“I know. And I know you want answers, but I can’t give you any.”
A sigh caught in her throat, coming out as a choked sob. “Okay. All right, fine. I know you’re about to clam up on me, so how about this? Talk to Mr. Iverson and discuss a trial period. Most internships last anywhere from three to six months. Maybe you can compromise with him, offering an internship period of sorts, and then evaluating if you wanna stay after that time is up.”
Her persistence was admirable. Willow was always logical, always coming up with a plan. She was breaking my resolve. I’d never stayed at a job she’d gotten me or convinced me to apply for more than a month, tops. Even so, I nodded. “Fine, I’ll talk to him. Ask him when I should come for an interview.”
The corners of her lips turned up, an elated grin shining through the tear tracks down her cheeks. When I saw her eyes light up withsomething so close to hope, I knew I couldn’t deny her this. Willow was the only person I had left who’d given anything close to a shit.
If an awkward trial period was what it took to appease her, I’d do it. Maybe when I fucked this one up, she’d finally understand how hopeless I was.
Callinghim Mr. Iverson was far too pretentious for the likes of Price. Much to Willow’s dismay, I refused to refer to him as such. He’d decided our interview had to be at the ass-crack of dawn before any of the other staff had arrived for their shift.
However foreboding that was, I continued like the dutiful best friend I was and held onto my promise. I’d dismissed the idea of letting Willow take me to The Arch, opting for an Uber instead. That was the kinda thing I didn’t miss about our hometown. In the city, I could find rides and get food delivered with a click of a button.
I was instructed to wait at the back entrance. There was a camera above the door with a blinking red light, almost an ominous premonition for what was ahead of me.
Price didn’t say I needed to dress a specific way, or that I needed to bring anything besides my ID and social security card, so I came almost empty-handed, except for a can of mace just in case. Other than that, I brought me, myself, and I.
The door opened with a creak, revealing Price standing on the other side. He was dressed more casually than I was expecting, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. His sleeves were long but rolled up past his elbows, the tattoos I’d noticed before making an appearance. They were easier to see in broad daylight.
One arm had indecisive black and gray designs ranging from genre to genre, with barely any space between them. The other had more color and seemed to have a concrete theme between each work of art. I could tell there were some I couldn’t see, leading past the bend of his arm. I wondered where the ink ended, or if it kept going, curling around the entirety of his body. That tantalizing image sparked something inside of me it shouldn’t have.
“Do you have any?” Price’s deep voice startled me enough that I jumped a bit.
“Any what?”
He flexed his arm, a slight smile on his lips as he held the door open. “Tattoos.”
I shrugged and tried to walk to the door, hoping he’d move out of the way. Of course, he didn’t. Just stood there, all big and muscly and pretentious. “One.”
“Where at?”
I rolled my eyes and stepped back, putting enough distance between us so I could breathe a bit easier. Price smelled way too fucking good. “My ankle. Willow and I have matching bunny faces from when we turned eighteen. You gonna let me in, Prince Charming?”
The door screamed and groaned as he pulled it further back and moved to the side. “I thought you’d never ask, Pretty Boy.” He finally decided to grant me entrance to my potential workplace as if he weren’t the one asking me to be there. “A bunny face. I didn’t notice it before, but I guess I wasn’t looking at your ankles very closely. It suits you.”
Any other time, and I’d think his smirk was cute. Right now, it only pissed me off. “Ha ha, very funny. Where are we going?”
We walked down the hallway, passing door after door. “That is Brandt’s office. Don’t go in there. Employee bathrooms, my office, kitchen entrance…”
The tour was short and to the point, much like the layout of the restaurant itself. With how little elbow room there was, I wondered if any fights broke out purely from frustration or bumping into each other.
We stopped back at Price’s office. I watched in slightly anxious silence as Price sat at his desk opposite the chair I sat in, pulling out paperwork and typing on his computer. His desk was oddly clean, going as far as having clear organizers with colorful labels for each drawer. I counted seven different types of pens, highlighters, and colorful Post-it notes. Price seemed to like colors.
Just by looking at him, I couldn’t tell how old he was. I knew he had to be older than me, but surely not old enough to justify his groan when he leaned back in his chair. “Okay, I just need your ID and social for today. When you come in next, I’ll have some paperwork for you to sign.You’ll be paid fairly, even though we’ll only be getting the lay of the land for a few days.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought this was an interview.”
“Do you want me to interview you?” It sounded flirtier than it should’ve. Was that on purpose?
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? You don’t even know me. I could be the laziest worker you’ve ever met. Don’t even get me started on my work history.” I was being snarky. I didn’t know why, but I felt like I had to be.
“I know you, Crew.” Bullshit. “Maybe not your whole life story, or your work history, but I know enough. From what I overheard during your and Willow’s conversation, you’ve been doing sex work for a long time. Right?”
I calculated the math in my head. “Around eight years.” The number always shocked me the higher it went. Time moved slower these days, it seemed.
The pen in his hand tapped against the table, his hand shaking back-and-forth absentmindedly. “Exactly.” He pointed the ink end towards me, the cap still on. “That kind of work isn’t easy. To depend on it for as long as you have, I know you aren’t lazy. I can also deduce that you have great customer service skills, even though that shouldn’t be needed in this position. You work hard and you value good work.” The amber of his eyes caught just right in the light, sending flames my way. “The only thing I may have to worry about is your temper and smart mouth if our last meeting has anything to show.”
Despite the ending bit, that might have been the first time anyone had ever thought of my work in that way. Most would turn me away because of my lack of job history, or because they heard what I did through the grapevine. I didn’t want to show my shock, so I tried anger instead.
