“Lock, stock and barrel,” Grant says.
What?Jenna said the sale was sudden, and I’m certain he didn’t develop an unnaturally abrupt desire to own a bar in the last few days.
“You can’t just buy the bar like this!” Zack says, gesticulating into the air.
Grant raises an arrogant eyebrow. “I could buy ten thousand bars like this.”
Now—finally—I see what’s been going on. I turn to Zack. “Can you give us a moment?”
“Are you sure?” Zack glares at Grant like he’s a roach that made his girl scream.
“Positive,” I say firmly.
Zack looks like he wants to argue, but accepts my decision and walks out.
Once we’re alone, I inhale deeply. “Is this why you haven’t been asking me to quit my job here?”
“One of the reasons, yes.”
“Are you going to do this every time I get a part-time job—? No, don’t answer that. My blood pressure’s too high as it is.”
“At least you have great health insurance coverage.” He smiles.
I can’t decide if he’s joking or mocking. Maybe it’s a bit of both. It’s impossible to tell when my head is throbbing with rage. “This isn’t funny.”
The smile disappears. “I don’t like my assistant grinning like a brainless baboon at every asshole who wants a drink.” His eyes flash with something I don’t want to understand or identify. It’s too volatile. Scary. Like lightning splitting the night sky.
But then, my mood isn’t much calmer. I need this money to survive. Without overtime, I don’t make enough from GrantEm to get by without tips from the bar. The Orange Care Center costs more than the two-thousand-dollar-a-month eldercare benefit, and Grandpa is in their memory unit, which is the most expensive. Without my part-time job, I can’t afford groceries, unless I eat nothing but beans and rice. “It’s called doing my job. I’m getting paid to be nice to them.”
“Then you can smile for me. You’re getting paid to be nice to me.”
“No, I’m getting paid to do your admin duties. They don’t include smiling like a brainless baboon!”
He pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times. “There. I just updated your duties on the personnel file.”
I feel like there’s steam coming out of every opening in my head. “I want to murder you.”
“Go ahead.” He spreads his arms. “Take your shot.”
“So you can toss me in jail?”
“Nope. If you want, I’ll sign something saying I asked for it.”
“You’re just so… Arrgh!” I have no idea why he’s doing this. He was out of his mind for my body last weekend, then got nasty, then got nice, and now this! The whiplash is too much for me to process.
“I don’t want us to fight. I don’t want to be bitter about what happened.”
About what happened? What’s he talking about? And why does he sound so sincere?
“I want to forgive you for what you did.”
For a stunned moment, I just stare. My brain is working overtime, but it can’t compute what just came out of his mouth.
Grant is looking at me expectantly and a bit proudly, like he’s done something extraordinarily magnanimous. And maybe with a little self-congratulation, like he’s proven himself generous by bestowing a great favor on a poor peasant. His gaze says he’s ready to see me melt and collapse in gratitude.
Finally, the meaning of his words really penetrates and my head explodes. There’s probably a mushroom cloud rising from my scalp. “Forgiveme?!”
“I want us to start over.” He speaks calmly, but a small frown betrays his confusion and slight disapproval. He thinks I’m being unreasonable, like a child kicking and screaming in a temper tantrum.
