Iamreceiving guidance, if I know how to look for it.
And yeah, the Devil card is still bugging me, but it’s possible I got that all wrong, too. Who knows? The Devil may be the anonymous dirtbags who are right now jerking off to JosieFightsOn.
Twelve
Axe
Three hours later, with a $350 ticket jammed into the pocket of my now-ruined leather jacket (cheers to the pissing rain all the way home), I haul my bike right up to SynthoTech’s front door, pull off my helmet, and rake a hand through my hair.
The second I step into the lobby, the place goes dead quiet. You can almost hear the sound of arses clenching as they suddenly remember they have very important work to do. I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in the window. Aye, I’m a dangerous-looking motherfucker after a ride. Like there’s hell to pay in the thud of my dirty size-thirteen boots on the tiled floor. The gauntlet gloves, the reflective gear—I’m halfway betweenMad Maxand a Norseman fresh off a pillaging.
I’m rarely a dick at work, but if I saidbooto any of these MIT kids, they’d likely keel over.
But now it’s my turn for an effing heart attack: Josie’s sitting in the atrium, and she’s staring right at me.
Not a speck of fear in her eyes. Figures.
“Hey,” I say as every single other human being melts away.
She’s showered, her hair’s damp and twisted up in one of those little clips. She smells fresh and clean, and it turns out she’s evenmore beautiful without a speck of makeup. She’s also wearing an ugly navy blazer that hides her. Big, shapeless, the kind of thing that saysDon’t look at me. Like she raided her closet for the dullest bit of armor she could find.
“Can we talk in private?” she asks.
Earlier, I’d have gladly traded a pinkie to hear those four words. And now here she is—no blood sacrifice required. Just a little road rash from a rage skid. Maybe I’ve tracked some grit onto the marble floor—but ach, who cares? Only makes me look more badass.
Two minutes later, we’re in a first-floor conference room. I’d prefer my office, but Josie looks skittish enough to bolt, so I play it safe.
“I’d rather eat a ghost pepper stuffed with wasabi and topped with ground-up glass than take this job,” she says flat out, and I cough into my hand to smother my spit-laugh. Josie is dead serious.
“What about if I throw in a rubbing alcohol chaser?” I ask, and she smirks. “And a signing bonus bag of dog shite?”
She almost smiles, then reins it in. Not giving an inch. I respect that.
“If you’re trying to make the perfect girlfriend, you’re off to a terrible start.”
“In what way?” I ask, genuinely curious. I am always interested in what Josie has to say, even when it’s something ridiculous, like warning me that Mercury is in retrograde.
“You have manipulated my consent,” she says.
“How?” I blink, genuinely baffled. Consent is sacred to me. “You said no earlier, and I watched you walk out. Didn’t stop you. Now you’re back, on your own terms. You haven’t consented to anything yet.”
She holds my gaze, chin up. “I need this job for your health insurance. There are medications I need that aren’t available here, and my life depends on them.”
“Ah.” I nod and lift my brow as if this is new information. Josie doesn’t know that I know about her special insulin. I don’t betray even a trace of pity—mostly because I don’t feel any. Josie’s a tough little cookie, not some sickly hothouse flower. This woman is a true survivor in every sense of the word.
And survivors don’t need pity. They deserve respect.
“Aye, we all take jobs for different reasons. Health insurance seems as good as any.” She frowns, and I catch myself staring at the way she purses her lips. I shrug. “Sorry, lass, but that’s the truth. I didn’t create the system. I want you on my team, and if it’s my generous insurance that seals the deal, then fine. That’s your beautiful American capitalism at work.”
I let that hang in the air for a moment. Josie needs to know who she’s dealing with—a man who’s sharp, calculating, and playing to win. But fair. Always fair. I expect the best from my people, and they get the best in return. High salaries, great benefits.
“We can get you on the health plan today, if that’s what it takes,” I say. “Contract will be in your inbox in five minutes. Signing bonus wired to you by the end of the day. And I know what you’re making at Grace & Honor. Trust me, this is more. A hell of a lot more. And we’re not even asking for full-time. Just a few evenings here and there.”
She swallows but says nothing. I push on, leaning in to close the deal.
“And I wasn’t joking when I said we have a premium insurance plan. I picked the most expensive, top-tier coverage plan for me and my employees. Call me old-fashioned or just plain Scottish,but I believe everyone should have access to the best health care available.” I catch myself, wondering if I’m babbling, but she’s just sitting there, wielding that silence.
“So you’re a bleeding heart? Is that what I’m supposed to believe?” Josie asks, and I bark out a laugh.
