A dry wad of the baked good I’m eating sticks in my throat. Coughing into my elbow, I grab some orange juice from the fridge.
“What?”
“Come work with me.”
I offer her a glass of juice. “I already have a job.”
Ren lets out a deep breath. One of her little half-sighs and she stomps her foot, silently telling me to keep up.
“I’m a triggerman,” I remind her.
“And a damn good one,” she compliments, “but let’s say you want a change of pace.”
“I don’t want a change of pace.”
I’m a triggerman, through and through.
Ren has always loved her job and worn it like a badge of honor. Her business is a part of her. I knew she’d never give up her career. It’s why she looped me in before Bennie and Abe, because I knew she’d never actually sell her business.
How could she think I’d willingly give up my career?
“I like my job,” I tell her, swallowing a mouthful of tart orange juice. Wiping my lips, I add, “Why would you think I’d want to stop doing it?”
“Well. . . No.” She shifts in place, her knee bending as she bumps into the counter. “It’s not that I think you’d want to stop doing it. I just. . . Would you consider it?”
“Consider it?”
Her lips part slightly. She reminds me of Sammie in a lot of ways. There’s this stunning beauty that’s such a natural part of her, it should hurt me. Except she’s so damn endearing, my best friend. Even her glitch of confusion passes for pretty.
“I need help,” she admits. “Which means I need to hire somebody. Somebody I can trust. Who I like. Who gets me. And ideally, that person would also like me and get me. Also, they’d need to be able to look someone like Cain Murray in the eye and tell him to get fucked. You inherently have all of those qualities. So, I’d like you to take this job. To come work with me and Ben. You’d be good at it.”
“But I’m good at the job I have now.”
Ren opens and closes her mouth again.
“You don’t think I should keep being a triggerman?” I ask.
After a moment, Ren says, “I’m not saying you aren’t good at it. If you want a chance for some growth, I’m offering you a really good job.”
Being a triggerman is a really good job. Sure, most people don’t think it’s moral, but those same people don’t bat an eye at corrupt businessmen. I make good money, and I’ve earned every single dollar I’ve stockpiled away.
My hands squeeze around my orange juice glass, my earlier smoothie discarded on the counter. “I’m sorry, Ren, but I’ve got a job.”
She looks put out. Maybe it’s because she’s the first true friend I’ve ever had, other than Sammie, but my insides twist. Over my lifetime, I’ve learned to take care of myself. At theend of the day, it’s me that’s got to make sure I survive. But that doesn’t mean I like disappointing people.
“You won’t even consider it? It’s a good job opportunity.”
I shake my head, trying to let her off gently.
“Why not?” she asks.
“I like my job.”
“But don’t you want to grow?”
“What does that mean?” Ren is clever as fuck, but she’s not pretentious. Why is she sounding like an HR representative?
“Grow,” Ren repeats the word as if that will explain it. “I mean everyone likes you, and they’d be happy to see you transition.”
