed-walk toward the media warehouse, my safe space, as the beast in my belly rumbles to life. I swipe at a tear, pissed at myself for crying over this.
“Tyrell, I knew you were a stupid motherfucker,” I hear Eric say behind me, “but I didn’t know you were that stupid.”
I sit on a stack of empty totes and gasp for air. Things have gone so completely off-kilter since that morning in Ryan’s office. I can’t seem to get a handle on my life. Everything’s always working out for me? What a joke.
I drop my head in my hands and take deep breaths, willing the pit monster to go back to sleep.
I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a quiet “Hey” a few minutes later.
I look up to see Wil and his ever-present clipboard, his icy blue eyes soft and concerned.
He cracks a Diet Coke open and hands it to me, and I fall in love with him a little bit.
“Sam told me what happened,” he says. “And Eric gave me some additional color commentary.”
I take a drink and sniffle. “Are you here to write me up for abandoning my post on the truck?”
“Rhodes, no.” His voice is so gentle. “What happened—it’s not your fault. You know that, right?”
I should. I should know that it’s not my fault, just like it wasn’t my fault in Ryan’s office. That doesn’t make any of it easier. I shrug.
“Dex fired him.”
“He did?”
“Yeah.” He sits down on the stack of totes next to mine. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“No one deserves that.” Acid burns its way up my throat as I think about that day in Ryan’s office, and the rumors about Carina, and what happened with Glamma and Eli Fletcher. “No one.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes. Then he asks, “Do you want to file a formal complaint?”
I look over at him, but he doesn’t look at me, just stares straight ahead at the media overstock.
I huff out a laugh, bitter and brittle. I shouldn’t be here.
I shouldn’t be sitting next to Jefferson Airplane Wilshire IV in a dim, cavernous warehouse, surrounded by overstock CDs and software.
I shouldn’t be working this ridiculous retail job with outrageous hours and terrible pay.
I shouldn’t have to file a formal complaint against some stupid motherfucker who said shit he shouldn’t have and couldn’t keep his hands to himself.
I shouldn’t be here because what happened in Ryan’s office never should have happened in the first place.
Or maybe I shouldn’t be here because I should have instead stood my ground that day, not let Barbara cut me those checks, said something, anything to fight back.
That second check, the big one, is still in the ashtray, which I know is stupid, driving around with that kind of money.
I should cash it. I should tear it up. Fuck it.
I should cash it, and quit this job, and find a real one.
Is that hush money? I can still hear Kim’s voice.
“Rhodes?” Wil’s waiting for my answer.
“No,” I say. I’m wrung out, empty. “No, I don’t want to file a formal complaint.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” he says. “Do you want to go home? I’ll help Kevin close the department.”
I shake my head and stand. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”
Wil stands, too, and reaches out like he wants to touch me, hug me, maybe. I’d love a hug right now, even if he’s mad at me about the interview. But then he drops his hand and gives a small shake of his head. “Okay.” He takes a step back. “Okay.”
As I help Kevin tidy the department and restock returns, I think about how kind Wil was tonight, and what Sam said earlier. Sometimes you gotta do the hard thing and apologize.
I dig around in the drawer for the pack of full-size Snickers bars I stash there for emergencies, like when Kevin doesn’t eat lunch and snaps at the fans. When I get to customer service, Wil is at one of the registers helping Bianca, the operations TC, with a return.
Wil glances at me with a furrowed brow and then turns back to the register, so I slip into the Dugout and place the candy bar on his clipboard—I can’t believe he set it down.
I’m about to leave when I see a pad of bright blue Post-it notes and a Sharpie.
I draw a small heart and write “I’m sorry.
” I set the note next to the Snickers and hurry back to my department before I can change my mind.
I don’t see Wil the rest of the night. For all I know, he could have tossed the Snickers and the note in the trash.
When I get home, I call my bank’s automated line. I groan when the robotic voice reads the balance in my savings account. After only a few weeks, that last TC Weekly paycheck has dwindled to almost nothing. I wonder if I can get a cash advance from my emergency credit card.
I sit down in the living room with a glass of tap water and a bag of Brianna’s microwave popcorn.
She won’t mind. I slide the VHS of When Harry Met Sally…
into the VCR for the hundredth time. I’m too wired to sleep, too worried—as usual—about money.
Worried about the fact that Cesar and Aurora abandoned me, and I’m not good enough to keep the department afloat before they hire replacements for them.
Worried that I made a mistake with the note tonight.
Worried about this little crush I have on the CEO’s son which can only ever be a crush.