Page 13 of Submission

“What kind of question is that?” he responds flatly. “Who cares if you’re good.”

“Never mind.” I shrug, feeling silly that I even asked, especially to someone like him.

I stare out the car window at the Los Angeles skyline as the sun sets, and I can feel his eyes on me as he changes his mind about answering my question.

“The words ‘good’ or ‘bad’ are very subjective. There’s always a gray area. I live in the gray areas of the world. I like it there. Do I think you’re good or kind? Yes, and while I consider kindness a weakness, I think you carry it well.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, reminded that Hunter Middleton doesn’t really know me at all.

My weakness isn’t my kindness. I wouldn’t describe myself as a kind person.

My weakness is my fear.

I can only imagine where my life would be if I hadn’t been so afraid to live it for so many years. I would have believed in my art when I was in high school and allowed my art teacher to help me apply to art schools in New York. I wouldn’t have been bullied by a cunt like Ashley or treated like a whore by someone like Ricky when I finally made it to art school. And I wouldn’t allow someone like my sister to still try to make my life a living hell.

Then I daydream for a moment about what it would look like if I took Hunter up on his offer. What would life look like if I swallowed my fear and asked him to blow some shit up for me?

Would I finally be free of the past?

It’s a mighty tempting offer.

Chapter 5

Something Feels Off

Megan

I’m silent for the rest of the drive to the Blue Whiskey. Once we arrive at the club, I give Hunter a quick peck on the lips and thank him for the lift.

“You’re in a rush,” he notices.

“I don’t want to be late for the interview.”

“Is this the first person you’ve hired for the club?”

“I’m just a little worried about what’s going to happen to the kitchen when Bobby leaves. We’re known for our wings.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ve got this.”

“I’ll see you later.” I smile, kind of blowing off his encouragement. It’s so strange having someone in my life who actually believes in me. I think it makes me uncomfortable.

I quickly change into the extra set of clothes I always store in my office closet and head to the kitchen to see if the girl I’m interviewing is here. The club hasn’t opened yet, but the kitchen staff is in full preparation mode.

Billy sees me when I walk in and lifts a hand in greeting. “Megan, this is Lacy. This is the friend I was telling you about. She’s here for the interview.”

Lacy offers her hand. “Hi.”

I study her for a moment, recalling the picture on her resume. She’s definitely young, but there was clearly a filter on the picture I saw before because now that she’s in front of me, I can tell that she’s not as young or polished as I originally thought.

She doesn’t have a head full of beach-worthy brunette waves, but instead, she has a lifeless box-dyed ponytail, and when I move even closer, I can see the soft curve of violet-colored contact lenses around her irises. I wonder what her actual eye color is. And I also wonder why she’s trying so hard to look so different. Is it the pressure that social media seems to place on most of us nowadays, or is it something else?

I don’t know.

I’m trying not to be too judgmental, but something feels off about her. But Billy looks so hopeful that his referral will work out. I try to let go of my initial doubts.

“Nice to meet you,” I offer, extending my hand to meet hers.

The girl has a firm handshake, and despite her oddities, when she smiles, I have to resist the urge to smile back. She has one of those infectious smiles where the corners of her eyes crinkle.

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