Chapter 6 #2
But it’s not my place to ask, and it doesn’t matter, so I ask him something different instead.
“Why would you offer me a job like this?”
“It’s just cleaning.”
He’s not wrong, but I love cleaning. And he seems to know that.
“Because fast food is depressing and call centers are worse,” he goes on with a sigh. Then he smirks, his gaze darting over my face as his former bitterness disappears. “And you, little vandal, deserve better.”
“You don’t know anything about what I deserve,” I say, but for some reason the words are hoarse, and the room is much too warm.
“I know you deserve better than the Barts of the world,” he murmurs, his eyes boring into me. “You deserve someone who buys you high heels and doesn’t care if you’re taller than he is.”
I blink in surprise as my pulse stutters. “How—” Breaking off, I clear my throat. “How did you know about that?”
He grins but doesn’t answer. “Name your price,” he says again.
Since he’s asking…“Twenty an hour.”
His eyebrows lift. “Aim higher,” he says, and it’s impossible to put a name to his expression—some mixture of amusement and delight. “You won’t get what you don’t ask for.”
I hesitate for only a second, my nails digging into my skin where my hands are clasped together, my heart thudding nonsensically. “Fifty,” I breathe.
A true smile breaks over Roman’s face. “Yes,” he says. “Perfect.” He inhales deeply and straightens up, his sparkling eyes still on me. “Fifty an hour it is. Did you need to ask Denice for anything else?”
“No,” I say, swallowing.
He thumps the desk and nods. “I’ll send you the address.
Be there Saturday morning at ten.” Then he waves toward the door, raising his brows expectantly.
Time to leave, I guess. So I nod my thanks and then turn on my heel, striding to the door and into the hall as quickly as possible with my head held high.
But once I’ve closed the door behind me, I find myself leaning against the wall, my legs shaky, my heart pounding.
What on earth is wrong with me?
Me
Second stream of income secured.
India
That was fast
Is it Panda X-pres? They’re always hiring
Can you bring home free citrus chicken?
Me
You say that now, but imagine if I smelled like fried rice all the time
Jules
omg details!!!!!
tell us everything!!!!
it’s not sketchy, is it???
Me
No.
Ironically enough, I am also going to be doing janitorial work, Jules.
Jules
you love cleaning!!!
I did NOT love cleaning, so it sucked when I had to do it
but this is good, right?? Where are you cleaning??
India
Aurora?
Jules
Aurora???
WHY ARE YOU NOT ANSWERING THE QUESTION??
Personnel situation aside, I do have to admit it’s amazing that I get to sleep late the next morning.
Not a ton longer, but I’m only going over to the town square rather than all the way to Boulder.
Now that we’ve got the permit to hold our event here, I can start mapping out logistics and lining up local sponsors.
It’s a perfect spring Friday, the relief of the impending weekend ahead. Despite my concerns—despite not knowing what to expect—I’m cautiously curious about how tomorrow will go with Roman Drake, too.
I don’t know how he knew I love to clean and organize, but he must have figured it out somehow. I’m just slightly ashamed that I requested fifty dollars an hour.
My sisters just congratulated me for being so bold.
I don’t know what I was thinking. Roman wanted me to ask for more, and I’m in a tight spot, so I did.
But looking at it now, I’m questioning my own audacity.
I would never ask Denice for something like that.
I’m having trouble asking her for a raise I know I deserve, and she’s not even scary.
I was just at war with myself—demanding to be paid what I’m worth versus sucking it up and thriving on what I’ve been given.
I glance around as I stroll down the sidewalk and into the heart of town, inhaling deeply as I’m hit by the faint scent of donuts and ice cream.
The atmosphere helps calm me and clear my thoughts, and I breathe deeply once more.
I’m a little early, but I wanted some time to gather myself before anyone else shows up.
So I walk at my own pace, forcing myself to relax instead of rushing.
It’s a problem I have sometimes—rushing. I don’t just forget to smell the roses; I forget the roses exist. Sometimes I even run them over.
Most of the shops I pass are in the process of opening, although some won’t open for a couple more hours. I watch as the owners get ready for the day; they place chalk boards with daily specials on the walkway out front, or turn on neon signs, or water the flowers in their window boxes.
A faint smile finds my lips as I spot a bench that’s calling my name, in the shade of a tree and right next to the little bookshop my sisters love. My heels clip-clip as I approach and then settle there.
I love Lucky. Stopping to smell the roses or barreling down the road—either way, I’m glad I’m doing those things here.
The fresh sun warms my skin as I wait, and I redirect my thoughts to the day ahead of me, with Bart and Mindy and Roman Drake.
Roman Drake, who as far as I know hasn’t told anyone about meeting me in the holding cell. Is it only a matter of time? Denice is his sister. Will he say something?
My anxiety stirs. Maybe I shouldn’t think about him after all. So when “Dancing Queen” by ABBA starts to play from my purse, I pull my phone out with relief. “Hey,” I say, not bothering to look at the caller ID; Jules is the only one with this ringtone.
Her bright voice finds me right away. “Did you do something with my lipstick when you wiped down the bathroom downstairs the other day?”
“Your lipstick?” I say, trying to remember.
“Yeah. It’s bright pink, Brazen Rose. I left it on the counter behind the sink, and now I can’t find it.”
“You checked in your room?”
“Of course I did,” she says.
“Hmm.” I continue to rack my memory, but nothing pops up.
I’m not surprised, either; when I go into cleaning mode, I tend to turn off some of the other parts of my brain, partly because I’m already overwhelmed and stressed.
It’s like hitting the Reset button. “Try the bottom drawer in the upstairs bathroom. Sometimes I put clutter in there.”
Juliet lets out a dramatic gasp. “Brazen Rose is not clutter!” she says, but I can tell she’s not actually upset.
The faint background thump of ascending stairs filters down the line.
“It’s a vital part of my wardrobe and a treasured possession—oh!
” When she speaks again, I can hear her smile.
“Here it is. Thanks, Ror!” She pauses. “How are you feeling? I was in the shower when you left.”
My shoulders twitch into a shrug as my smile falters. “I’m fine. Good. I’m good.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to egg Tyler’s house—”
“No,” I say quickly. “You promised. No more eggs. Besides”—I force a laugh—“I’m really okay. Truly. Everything will be fine.”
“I’m just worried,” she says with a sigh. “And I want to help.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, softer now. “I do. But I’ve got this. You don’t need to be worried, all right? I’m genuinely fine. Everything is okay.”
Something deep inside me relaxes at the relief in her voice when she speaks again. “If you say so,” she says.
“I do say so. Now go to work.”
“Boo. I’m going.”
“Love you,” I say.
“I love you too!” she chirps, and then we hang up.
“You’re something else, Aurora Marigold,” a low voice says from behind me, deep and smooth and full of amusement. I startle, but Roman Drake goes on. “A vandal and a liar.”