“Sloane? Can you come with me for a minute?”
Dread hits hard, bile creeping up my throat as yesterday flashes through my mind. The spilled coffee. That man running his mouth. Mark deciding I’m more trouble than I’m worth.
I can’t lose this job. I can’t.
Mandy catches my forearm before I can move.
“It’s probably nothing,” she whispers. “You didn’t do anything.”
I swallow hard, because when has that ever mattered?
A nod comes out of me, even though my heart is already kicking against my ribs. When I follow Mark toward the back, the diner noise fades behind us and all I can register is my own pulse. The office door shuts, and anxiety continues to surge through me.
“Have a seat.” Mark gestures toward the chair across from his desk.
The room tightens around me as I drop onto the leather, hands folded together in my lap to stop them from shaking.
“If I did something wrong, I can fix it. I swear.”
Mark squints like he doesn’t understand what I’m talking about. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
My throat works through the lump there. “Then why am I here?”
He takes his seat and leans back, studying me until my skin starts to crawl. “Because you’ve been doing everything right.”
“What?”
That doesn’t make sense, and it only gets stranger when he says, “I want to promote you.”
It takes a second for the words to sink in, but they still don’t feel real.
“Promote me? To what?”
“Manager.”
A laugh slips out. “That’s not funny.”
Mark doesn’t laugh with me. “I’m serious.”
My amusement dies as I wait for the punchline that doesn’t come. “Why me?”
“You’ve been here long enough.” He flips his hands in the air. “And most importantly, customers like you. You handle people well. You keep your head when things get messy, and this place needs someone who can do that.”
“That’s not…” My head shakes. “I don’t have experience. There are people who’ve been here longer. People who actually know what they’re doing.”
“Well, I want you.”
He can’t be serious. This has to be a joke.
“I don’t think I’m right for this.”
“You are.” He grabs a notepad, scribbles, then slides it across the desk. “This is your new salary. Paid biweekly. Same hours too. You start tomorrow.”
My eyes drop to the number and my lungs forget how to work.
Forty-five thousand.
Holy. Shit.
