It was a late night at the office.
We had scheduled people to start working in the field on Monday, and I needed to stay behind to help get everything set up. Elizabeth and I were alternating turns, with this weekend set to be both of us. Still, for tonight, it was just me in this metaphorical castle of an office.
I sure didn’t feel safe, though.
I also didn’t feel enthused about working, and it wasn’t just because of the late hours.
The conversation with Brock had made me want his presence back, just to know that I’d be safe. There was a romantic element, too, but I was fighting like hell to not let that be so prominent. If I did, I didn’t know that I’d be able to focus this week.
I also knew that just as Brock seemed to be getting his shit together with this new club and new guy, I needed to get my shit together. I needed to move out. I’d already expressed it to Elizabeth, who thought I was crazy for leaving some place nice that was rent free for something else bound to not be as nice.
Mostly, I just needed to hit the reset button on life. I needed to wake up and have a day not be Groundhog’s Day, like I was on a script and under the supervision of the director all hours of the day.
But until I got this farm set up and the various paperwork taken care of, I couldn’t even begin to apartment-hunt, let alone consider how Brock and I would be.
I looked at the clock. It was shortly after nine. I was so exhausted that I couldn’t think. I’d just stare at a single sentence on a piece of paper and have to reread it a half-dozen times before the meaning sunk in. I told myself I’d go until half an hour past nine, and then I’d head home. If something needed to be done, it could wait until the morning.
And then my phone buzzed. I reached into my pocket and saw a number I didn’t recognize. Unfortunately, in my role, I had no choice but to answer all phone calls unless it was spam or so late that any reasonable person would be asleep.
“Hello?” I said, my voice probably closer to sounding like it was three a.m. than nine p.m.
“Tara? This is Derek Chavez. Have you made a decision about my employment?”
Derek? The guy we interviewed earlier this week?
“I’m sorry, what?” I said.
I knew it was the guy we’d interviewed, but my mind was so slow that it felt like the system had crashed trying to verify this information.
“Derek Chavez. You interviewed me for a position as an installer at your solar farm. Have you made a decision about my employment?”
I may have struggled to follow his exact words, but I could pick up on tone well. And his tone was not a pleasant one. It was forceful, almost demanding, like a man holding people hostage asking the police if they’d gotten his requests.
“I, uh…”
I pulled the phone from my ear, put Derek on speakerphone, and hurried through my texts, trying to find my conversation with Brock.
“Miss Rogers.”
“One moment, please.”
I texted Brock as quickly as my tired fingers would go.
“Getting calls from Bandits. Suspicious. Please come.”
I hit send.
“OK, I’m sorry, yes, um, give me a second here, I need to pull up the files on my computer.”
“No worries.”
That bought me some time. But I didn’t have a lot of it.
“Are you working at the office? It sounds like an office there.”
“Yeah, late night.”
I bit my lip as soon as I spoke. That was a really fucking stupid admission.
