His eyes slide from my face, linger on my breasts, then settle on the application I filled out that the receptionist handed me at the front desk twenty minutes before. “Sit. You don’t have any experience.”
“No,” I admit, slinking into the seat opposite his and taking it as a good sign that I might be in with a chance of getting this job.
His eyes flick to me. “You attended Haven Academy.”
I hadn’t been sure whether to use a fake name, but I figured a job in a hotel would come with a background check. Better to be truthful and maybe get the job than get caught out in a lie and definitely not get it. “That’s right.”
“Omegas don’t clean hotel rooms.”
“I need the work.”
He stares at me for a beat longer. When the furrows on his brow smooth and his mouth opens slightly, I figure he justworked out who I am. More so when his eyes flick to the bites on my throat. “Juniper Harrington.”
I said my name was June on the application. June Edith.
I nod. “My parents would prefer I no longer use the Harrington name.” I pause. “For obvious reasons.”
Namely, for daring to air my dirty laundry in the most public way possible. The only thing worse would have been if I’d done a TV interview. A nurse at the hospital had told me reporters were hanging around, looking for me to do one. Maybe I should have. My parents had already cut me off, and I wouldn’t have had to sell my bracelet if a reporter had paid for my story.
Being in a coma for two weeks meant the reporters got bored waiting for me to come out of it, or a more interesting story had distracted them.
Leather squeaks as Manny sits back in his seat and steeples his hairy fingers together on the desk. “It’s $15 an hour. You slack, you’re gone. The hours are from seven a.m. to four p.m. See HR down the hall about a uniform and a bank account to get paid into.”
I sit up in my seat, my excitement about getting a job warring with alarm. “I haven’t got a bank account set up yet. Can I get paid in cash for now?”
He pierces me with a probing look. “First paycheck is in two weeks. You get paid biweekly, which gives you two weeks to set up a bank account for that first paycheck. You get a check. Don’t have a bank account? That’s your problem to solve, not mine to find a solution to.”
“Oh, well, thanks for giving me a chance. I’ll get the bank account set up.” I jump up from my seat and rush to the door as if I’m so excited to speak to HR about my uniform that I forget to shake his hand. Lucia warned me about his wandering hands. I have no intention of getting any closer to Manny than I need to.
“Sure.” He waves me out of the room, and as I walk out, I feel his eyes on my ass.
Two weeks pass in the blink of an eye, and I build a simple life for myself.
It’s sometimes plagued by a fear of roaches crawling on my face as I sleep and anxiety about my little sister, but it’smylife, and I don’t have a cruel or neglectful alpha to ruin my day.
I have a job, though it comes with a manager with wandering hands when I bump into him in the hallway. I have a bank account and a refrigerator half-filled with simple ingredients I’m learning to cook with.
My bed doesn’t have things that itch and bite, and the last time I saw a roach, my scream didn’t threaten to puncture anyone’s eardrums.
I still screamed, and my hands shook as I gave myself a stern talking to in the bathroom mirror (I’d run into the bathroom to hide). Then I grabbed one of my big Tupperware and spent thirty minutes catching the roach and throwing it—and the container—in a dumpster halfway down the street. I have an irrational fear that it was the same roach from before and it crawled back into my apartment looking for revenge.
On my days off from cleaning at the hotel, I visit everyone who knew River to see if they might know where my sister is. Since they’re mostly my parents' friends, I rarely get past the front gate. On the rare chance I get to speak to a servant, they apologize and say they haven’t seen her.
And if I occasionally cry myself to sleep, it’s only because I miss River, not because I still feel like a piece of my soul is missing and I’ll never feel whole again.
After another long day of cleaning, I yawn as I push my apartment door closed behind me, hang up my denim coat, and take off my sneakers.
Getting to the hotel to start work at seven means waking up at 5:30 to brush my teeth and trying not to fall asleep as I spoon cereal into my mouth. Then, I rush to catch the bus that will get me to work on time. I wash my face in the morning. In the evening, I take a shower and wash my hair.
“Shower then food,” I mutter to myself, yawning again as I stretch out the kinks in my neck and start unbuttoning my uniform on the way to my bathroom.
I turn on the shower and immediately switch it off when the pipes rumble, the showerhead violently shakes, but no water emerges. I haven’t needed to see the super for anything since he slammed a door in my face.Twice. This rattling pipe is a sign that my luck just ran out.
I need to shower, and I have no clue how to fix this on my own.
In the living room, I pick up my tote bag and fish the cheap cell phone I bought with my first paycheck to call the super. His phone rings out. I hit redial, tuck the phone between my ear and my shoulder and re-button my uniform. When it rings out again, I hang up with a sigh, step into my sneakers, and grab my keys to go for a seriously unwanted face-to-face visit with my super.
Three loud knocks on his door go unanswered.
