Chapter 1
LITTLE SUNSHINE CHAPTER ONE
MILA
“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It wasn’t like cleaning a scuzzy, outdated hotel was my dream job.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 PB&J 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.