I should have waited until the end of the day, but I heard her telling her client that she could pay her directly for the upcharges.
I doubt she knew I was there because she wasn’t a stupid woman.
I followed her to her locker in the back, and then to the nail table to pick up her belongings.
Eyes were on us as we walked through the salon.
I hadn’t been able to outright catch her doing anything like that, but I knew she was up to something. Our salon was a commission salon, so the stylists got a weekly paycheck. Every transaction was recorded and then credited to the proper stylist. Paychecks were written from those records.
For the work Sacha was doing, she certainly wasn’t getting paid for it. If she was making deals at her station, well, that was a huge breach of contract.
Sasha continued muttering and generally making a scene.
But of course, she did. It was a Friday, and the salon was busy.
She wanted a scene.
I could give her one.
She sat at her table and pulled out a bag, her words slipping between English and Spanish, and she started tucking things into her purse.
I crossed my arms, watching her pack her belongings in a couple of bags.
This was not my first time firing someone. Her little emotional show didn’t bother me like it might have someone else.
Especially when she got louder as she “accidentally” picked up salon property.
And I got to remind her exactly what was hers, and what belonged to the salon. Which only brought on more theatrics. She tried to fight with me over things like a dish or bottle of product, but I wasn’t falling for it.
My name Winter isn’t just a name, after all.
Ask anyone.
Cold-hearted bitch.
My coffee was as black as my soul.
That was me.
The other nail technician, Jody, was finishing up her client’s nails, and though she tried to keep her head down, she was certainly looking. Of course, her client was blatantly watching.
No shame in Miss Erin, that was for certain.
Sasha continued with the name-calling in Spanish while she packed. This time, I did recognize some of the curses.
As usual, all the conversation on the floor died out as this scene played out.
Even the dryers seemed too quiet for the show.
Fine.
Whatever.
I just wanted Sasha out of the shop. She was stealing from me, and I didn’t tolerate that.
When she finished, I glanced at her. “And Sasha, be careful who you call a fat cow or an evil witch in another language. You never know who can understand you.”
Her eyes opened big, her face ashen, for just a second, then she glared at me.
