“Among other things,” I tell her.
Annelise stands up. “I don’t know. This is…a lot. You get that, don’t you? That this is…not what I was…I’m sorry, I don’t know.” She grabs her things and heads for the door.
“So that’s it?” I ask. “You don’t want the job.”
Annelise stops right in front of the door. “I want the job. I just…I need to think about it.”
And just like that, she’s gone. I’m not going to lie. I’m pissed. She’s perfect for the job, even if she does correct me. Even if she talks back and calls me out. She’s not respectful. She’s overly confident. And…I want her. I want her for this job, and I’m going to have her. One way or another, Annelise is going to take this job. And while I can’t force her to accept it, I can persuade her. And that’s what I intend to do.
Chapter 6
Ellie
He’s kidding.
I mean, tell me he has to be fucking kidding.
As I march out of the Redwood Hotel lobby and down the strip to the parking garage, I am both upset and appalled. A sex clause? I mean, I know what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but…sex as part of a job? There’s a word for that. There’s also a word for girls who do that. And I am not about to have that label on me, professionally or otherwise.
I can’t possibly imagine where that man gets off. I don’t care how rich and powerful he is. The audacity of it all is wild. Even if he is hot…which…he very much is. I would be lying if I said I didn’t look him up on the way to the hotel today. And I would be lying again if I said his dark eyes, stony stare and rigid jawline didn’t make my heart beat a little faster. I mean, let’s face it, he’s a ten out of ten. But you know what they say about tens. You can’t trust them.
The worst part of all of it, the part that has me crying into my latte in my car, is that I really needed that job. A job like that undoubtedly pays better than all three of my part-timers combined. Not just that, but it would have been consistent and challenging and gotten Luca and me out of our perpetual slump.
It would have been something to be proud of. Something that when my parents asked or compared me to Rachel, I could confidently say I was back in action, doing something I love and am also good at. Or at least working my way back into the industry for that. But that wouldn’t be the case if they or anyone else knew what else the job entailed.
I pick Luca up from school later in the afternoon and, as usual, he’s in a good mood. Luca is a perpetual optimist despite not fitting in with most kids. He’s artsy and inquisitive and not really like everyone else. But I love that about him.
“How was your day, buddy?” I ask as he buckles himself into the car.
“It was good. We learned about types of clouds.”
“Oh, that’s interesting,” I say. I wonder if any of those clouds have silver linings. I can feel my eyes filling with tears again, but I refuse to cry. I don’t want Luca to see me upset. I don’t want him to know anything is wrong, despite the fact that I was counting on this interview to lead to a job. The restaurant has been slow this week, and bills are piling up, including a third and final notice for the electric bill.
I could ask for help, but I’m too stubborn for that. I don’t want Rachel’s money, and a handout from my parents never comes without a guilt trip. I’m not in the mood for another,Why can’t you be more like your sister,talk.
What I am in the mood for is drowning my sorrows with sugar.
“What do you say we get some ice cream?” I ask as I head towards Three Scoops Creamery.
“Ice cream?! Yes, yes, yes!” Luca claps and for the first time today, I smile.
“Good! I’m thinking sundaes,” I tell him.
“Sundaes? Does that mean you got the job?” he asks, and my smile tips downward.
“I’m still working on it, buddy. But we are going to have celebratory ice cream anyways.”
I hand the last of my tips to the cashier, and Luca is not wrong. Sundaes are expensive. I also don’t care. Not today. Today I want to be mad at my ex-future boss, and I want to eat ice cream with chocolate and caramel and pecans and I want to watch my five-year-old little boy lick the sprinkles off his ice cream cone and pretend like life isn’t hard.
As we sit outside, he prances around the courtyard of the creamery, and I feel for all of two minutes like we are going to be okay. Then my phone rings. It’s Rachel, and my heart dips in my chest.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Did you get the job?” She blurts out, and my heart sinks even lower. “Ellie? Tell me you got the job.”
“He offered me the job,” I answer, even though it’s not the full answer.
Rachel shrieks on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, he did! So when do you start?” she asks.
