Chapter 2
two
Morgan
“Excuse me ma’am, you can’t enter here. New boss gave us instructions to trespass anyone that tried to go inside.”
Am I…am I in the right place? “I have a shift starting in a few minutes; I work here.”
The construction worker shakes his head. “Not anymore you don’t. We’re pretty much tearing it down. Had it liquidated last night, there’s not even product in there to sell. Probably best you get a hold of your supervisor. Do need you to leave though, this is now an active construction site.”
I have a hard time believing that the gas station I’ve worked at for years, the one I was literally just at until yesterday afternoon, is suddenly out of business and empty. This guy clearly has bad information.
Ready to call his bluff, I risk a few steps up to peek in the windows, and I’m primed and ready to tell him he’s crazy, when I realize maybe I’m the crazy one.
“Well fuck me. What the hell?”
The construction worker has resumed his task of throwing shit in a dumpster and has joined other men and women in safety vests and hard hats, and it looks like they’re gutting the place.
None of them seem to want to talk to me, and when I try, I’m warned about being trespassed again.
I pull my shitty prepaid phone out of my pocket and call up my boss, who blessedly answers pretty quickly. “Hey, what’s up Morgan?”
“You tell me. I’m trying to clock in, but apparently, I’m now trespassing? Did I get fired and no one told me?”
“Ah, fuck. About that. Hey look, I’m really sorry, but we got bought out last night. Made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, so I didn’t!” He cackles. “Your final paycheck will arrive as normal, good luck!”
“Wait, Rob, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
“I uh, wish I could help you. Me and the Mrs. are heading out for a two-week cruise now because we can afford it! So listen, you’re a good kid, you’ll figure something out.”
The fucker hangs up.
The workers are starting to stare at me, and I get the impression they’re thinking of approaching me to tell me to leave again, so I beat them to the punch.
I get a block out of the way and sit on a bus shelter bench, one tucked a bit into a tree line, and try to process.
I’m not expecting to find many places that will consider hiring me, but I suppose I’m going to have to try anyway.
There aren’t even many businesses nearby that I could even consider, but I spend the day getting on and off the bus, walking everywhere possible, asking about applications.
Nobody is hiring. Even the small café with a ‘now hiring’ sign in their window, apparently.
Because as soon as I walked in and an employee got a whiff of me, they tore the sign down and told me the position was already filled.
And then when I hid down the street after leaving, they put it back out.
Mind racing, spinning out at about a hundred thousand miles an hour, I hop on the bus one more time and zone out, barely aware enough to get off at the right stop to get to my apartment, waving to the woman in the box when I pass her.
Maybe my apartment complex needs like, a cleaner or something when people move out? Maybe I could barter rent for that?
Fuck. Cleaning.
That’s when I remember the business card that totally random dude who’s definitely nobody important gave me, and I speed walk up the stairs to my apartment, only to see a notice on the front door that the entire complex being demolished next week and we have six days to vacate the premises.
What. The. Fuck.
I smack my head against the door, tearing down the stupid paper, and I ball it up and throw it in my kitchen trash can.
It takes me a minute to remember I left the card in the jeans I was wearing yesterday, but when I dig it out, it feels way too coincidental. Why would that annoying man tell me about a job, working for him if I’m not mistaken, right before I lost not only my job, but my apartment as well?
But…he couldn’t be responsible, right?
No, it’s just a really big coincidence. Absolutely.
They say beggars can’t be choosers, but how the hell can I not be choosy when we’re talking about working in a stranger’s home with no top on? I’ve never shown anyone my boobs. Maybe it’s negotiable.
Maybe I should just call and find out what the pay is.
It’s possible a different employment opportunity will pop up within the next few days, one that will also give me an advance so I can get a down payment together for a new apartment somewhere, but…short of moving to a totally different zip code, I don’t know how that’s going to happen.
Do I just wait a few days and hope that something pops up?
Fuck. I really don’t want to ask box lady to share her shelter.
My phone is in my hand and dialing before I can talk myself out of it, and I’m grateful that a woman answers. You have no way of knowing I was dying to hear that man’s voice again.
“Little Miss Maid Service, this is Ellie, are you looking to book services with us today?”
“Um hello, no, not quite. This is, um, well. Sorry.” I clear my throat, knowing I’m completely butchering this and hoping like hell I might still salvage a job out of it. “I was given your card yesterday, and told you might be hiring?”
The line is silent for a few minutes, and then she muffles the phone and squeals before coming back to the phone. “Can I get your name, dear?”
“Morgan Belrose.”
“Excellent. Yes, my brother told me he spoke to you and was hoping you’d call. When can you come in for an interview?”
“Well, the place I’ve been working just up and closed down, so I’m wide open.” I’m impressed at how even-keeled I sound— I bet she can’t hear my impending break down at all.
“Oh, that’s right. Okay, I’m going to text you the address, could you be here tomorrow at nine a.m.?”
It’s going to be a bitch to figure out how to get a bus that early, but I don’t really see any other options. “I can…make that work.”
“Wonderful. We’ll see you in the morning, take care now!”
I’m left staring at a blank screen after that, wondering what I’m getting myself into, but also knowing that it’s not like I have a ton of options at the moment.
Now feels like a good time for that break down.
???
I don’t sleep great after all the stress of yesterday, and I’m pissed when there’s a loud truck from one of my neighbors right outside our building before it’s even properly daytime yet.
They are clearly reversing, playing that irritating-as-all-get-out beeping sound that’s way too loud to be necessary, and I peek through the window because I’m nosy, jaw dropping when I see that arrogant pretty man from the gas station hopping out of the driver’s side door.
What the hell is he doing here? How does he know someone at my complex?
It gets worse.
He’s downright jaunty as he unloads a hand truck from the back of the massive vehicle, carrying it over his head as he climbs the stairs and then he disappears from view.
It’s totally plausible that he’s going somewhere else, right?
But of course, he knocks on my door. “Come on beautiful, rise and shine! It’s move out day!”
It’s barely seven fucking am, is what it is.
My hair a mess, my pajamas wrinkled from sleep and my feet bare, I stomp to the door and pry it open, doing my best glare at him. “What the hell are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”
He sucks in a breath and runs his eyes slowly up and down my body, lingering overlong at my bare legs beneath the giant promotional beer T-shirt I got for free at work, and then that irritating smile is plastered on his face as he leans an arm on the hand truck. “I’m here to help you move.”
“And how would you know I needed to move?”
“Oh, well, see, it’s quite simple. I bought your place of business, got your employee records because that was included in the purchase, found your address, then bought that place as well, and now here we are. Your knight in shining armor, ready to bring you somewhere… better.”
I scrub my face and then decide the best way to deal with him is to straight up slam the door in his face.
He immediately knocks again, but I’m already carting my ass to the kitchen to turn on my coffee pot.
He would take that as an invitation to enter.
“Don’t need your help,” I tell him as I reach for a mug from my drying rack.
“According to my sister, that’s not true.”
I spin and nearly slam the mug on the counter in my haste to glare at him. “I wouldn’t have needed to call if a certain asshole hadn’t taken it upon himself to buy out and destroy not only my place of business, but my home as well!”
“Morgan, that gas station and these apartments are a blight on the neighborhood. You deserve so much better.”
“No. What I deserve is for you to fucking listen to the words coming out of my mouth. Back. Off.”
“…So, you don’t want the job, then?”
It’s perfectly acceptable to scream, right?
I yank open my fridge door and scream into that before grabbing my carton of cream, then dig my hands into my scalp.
“Obviously, I need the job because you fucking took my other one away. I spent the entire day yesterday traipsing here and there, trying to find someone else hiring, and nobody wanted anything to do with me, as I expected. So, you win. I get to go and whip off my top for money while I scrub houses for some cringy, crusty, creepy-ass man. You happy?”
He takes a step forward and I swear to the fucking moon he’s trying to placate me, holding his hands out like I’m the one being unreasonable in this situation and need tempering.
“I’m trying to take care of you. Give you a better life.
Didn’t think you’d up and just agree to move in with me and let me take care of you otherwise.
I created the job so you’d still have some independence. ”
I pour my coffee and way too much cream into my mug and chug down half of it before crudely wiping my mouth and glaring at him again. “You don’t even know me. I don’t know you. Why on earth would I just up and want to move in with you?”