This was a job with limitless potential.
No, the mob wasn’t what it was in the seventies and eighties. But it was coming back strong. There was a good chance it could get that kind of footing again. Then everyone would be living high on the hog. Me included.
I could afford to give the charity a few grand. And buy propane to keep the volunteers warm while they worked to make those Christmas gift dreams come true for the kids.
I’d been having a quick meeting with a fellow soldier, so I missed it when Stephanie showed up for work. But I swear to fuck I could smell that sugary scent of her as I walked to the door to go inside.
The heat inside wasn’t the kind that slapped you in the face. The old warehouse was too drafty and poorly insulated to hold onto it enough to actually warm the whole space up. But there was a marked difference from the chill of the day as I moved inside.
Most of the employees had shifted around their workstations to be nearer to the heaters. The phone bank and the wrapping station were cozy enough for everyone sitting there to be stripped of their jackets, hats, scarves, and gloves.
And I dunno. That shit felt good, I guess.
Doing good.
Even in a small way.
“Venezio,” one of the volunteers said, slapping me hard on the back of the shoulder.
Craig was a schmuck.
He thought everyone loved him and pretended to be the center of attention. I knew a former jock who peaked in high school when I met one.
That wasn’t what pissed me off about him, though, if I were being completely honest.
Nope.
That was the way he was always staring at Stephanie. How he was constantly finding reasons to get close to her, to touch her, to get her attention.
For fuck’s sake, I’d once seen him smell her hair.
And, worse yet, graze his hand over the side of her tit and then try to pretend it was a mistake and he wasso embarrassed.
Stephanie didn’t entertain it. She didn’t shut him down either. I figured that was only because she was afraid of losing what little help she already had. And Craig, while an asshole, did do a decent amount of work around the place.
“Craig.” His name was practically a curse on my lips.
“Did you see? Our girl brought cookies.”
“Our girl?” I asked, my gaze cutting to his.
“Stephanie. She baked cookies for us.” I had nothing to say to that. “They’re good too. I love a woman who can bake.”
“Good for you.”
“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you don’t like a woman who can cook.”
“I don’t give a fuck either way.”
“Bullshit.”
Did this asshole think we were friends?
I gave him a shrug, figuring that was universal for ‘I don’t want to have this conversation, so fuck off.’
Not to Craig.
“Every man wants a woman to cook and clean for him.”
