“Got it,” I mumble, setting my purse and the bakery box onto my desk. His eyes flick down.
“Peach pie cookies today?” he asks hopefully.
“No, triple chocolate. I’ll bring peach ones on Monday.”
He scowls. “I like the peach ones best.”
I put on my winningest smile. “Excellent. Then that should give you something to look forward to.”
He huffs and marchesinto his office.
It’s been two weeks since he fixed the issue with my bank account, so at least I’m now getting paid to put up with his grumpy ass. And boy, has he been a damn bear lately.
It’s October now, and I made my rent for this month, but November is on the horizon. Worrying about money is a relatively new thing for me. I’ve never been rich, but I’ve always at least been comfortable, so this situation has changed my entire way of thinking. I’m constantly concerned with my finances, and that’s turned me into a bit of a money hoarder.
That means no frivolous spending, only the essentials like food, rent, and utilities. Except, of course, my new black suit with silver buttons, which I’m wearing today, though that was a work-related expense. Everything else I make has been transferred to the new savings account I set up. I need to start rebuilding my bakery fund because I’m afraid the judge might award Roger half the savings he stole from me. I’m disappointed in myself because I made a promise to my mother, and just when I was getting close, now I’m back at square one. Actually, if there’s a square zero, that more accurately describes my position.
That reminds me, I still need to send that twenty-five hundred dollars to my lawyer to get the divorce back on track. Checking my bank account balance on my phone, I sigh. I could probably swing it, but then would I have enough to pay my rent and electric bill? Probably, but I’m so damn paranoid now.
To add to my financial dilemma, my mother’s car finally gave up the ghost this morning, hence why I was late. It took me a while to figure out the whole-ass Houston metro bus system. Once I did, I took the bus to the bakery to bake my cookies, got another bus back to my apartment to get ready, and then took yet another bus to the stop down the block from Hale Cosmetics.
From now on, I’m just going to have to get up thirty minutes early so I can get to the bakery by 3:30. Luckily, Clarissa has trusted me with a key because she doesn’t usually arrive until a few minutes before 4:00.
“I’m not paying you to play Candy Crush while you’re at work,” a deep voice says from the doorway behind me, and I whirl around tofind Remington Hale standing there with two fingers held up. “Wow, Ms. Espinoza. That’s two strikes in one day. I might actually have you gone by lunchtime.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, putting my phone away and turning on my most cheery smile. “Was there something you needed?”
“Why do you have my online meetings scheduled thirty minutes apart today?”
“Uh, because that’s what you asked me to do?” I ask with a question in my voice.
“Except for when I’m meeting with George Thibodeaux. He insists on chit chatting about golf for at least fifteen minutes before we get started, which cuts our actual meeting time short.” He glares at me like I’m supposed to fucking know this shit.
“Well, since I don’t know George Thibodeaux and have only spoken to his assistant, I wasn’t aware of that. And I happen to have left my mind-reading earmuffs at home. I’ll remember to bring them next time.” I tap my bottom lip, knowing I’m pushing my luck right now, but Jesus fucking hell, how much shit am I expected to deal with in a single day? “Or, and this is just an idea, you could actually tell me these things ahead of time.”
I wait for him to pass down a strike three judgment for my sass, but he simply nods. “For future reference, any calls or meetings with George Thibodeaux should have an extra fifteen minute window added. Do you need me to write that down for you?”
“No, sir,” I say with the fakest amount of sweetness imaginable. “I’ll add it to my notebook.”
He goes back into his office, and I let loose a barrage of very uncomplimentary insults aimed toward Remington Hale and several of his ancestors.
But I do it under my breath because I can’t afford any more strikes today.
I call my mother-in-law during my lunch break, and she answers after two rings. “Hello?”
“Rose, hi. It’s Mindy. I’m on lunch so I don’t have a lot of time to talk, but I was wondering if I could meet you this weekend to get my collection.”
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry. I’m going to be out of town this weekend. Roger is taking me up to Fort Worth for a football game. I just love the Wranglers, don’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah, they’re fine,” I say, annoyed because it’s been the same story every week when I call. “Can you give me any idea when I can get my stuff? It’s been months now, and I’m beginning to get worried.”
“No need to be so dramatic, Mindy,” she scolds. “I already told you I boxed everything up for you. Roger and I have just been so busy.”
Yeah, busy spending my money.
After a hasty goodbye, I put my cell phone in my desk drawer and drop my head to my desk.
“Ow,” I complain to no one at all when my forehead hits with more force than I intended.
