Until now. He’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, talking with Taylor. When she glances at me guiltily, I have a feeling this isn’t going to be good. Fuck.
Am I getting fired on my first full day here?
“Miss Carlie,” Mr. Hoffman says, getting my name completely wrong.
Pressing my lips together to hold back the correction, I nod as I walk over.
“Hello, sir,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you officially.”
“I wish I could tell you the same,” he grunts, his eyes raking over my body. “Taylor here tells me that you’re difficult to find?”
“Since I’ve been exploring the different areas of the store while taking photos and video taping, I’m sure it feels like that,” I reply. “My job is to make content, not to make sure that Taylor knows where I am at all times.”
I don’t think this is going to work out. I’m both micromanaged and let loose to roam at the same time. It’s stressing me out. Long term? I foresee a lot of headaches in my future.
“You’re mouthy,” he complains. “You were so nice and sweet in the interview.”
Taylor is struggling to keep her anger from showing as she shrugs. “Everyone shows their best self in the beginning, sir. I don't see what’s so special about her. Anyone can point and shoot a phone camera.”
Seriously? I just spent hours getting the best lighting and angles to capture the charm of this place. It’s beautiful, in a brick building on the corner of the street, it just needs a little help.
“I can show you what I’ve done today if you’d like,” I try again.
“No, I don’t believe that’ll be necessary. If it’s so easy, Taylor can take what you did and take over the accounts. I’ll make sure that Jonna changes all the passwords to keep the riffraff out,” he says. Digging into his pocket, he pulls out a very wrinkled twenty dollar bill. “This should cover what we owe you.”
“I’d rather die than take that,” I growl. My father didn’t raise me to take this type of bullshit, and I need to remember that. ‘Be polite, not a doormat,’ is one of his favorite sayings.
Especially after what happened six years ago. Forcing myself to continue breathing, I shake my head.
“My work is worth more than twenty dollars,” I say. I’m almost vibrating with anger at this point. “Your disrespect is unexpected. I’m sure that Taylor is responsible for it, but I don’t deserve it. It’s a shame this place is going to go under.”
The last sentence is hissed, almost like a curse, and Taylor crosses herself as if that’ll save her from my ire. I’m just a girl who likes to read tarot cards and wear black, I’m not responsible for how others perceive me.
“Without any advertising, I doubt you’ll last long,” I add. “Good luck.”
Stepping around his hulking body, I force my feet to move. I can’t be afraid of all alphas for the rest of my life. Confrontation brings the worst out of people. Pushing my way out of the store, I unlock my phone to pull up the accounts for the store. With a few taps, I delete everything in the shared folder.
They can’t have my work for free.
Walking quickly, I head to my car, gasping when Mr. Hoffman yells at me. Shit.
“You little bitch! Return what is rightly mine!”
Glancing behind me, I ask myself if I should run or not. I guess he had his wife check the shared folder as soon as I walked out.
It’s when his angry gaze locks on me that I decide I should get to my car as soon as humanly possible.
My boots pound along the sidewalk as I race for my car. My shoulder bag is heavy, but I can’t stop. His feet pound loudly as he chases me, and I dig for my keys. I think I need something other than my knife for altercations like this. I can’t stab everyone I seem to piss off.
Self defense is also only good to fend off attacks. If it’s better to run, it’s typically better to do that.
“Woah there,” a man says, stepping out of my way as I dodge around him.
“He refused to pay me for my work,” I gasp. “Don’t let him catch me.”
“Shit,” he says. He’s a big guy compared to me, and seems to regret not walking down another street. I almost feel sorry for him. “Yeah, keep running, girlie.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, taking off again toward my car.
