The Reluctant Roommate

Chapter 1 When Is a Job Not a Job?

When Is a Job Not a Job?

Morgan pulled up the collar on her coat and huddled into her scarf as the wind whistled around the Colorado State Capitol Building and swirled down Broadway, mussing her blond hair.

She stepped around a puddle, careful not to get the toes of her good leather shoes wet.

It wasn’t yet time to break out the snow boots, but it wouldn’t be long until she needed something cozy and waterproof.

She passed the coffee shop where she got her morning Americano and hurried on.

Not for the first time, she wished the sandwich bar at the bottom of her building would reopen—preferably without the health-and-safety citation that had caused it to close in the first place.

But until then, the Snarf’s Sandwiches on the next block would have to do.

Ahead of her, a woman stood in the middle of the sidewalk scrolling on her phone, a bulky backpack at her feet. Despite the weather, the woman wore only jeans and a light jacket over a nubbly sweater. Morgan moved right to give her a wide berth.

The woman pocketed her phone as Morgan approached. “Excuse me, I was wondering if you know where Foxies has moved to?” The woman’s accent was strange. Not American, not quite British. She indicated the building behind her.

Morgan glanced at it. A bar. Right now, the neon signs in the window were dark, and she could vaguely make out stools upended on tables inside. A light flickered above the bar, which was devoid of bottles. Definitely a closed bar. Likely a closed-down one.

Morgan flicked her another glance. She looked harmless.

She stopped, keeping distance between them. “I don’t, I’m sorry. The sign doesn’t mention it?” She pointed to the handwritten sign taped to the inside of the door.

“No.” The woman sighed. “Just that it’s closed while they seek new premises. End of lease. Their website doesn’t give a new address, but I don’t think the site’s been updated since about 1990.”

“I doubt they had a website in 1990,” Morgan said. One part of her mind wondered why she was engaging this way with a stranger.

“Whatevs.” The woman shrugged. “I was offered a job here. Guess it’s not happening.”

Australian. Her accent was Australian. Or maybe New Zealand. Was there a difference? She frowned. “It’s weird they’d offer you a job if they were closing.”

“Well, to be accurate, a friend of the owner said that Foxies was always hiring, and, being queer, I would already be top of the list. Seems they get a lot of bi-curious straight girls working there, which is great, but they don’t often stay long.”

Queer? Straight girls? Morgan glanced at the dark frontage of Foxies.

For the first time, she noticed the Pride stickers on the window.

“This is a queer bar?” The stickers were hard to miss, but she’d managed it.

But then her sort of bars were more upmarket, places that called themselves a bar and grille, not narrow-fronted, shabby-looking premises on busy streets.

“Yeah. Or it was.” The woman flashed her a smile. “Thanks for stopping. I guess I’ll find a backpackers’ hostel and figure out my next move.” She tilted her head. “Don’t suppose you know anything about Capitol Hill Backpackers? Like, is it safe for solo women?”

Morgan shook her head. “Sorry. Maybe you could check some reviews or something.”

“You can’t trust reviews. The last place I stayed had awesome reviews, but the place was filthy, and every night, the owner’s friends would come around and party. It was impossible to sleep.”

Her smile was infectious, and Morgan found her lips twitching in response.

The woman was interesting looking, with short brown hair and long bangs flopping over her forehead.

A purple streak colored one side. Her eyes drew Morgan in; they crinkled appealingly when she smiled, and were a warm brown, framed by thick, dark lashes. Morgan had instant lash envy.

“You could ask to see the room before you stay.” There was no way she’d stay anywhere without seeing it first. The unknown hostel sounded like death by bedbugs.

“It doesn’t work like that in hostels.” The woman picked up her backpack and shrugged into it. “No worries. Thanks for your time.”

“Good luck.” Morgan offered a small smile and continued on up the street to Snarf’s.

As she turned in the door, she glanced back. The woman bounced on her toes a couple of times to settle her pack, then turned and trudged back up Broadway.

Strange. What sort of person turned up somewhere on the vague promise of a job? It seemed haphazard and disorganized. Most people would have called ahead, spoken to the owner, checked the address… All sorts of things that made sense.

Morgan shrugged. Not my problem.

~ ~ ~

The afternoon ticked on. Morgan feigned interest in a Zoom staff meeting and made several client calls, touching base.

She acted on written instructions from some, used her best judgment on others.

When she looked away from her computer screen, the Denver skyline lit up the night sky.

Muted conversations reached her from around the office.

With many of their clients based overseas, long and strange hours were the norm at Mattingley Financial.

Morgan yawned and glanced at the clock. Seven twenty.

Her workmate, Manuela, had waved goodbye almost an hour ago.

She should leave, go home, try to summon the motivation to make a nutritious dinner, one with real food, not just something processed beyond recognition.

Chicken that had run around a farmyard at some point in its life rather than something simply infused with chicken flavor.

Maybe a glass of wine. Maybe she’d sleep better tonight and be less tired tomorrow.

Yeah, right.

She glanced at her remaining task sheet, checking that everything could be left until the next day.

They all could…except… Damn. A share transfer for one of her overseas clients.

She couldn’t leave that, but it was a routine task that shouldn’t take too long, and then she’d finish up.

She stifled a yawn. She could pick up a burrito on the way home—that would count as real food.

Steaming vegetables could wait for another day.

With a sigh, she rose and went to the office kitchen to make herself another coffee. Maybe this was the reason she slept so poorly at night, but, equally, caffeine was all that got her through the day.

Giving up caffeine was another thing for future Morgan.