“Can I have the credit card you used to buy this?” Aspen asks disdainfully. Her eyes glitter with something petty and sneaky.
“I don’t think so. I’m not letting you anywhere near my credit cards.”
“Let me guess. I haven’t earned the right.”
“Correct.” I smile. “And on your way, stop by Bobbi’s Sweet Things and get some pastries.”
She flinches a little.
Guess she didn’t like that, huh? I fire off a long list of different types of pastries that my team likes. “I don’t need to repeat myself, do I?”Say yes. I have a great response ready to go.
“No,” she says coolly.
I deflate just a little. Damn it, I really wanted to cut her down. I want to see her scream, “I quit,” in a temper and flounce out of the building.
Still, I doubt she’s got everything. I even spoke faster than usual. I can cut her down when she gets back.
Anticipating her screwup, I gesture at the door. “Now go. Do your job.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Aspen
What anasshole.
I stalk out of Grant’s office, gripping the jewelry box hard and trying not to look daggers at everyone else on the floor. He undoubtedly thinks he’s winning.Yes, sir?On my knees?
And I haven’t earned therightto be near his coffee or credit card?
Ha! Maybe I’ll just kick him in the balls and get arrested for assault. Or break a window and help him jump out. My contribution to the betterment of humanity.
But the rage dies quickly. They’re nice fantasies, but I have to think about Grandpa. If I lose this job and the benefits…I don’t know how long I can keep him in the center.
I can suck it up for Grandpa. He’s the only one I have left. If the situation were reversed, he’d do the same for me.
I sling my purse over my shoulder and head out to return the necklace. It’s a pretty item, and it costs well over twenty thousand dollars. I know because I bought it when Marjorie asked me to on Friday morning. At the time, I had no idea what it was about. Actually, I wondered if it was a test to see if I was honest, because she gave me a paper with a long string of numbers on it and said all I had to do was show them the paper and they’d bill accordingly. The number must’ve been some kind of line of credit for Grant. Guess he still hands out lavish gifts to the women he sleeps with.
See? You weren’t that special,a bitter voice says.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I KNOW. No need to remind me again.
I wonder if this woman was a bet, too. Why not? To Grant, sex is a sport. Women a source of amusement.
Misogynistic pig.Yes, sir,indeed.
He’s doing this to screw me over. When I asked him about the credit card—faux innocently, as a test—he didn’t tell me the bill was on a separate charge account because he wants to see me fumble and fail. That dickhead behind the desk is therealhim. Not the sweet guy who made me feel like a princess.
The thought is vindicating, enraging and saddening all at the same time. Maybe because I wish deep down that he wasn’t such an asshole… That maybe…just maybe he felt something genuine for me so I wouldn’t feel so dirty and cheap every time I remember my first time.
When I reach the jewelry store, the clerk who helped me on Friday comes over. “Hello, Ms. Hughes. What can I do for you?”
I look at him in surprise. He remembers me?
He gives me a professional smile. “We remember all our significant accounts.”
“Ah. Well.” I clear my throat. Let’s see how long Grant stayssignificant. “I’m here to return the necklace I bought on Friday.”
He blinks. “I beg your pardon?”
