Chapter 8
JULES
With an exhausted sigh, I drop my phone into my apron pouch, square my shoulders, and get back to work.
Lincoln Raines sure knows how to piss me the fuck off.
His sarcastic little marriage proposal couldn’t have come at a weirder time. But more than that, I’m so annoyed over his outlandish ‘trust fund baby’ remark. Because I’m nothing like my rich, spoiled family. Nothing. Unlike them, I’m actually a good person.
There was hardly a silver spoon in my childhood. More like a plastic spork. One we’d keep on throwing into the drawer and reusing, long after it melted and warped.
My mom and I never had a whole lot, but we got by.
Of course, my father has always been a wealthy man, but getting any support from him was always a touchy subject.
I guess he was never eager to pay up for the bastard daughter who almost broke up his happy, little Stepford family.
And he definitely resented having to spend any time with me.
I never felt loved by him. I felt like nothing but an obligation that he tried to avoid at all costs. Truth be told, if Great-Grandma hadn’t been actively holding him accountable for his fatherly responsibilities toward me, he would have deserted me a long, long time ago.
So being called a ‘trust fund baby’ now made me want to put my fist through Lincoln’s nose. The man has somehow perfected the art of getting under my skin.
Fooling around with him was a massive mistake. Sure, my body enjoyed it in the moment. But now the rest of my life? Shambles. Absolute shambles.
Naturally, my jerk of a half-sister is blackmailing me with the photographic evidence of my indiscretion. She’s calling it a ‘breach’ of Great-Grandma’s new morality clause. Acting like she’s a little angel herself.
Today, I wasted my entire work break sending Hilary text messages, begging her to be reasonable.
When those went unanswered, I panic-called her and left a voice message.
I pleaded with her to drop this. I asked what she actually expects to gain from this smear campaign.
And I might have also finished it off with a thinly veiled threat to revive that long-buried, not-so-appealing coke snorting photo of her if she exposes me to Great-Grandma.
Probably not the most diplomatic way to handle Hilary, but I’m desperate.
I pass through the restaurant’s bustling kitchen now, grabbing a fresh pitcher of lemonade to bring to the foyer. But as I step into the hallway leading to the front of the restaurant, I run into my boss, Mr. Drummond.
I groan inwardly. Could the day get any freaking worse?
I avert my eyes, trying to dodge around the man, but he corners me. My feet come to a reluctant halt as he gets too close for comfort.
“Jules. Where’ve you been?”
“On my break.”
He dramatically lifts up his arm and checks his Rolex. “Looks more like two breaks in one, if you ask me. I’m not pleased with all your downtime, Jules. I don’t pay you to just wander around at your whim all day,” Mr. Drummond says, in his nasally, condescending voice.
“I clocked out,” I argue, growing more and more annoyed.
His beady eyes skim down the length of my body. He steps so close I almost gag on his raunchy garlic breath.
“Did you put on some weight? Your skirt looks…tighter,” the creep says suggestively…before I feel his hand on my ass.
Yes. My ass.
Of all the asses in Fairy Bush, this fucker had the audacity to touch mine?!
Final straw. Final fucking straw.
Before I even realize what’s happening, the pitcher of ice cold lemonade is rising up and tipping over Mr. Drummond’s greasy head.
He shrieks loudly as the freshly-squeezed citrus starts to burn his eyes. “What the f—?!”
I let out a cackle when he starts flailing his arms, rubbing at his eyes, and yelling unintelligibly.
“Get—get—get out!” he screams between his obnoxious hyperventilating breaths. “You’re fired! F-f-fired! You hear me?”
“Loud and clear, perv-wad!”
I roughly shove the empty pitcher into his chest, grab my leather jacket from a nearby cubby and stride straight for the front door of the restaurant.
All eyes in the crowded dining room are on me, trying to figure out the commotion.
So I make sure to swing my hips with extra exaggeration for greater effect.
Lincoln is staring slack-jawed from his table and that makes my dramatic exit that much sweeter.
When I step out onto the pavement and the breeze hits my face, I feel an instant wave of relief.
I’m finally able to breathe for the first time in months.
I didn’t realize how much that Drummond creep bothered me.
Even when we weren’t in the same room, I’d always be tense and anxious about the next sleazy thing he’d say to me or the other girls.
It’s just too bad that standing up to that pig had to cost me my job. Still, it was worth it. Absolutely worth it.
I climb onto my moped, blast my favorite angry-girl music from my phone’s speaker and start to make my way home. But as I cruise through the quiet streets of Fairy Bush at a time of day that I’m not normally out and about, the adrenaline starts to fade.
My triumph is short-lived, and my own Negative Nancy reminds me of all my problems. Old panic seeps in.
A few days ago, I basically lost my shot at accessing my trust fund. Now, I also just eliminated my sole source of income in a fit of rage. I needed that job. My T-shirt business is barely bringing in enough to buy me a burger and a milkshake every month. I can’t survive off of that.
I hear that tiny, holier-than-thou voice inside my head again. Oh, you are so completely and utterly screwed.