Little Sunshine

1. Lessons From Mila Don’t Trust Anyone

“I’m sorry, Mila, I’m going to have to let you go.”

And you couldn’t have told me before I worked my entire shift?

Standing in the back office of a sleazy hotel, I looked at my even sleazier shift manager—or former shift manager. My thoughts raced as I tried to figure out what I’d done.

Nothing.

I’d done absolutely nothing to warrant getting fired.

Like always, I’d gotten to work at four in the morning, had spent the day busting my ass, and I was still there at nearly two even though my shift technically ended at noon.

And I was being fired.

It wasn’t layoffs for budgetary reasons—I’d be the last person they’d let go. Not because of my dazzling personality or anything. It was just common sense. I did the work of multiple people, and I did it without a shitty attitude. I never stole from rooms, I kept my head down, and my eyes stayed on my own business. That was more than could be said for anyone else—Todd included.

“Why?” I asked.

But then I saw it. The grimace. The way he looked at me with a mix of pity, disdain, and the usual lust.

The way history loved to repeat itself.

“Veronica.”

And there it is.

Veronica Rogers.

Con-woman.

Narcissist.

Professional hot mess.

And my mother—though I was forbidden from calling her that. The fact we didn’t share a last name made it all the easier for her to pretend she wasn’t old enough to have an adult daughter.

Not until she needed something.

“She came by when you were on break,” he continued. “Steve was here, and we had guests in the lobby when she made a scene.”

Of course, she did. And of course, she did it while the general manager was here.

I didn’t ask why he hadn’t said anything when I’d clocked back in earlier. Why he hadn’t sent someone to come get me since they all knew where I took my break. Why he hadn’t given me the chance to talk to Steve or fix things.

Because there was no fixing it. I’d already received that warning.

“That’s not my fault,” I tried anyway, but even I heard the resignation in my tone.

Although I had nothing to do with the chaos she caused, my mother was more drama than I was worth.

Story of my damn life.

“My hands are tied,” Todd said. “This came from Steve.”

It wasn’t like cleaning a scuzzy, outdated hotel was my dream job. I could happily live without the smell of mold, dust, and body odor that hung in the air and clung to the walls and furniture.

I couldn’t, however, happily live without food. And food cost money.

As did my shitty apartment, electricity, and basically everything else in life.

Dejected, I bit back the load of insults I wanted to spew and focused on the important thing. “Can I get my check, at least?”

“We’ll mail your final one in two weeks.”

“What about today’s?”

But, again, I already knew. Dread filled me, tightening my chest until I thought I was dying.

No lie.

Twenty years old, and I was having a heart attack.

The ache it caused behind my sternum stole my breath.

My fears were confirmed when Todd said, “Steve gave it to your mother.”

“That’s illegal,” I pointed out, not that it mattered.

The Roulette Hotel was lax with health codes, business practices, and labor laws. Handing over a paycheck to an unauthorized person was small fries.

Todd shrugged, confirming it was no big deal to them.

To me, it was my bills and my meager groceries.

Even if I filed a police report, and they somehow tracked down whatever sketchy check cashing place my mom had used, it would take far too long. It would be too little, too late.

“It was that or call the cops on her,” he shot back, like they’d done me a favor.

They hadn’t.

You should’ve called them then, you asshole.

Even with everything, a tiny ball of guilt hit my chest at that thought, but I shoved it down.

Standing, Todd came around the desk, and I locked my knees to stop from retreating.

I wouldn’t show weakness, even if he totally creeped me out.

“For what it’s worth, I tried to get Steve to reconsider.” He shifted my long hair over my shoulder, his hand lingering on my back. “You’re my best girl.”

Barf.

“But this isn’t the first time your mom has caused issues,” he said as if I needed the reminder.

A couple of years before, the hotel had rented out their lot as parking for one of the big RV conventions. My mother, in all her addled wisdom, had seen the RVs and jumped to the conclusion that the hotel was filled with rich guests—as if anyone with money would stay at The Roulette.

She’d hung around the hotel bar before propositioning the wrong man… in front of his wife. A knock-down, drag-out fight had erupted between Roni and the wife. Property had been damaged. Faces had been damaged. The cops had been called.

On-premise violence was bad enough.

But The Roulette—and likely the guests—had a lot to hide. Police sniffing around, even for ten minutes, was bad for business.

Todd gave a sad shake of his head. “I told you then that it couldn’t happen again. You’re out of chances.”

That was also the story of my life.

I was always out of chances.

Out of options.

Out of a job and money.

Out of time.

I nodded and lied, “I understand. Thanks.”

For nothing.

As it often did, his expression changed from friendly boss to something dirty. “Now that you’re not my employee?—”

“I’m going to clean out my cubby.”

Before I barf all over and you make me clean it up even though that’s not my job anymore.

Hightailing it out of the office, I didn’t stop at my locker since it was empty. I didn’t pause to say goodbye—or a well-deserved fuck you—to any of my nosy ex-coworkers. I jetted from the building before the walls closed in on me, trapping me forever in dodgy stains and mildew.

Even once I was outside, the fresh air did nothing to fill my burning lungs. I moved on autopilot as I went to my bus stop, my mind numb.

It wasn’t long before the first bus of my commute pulled up, and I got on. It was a mistake. In the stuffy, enclosed space, my breathing became shallow. My chest squeezed tighter, and spots began to float in my vision.

By the time I reached my stop, a barely restrained panic attack hovered, ready to push in. It mixed with my extreme hunger and left me shaking. If I didn’t get it under control, I’d pass out in the street.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I’ll figure it out. I always do.

The pressure on my chest lessened, but the hunger pangs and lightheadedness remained. I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before, and that had only been a PBJ on stale bread. The day before that had been the same.

I’d been rationing groceries, counting down until my paycheck.

A paycheck I no longer had.

Rather than going straight to my next bus stop, I went in the opposite direction to an ATM on the off chance I’d miscalculated my balance. Maybe I would luck out with a bank error. It didn’t even have to be a million dollars. I’d have settled for twenty bucks.

I wasn’t that lucky.

A dollar and some change. That was all I had.

A fucking dollar.

I had no cash on me. I didn’t have to check to know my meager food stamp card was wiped and wouldn’t be refilled for two weeks.

I had nothing.

The pressure was back, but I didn’t have time to melt down. I couldn’t sink to the ground, surrounded by glamor but filled with despair.

I needed to hurry home before I passed out.

As much as I hated cutting through the ritzy hotels, I didn’t have the energy to take the long way to my next stop.

Moving with a fake confidence that hopefully projected I belonged there, I walked into Moonlight—a resort that was the exact opposite of The Roulette Hotel. The place was gorgeous. Every inch was decorated on theme with flowers, shiny moons, and intricate details—right down to the tile under my feet. It was always lively with bright lights, loud noises, and crowds.

I hated it.

For petty and envious reasons, but still. Hated it.

I kept to the outside path, dodging people who decided the middle of the walkway was the perfect place to stop for a chat. As I approached a quick service restaurant, the smell of delicious food wafted out. Savory cheese. Spicy pepperoni. Rich red sauce filled with garlic and herbs that weren’t from an expired seasoning shaker.

My empty stomach clenched so painfully, tears filled my eyes.

Standing outside the restaurant entrance, a man talked with a woman as they ate. I watched in horror as he tossed half his slice of pizza into the trash. She’d only taken a couple of bites of her giant soft pretzel before adding it to his waste.

I was starving and on the verge of passing out.

Desperate.

And they’d just tossed out food like it was nothing.

That was why I did it.

Passing the man, I deftly slid his wallet from his pocket. It’d been so smooth, there was no way he’d felt it.

I kept my previous pace as I pocketed the prize, my expression blank and calm.

It wasn’t like they were the kind of tourists who had scrimped and saved to do a budget Vegas vacation. The kind who stayed at The Roulette because it was better than nothing.

My mark clearly had money. Hell, he had money to literally throw away.

Plus, I wasn’t going to take all his cash. Just enough to grab a fast-food burger. No side. No drink. Not even the tiny upcharge for cheese. Just a cheap, plain burger.

Even as I tried to justify my actions, I hated them. I hated my mother for putting me in the position—and not for the first or hundredth time.

I hated myself for being more like her than I ever wanted to be.

But a girl had to eat.

After a few tense seconds with my heart pounding in my throat… nothing happened.

Relief flowed through me.

Phew.

I did it.

But I should’ve known better than to think fate or luck or the universe would be on my side.

“Return it.”

At the rough order spoken from right behind me, a chill shot down my spine. My stomach bottomed out as bile rose to burn my throat.

No.

He’s not talking to me.

Just a coincidence.

But, again, I should’ve known better.

A hand snagged my wrist, halting my steps. I was whipped around until I was face to torso with a mountain of a man.

At barely five-one, I was used to being shorter than pretty much everyone. But between his towering height and muscular build, I felt infinitesimal as the suited man eclipsed me.

I craned my neck to look up at the behemoth with buzzed hair and a full blond beard. His hazel eyes were far too sharp as he stared down at me and repeated, “Return it.”

“Return what?” I tried.

He arched a brow, not buying my innocent bullshit. “The wallet.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now let me go before I scream.” I tried to tug out of his viselike grip, but it was impossible.

“Good idea. I’m sure security can help get to the bottom of this.”

I swallowed hard. “Security?”

He tilted his head toward where a handsome Black man stood against the wall, an authoritative air about him as he surveyed the expansive room. I didn’t need to see the details on the ID badge clipped to his suit jacket to know he was in a position of power.

The bearded man gestured again, that time to where three men were converged, all wearing the typical security guard uniforms.

His focus returned to me. “Go ahead and scream, little girl.”

As insulted as I was by the condescending name, I was more terrified at the threat of getting busted. If getting fired had screwed me over, getting arrested would fuck up my entire life.

“I’ll return it,” I said quietly.

When the man released me, I didn’t try to run. He’d have caught me in two of his long-legged steps, alerting security in the process.

My mom was the one who thrived off making a scene, not me.

I slid the wallet from my pocket and backtracked to where the couple still lingered near the restaurant.

Pretending to pick it up, I stood and tapped the mark’s shoulder. “Excuse me, is this yours?”

His eyes dropped to the wallet and then narrowed on me.

It didn’t matter what trumped-up image I’d tried to project to make it seem like I belonged in the fancy casino. It didn’t matter how easily and skillfully I schooled my features into the picture of innocence. To the people who actually belonged in the luxury resort, I still looked like exactly what I was.

Poor trash.

Shit, this is going to be bad.

I braced, my thoughts racing for excuses if he accused me of… well, of the truth.

His gaze went over my head just as I felt someone behind me. “Do you work here? This… girl,” he spat, making it clear that wasn’t the word he wanted to use, “stole my wallet.”

“The wallet in your hands?” the behemoth asked.

“Yes, but?—”

“The one she just picked up and handed to you?”

“Yes, but?—”

“Is anything missing?”

My failed mark opened his wallet to check his cards and count his cash.

An obscene amount of it.

He wouldn’t have noticed five bucks missing. He probably wouldn’t have even realized if a couple of hundred were missing.

He tucked the bills away. “It’s all here.”

“Then what’s the problem?” the man behind me asked, his voice dripping with impatience.

“No problem,” my mark said, even as he eyed me with distaste—like my mere existence was an insult to him. Without another word, he and the woman walked away, not even thanking me for finding the wallet.

I mean, I was also the one who’d taken it, but still. Rude.

Not turning, I quietly muttered, “There, it’s returned.”

I tried to continue on my way to hell in a flaming handbasket, but a large hand encircled my wrist again. That time, he didn’t have to whip me around. I did it myself so I could glare up at him. “I will scream, and it doesn’t matter if security hears now.”

He didn’t seem worried. “Why’d you take it?”

There was no animosity in his tone. No judgment. No ridicule. It was just curiosity, like he was asking what my favorite food was.

Any.

Anywas my favorite food.

When I didn’t answer, he twisted my arm in his hold, and his gaze darted down.

I’d grown up in Vegas—and not the Moonlight side of it that was all glam and luxury. I knew what he was looking for.

That he’d caught me stealing was embarrassing.

But watching him inspect my inner arm for track marks killed.

I’d long ago given up caring about what others thought of me. The assumptions they were quick to make. But for whatever reason, I didn’t want this stranger to think I was a junkie.

Turning both my arms so he could see they were unmarred, I kept my voice low as I shared my shame. “I’m just hungry. I was going to take enough to buy a cheap burger and then drop the wallet with an employee. That’s it, I swear.” Tears blurred my vision as I repeated, “I’m just hungry.”

“Then let’s feed you,” he said simply.

My stomach ate away at itself. The burn of reflux and cramps caused a constant ache that I couldn’t escape. Not while I worked. Not while I dealt with a behemoth. Not even in sleep.

But I shook my head, my stupid pride unwilling to accept his charity. “I need to get home.”

“I didn’t ask. Let’s go.”

“Really, it’s?—”

“Now, little girl. Or I’ll talk to security. I’m sure a place like this is loaded with cameras that caught your trick.”

It was the wrong thing to be cocky about, but I knew it was unlikely any camera had detected my pickpocketing. My movements were trained to be minimal. At most, it would look like I’d brushed by the man.

The behemoth as a witness changed things, though.

I wasn’t sure whether he’d actually turn me in, but I wasn’t anxious to find out.

“Okay,” I relented.

A slow smile spread across his lips, making deep dimples appear under his blond beard. “Good.”

I had no idea what was good about any of it, especially for him.

I didn’t trust his smile or words.

Or him, for that matter.

Despite my agreement seconds before, I dug my heels in. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re hungry.”

“Okay, and? What’s that got to do with you?” I snapped—partially to mask my embarrassment but mostly because I was exhausted and starving.

“Are you always such a ray of sunshine?” he shot back instead of answering. Still holding my wrist, he walked through the milling crowds, not hesitating or dodging out of the way like I did. He didn’t have to. Everyone got the hell out of his path, likely for fear of being mowed over.

We followed the signs for the food court, and my eyes landed on an exit.

When we pass, I’ll duck out and run my ass off.

I barely finished my thought when he said, “Don’t even think about it.”

I forced my voice to be light and confused. “Think about what?”

“Running. You wouldn’t get more than a handful of steps before I caught you.”

“I predicted two steps.”

“I was being generous.”

“Nice of you,” I deadpanned.

He smiled down at me, but he didn’t say anything further.

There was no reason for him to be mindful of my ego. Getting caught stealing and then becoming a charity case had already destroyed what little, tattered one I’d started with.

It was officially DOA.

We walked in silence for a couple of minutes before reaching the food court. So many mouthwatering scents hit my nose at once, I worried I’d start to drool.

“What’re you in the mood for?” he asked.

Everything.

Anything.

All of it.

My choices were Mexican, chicken, burgers, and a deli sandwich place. I scanned the prices before sticking with my original—and inexpensive—plan. “A burger.”

He lifted his chin and guided me over to that register. “Order what you want.”

“Can I have a junior burger, please?” I asked the wide-eyed cashier.

Not that I blamed her reaction. Shame-spiral or not, even I knew the man at my back was hot.

Maybe she thought I was a juvenile delinquent out for lunch with my social worker.

Or parole officer.

“Make that a double,” the behemoth said.

“Cheese?” the cashier asked.

I shook my head. “No?—”

“Yes,” the behemoth answered for me.

“Bacon?” the cashier asked.

“No—” I tried, but again, the behemoth contradicted me.

“Yeah. And a large fry, a large drink, and a chocolate milkshake.”

Oh duh.

He must be eating, too.

“And a salad,” he added, rounding off the meal with something healthy. Like some lettuce would cancel out the thirty million calories in the fries and shake.

He’s well over six feet of solid muscle. He probably needs a ton of calories to fuel a body like his.

My cheeks flushed at my thoughts. I had no business thinking about his body.

And I certainly shouldn’t have been studying it the way I was.

When I dragged my eyes up to his face, I saw he looked down at me expectantly.

My face burned hotter.

If he’d noticed me checking him out, he didn’t say anything. “What dressing?”

“Ranch,” I answered without thought before realizing why he asked. I’d assumed the salad was for him. It would be in the end because I had no intention of eating anything other than the burger.

After the behemoth paid a far from cheap total, we moved over to the pickup area to wait.

Between the various smells and the heat emanating from the kitchens, my stomach began to churn. My appetite quickly faded, leaving nausea in its place. Saliva filled my mouth at an alarming rate.

At least I won’t embarrass myself by throwing up huge chunks… There’s nothing in there but stale black coffee and stomach acid.

Spots floated in my vision before it tunneled suddenly. My hands shot out to grip the counter as I fought to remain standing, but my movements were slow despite my panic. Everything shifted, and the world went sideways.

“Hey, whoa.” The behemoth caught me around the waist as I slumped, keeping me upright. He pulled his phone out, likely to call for help.

That was enough to jolt me out of my daze so I could force out, “I just need to eat something.”

“I’m calling an ambu?—”

“No, no. It’s just low blood sugar.”

If he called an ambulance, I’d have to explain that I had no insurance and no money to pay the hefty bill for their trip. I’d be in debt for the rest of my life, all so they could tell me what I already knew.

I needed food.

“Please. I swear, I’m fine,” I insisted.

He didn’t look convinced, but he helped me over to a chair and sat me down before crouching next to me. His worried gaze studied my face. “You’re pale.”

“I told you, I just need to eat.” But the thought of swallowing a single bite made my stomach twist.

With a scowl, he stood and returned to the counter. The cashier handed him the milkshake and an empty cup that he filled at the soft drink dispenser. He set them both on the table in front of me. “Drink.”

I only took the soda, sipping the unfamiliar sweet syrup. “Root beer?”

“Yes. It’ll help get your blood sugar up without adding caffeine to your system.” He nudged the milkshake closer. “This too.”

Unlike most of the population, I disliked chocolate. I could tolerate it in candy bars if there were other things—like caramel, cookie, or wafer—but I never chose plain chocolate anything.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when I made no move to take it.

“Nothing.” Not in a position to be picky about preferences, I took the heavy cup and forced myself to drink. It was cold and sugary, and I didn’t care that it tasted like artificial syrup. It was sustenance.

Kinda.

He watched me for a second before surmising, “You don’t like chocolate.”

“It’s fine.”

“What flavor do you want?”

“This is?—”

“Little girl, I asked you a question.”

I glared at him. “Don’t call me that.”

Apparently, he didn’t find a frail five-foot-one woman menacing because he ignored my snapped order. “Answer the question, little girl.”

“Chocolate is fine.”

“Tell me what flavor, or I’ll order every single one.”

I didn’t even have to study him to know he wasn’t bluffing. On a sigh, I muttered, “Strawberry, please.”

“Don’t mumble,” he chided like I was a child before walking to the counter.

When he returned a minute later, it was with a new shake and a mountain of food on a tray. He set it all in front of me and sat in the chair opposite mine.

Saliva filled my mouth again, and it wasn’t out of anticipation. It was my empty stomach threatening to revolt.

I grabbed the burger that looked bigger than my head. Unwrapping it, I took a small bite. A burst of flavor exploded on my tongue, and I wanted to inhale more, but I knew how that would go. I returned it to the paper and chewed slowly, pacing myself.

His gaze went from me to the barely touched burger. “You don’t like it.”

“I do.”

“If you want something different?—”

“It’s delicious. But when I’m this hungry, I have to go slow so I don’t, uh, get sick.”

That made his brow arch. “This happen a lot?”

Shit.

“No,” I lied.

And he knew it. He stared at me like he could read my thoughts, and his jaw clenched hard enough to make a muscle twitch. After a long, tense moment, he pushed the fries my way. “Eat.”

I grabbed one. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“No.”

“Why’d you order all this?”

“For you.”

Stopping with the fry halfway to my mouth, I narrowed my eyes. “What’s your angle here?”

“What do you mean?” He leaned back, draping a muscular arm over the empty chair next to him. Casual and relaxed and open.

I didn’t trust it.

“If you think I have a way to repay you, you’re out of luck.”

“What?”

I met his surprised gaze. “No one buys a stranger lunch for free?—”

“I do.” Shaking his head, he muttered, “Try to do something nice, and get accusations. Just a ray of sunshine.”

“Sorry, I don’t?—”

“Just eat,” he said, thankfully cutting in since I had no clue how to finish that sentence.

As a kid, I’d taken care of myself. If anything, I’d often filled the role of parent to my mother. At work, I’d always done my job well and without needed supervision or direction.

No one ever told me what to do, but that seemed to be all the behemoth was capable of.

I wasn’t a fan.

But I would suck it up since he was feeding me rather than handing me over to security. I could deal with his bossiness for a little while longer.

I took another tentative bite of my burger, giving my stomach time to adjust.

Behemoth opened the veggie laden salad and dumped the ranch on before pushing it over.

“I don’t like salad,” I told him, too distracted by my nausea to think better of being an ungrateful bitch.

“I don’t care. You can’t just eat protein, fat, and carbs.”

I gestured toward the restaurant counter. “You’re the one who ordered this.”

“Because you need protein, fat, and carbs. But you also need vegetables.”

Gross.

My food pyramid was made up of two zones. Cheap food was at the top. Chicken nuggets. Cardboard-esque budget pizzas. Tater tots. Boxed mac and cheese. White rice. Processed items that could be bought on sale and stretched for multiple meals.

Coffee held the place of honor as the largest section on the bottom. That sludge did a lot of heavy lifting, fueling my body while also giving the illusion of fullness. Some days, it was most of my daily intake courtesy of the unlimited supply at work.

Or, rather, my ex-work.

When there was money in my budget for veggies, it was canned stuff. Not different types of vibrant green lettuce topped with fresh vegetable chunks.

“Eat it,” he ordered.

“You’re bossy,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

Shit, that was rude of me.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem insulted. “So I’ve been told.”

I forked up some of the salad, willing to gag down a bite or two if it would help my stomach. But when I grudgingly popped it into my mouth, it wasn’t gross.

“Holy shit, this is actually good.”

“Language,” he scolded, surprising me. He didn’t look like someone who would be offended by swearing, but what did I know? Dressed in a gray suit and blindingly white shirt—though no tie—he could be one of the religious folks who rolled through on a misguided mission to save the sinners of Vegas. Although they usually didn’t have hands covered in intricate tattoos. “But I’m glad you like it.”

My gaze shot to him, expecting a smirk or an I told you so, but there was nothing.

“I’m used to wilted iceberg and mealy tomatoes,” I said.

He nodded, nudging the salad closer.

I happily ate more because it sat better in my belly than the other food. Once it was halfway gone and my stomach felt more settled, I returned to the burger and fries.

The behemoth didn’t ask any probing questions or even talk. I ate while he drank my rejected chocolate shake.

I used the silence to discreetly study him, wondering who he was and why he was there.

He didn’t look like he was on vacation or out gambling. My guess was business—either a meeting or one of the countless conventions that took place daily. Or the whole religious, save-a-sinner thing.

I didn’t bother to ask because it was none of my business.

When I couldn’t possibly eat another bite, I rewrapped the remainder. He stood and started to pick up the tray, likely to toss it out.

So much wasted food.

Before I could think better of it, my hand shot out and covered his. I snatched it away just as fast. “I’ll bring the leftovers home.”

I knew the fries would taste like shit reheated and the burger would be a soggy mess, but I didn’t care. It was enough for dinner.

Or dinner and tomorrow’s lunch if I portioned it right.

His jaw clenched again for some reason—it seemed to be his default reaction to me. But he didn’t say anything and just lifted his chin before going to the cashier.

After getting a paper bag for everything, he turned around as someone called, “Hey, Ash!”

The man’s gaze shot to me like I’d been the one to shout. He wore an indecipherable expression on his face.

A moment later, it became clear why.

The security guard from earlier approached the behemoth, talking as he moved. It was obvious they knew each other.

Well… I was kind of right.

He is here for work.

Because this is his work.

With zero hesitation, I was up and running.

I only wished I didn’t have to leave my precious food behind.