Page 2 of Link's Property
Present day…
“That’s the last fucking straw, Shayna. You’re fired. You need to get your shit and go. I’m fucking done.”
He can’t be serious. Did he not just see the guy put his hand up my skirt? The bastard shoved his fingers right between my legs, grabbing my panties and touching me where he wasn’t welcome.
“But it wasn’t my fault, Terrance. He was…”
He holds up his hand, not letting me finish. “No. I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses. It doesn’t fucking matter, Shayna. You can’t treat the customers like that. Every night, you cause a scene in my bar. It’s like you hate men.”
That’s because they’re all assholes.
“I don’t hate men; I just hate the ones who don’t take no for an answer.” I hate the ones who violate me. Drunk or not, you can’t touch a girl like that.
He shakes his head, looking overly aggravated, but how would he like it if some random dude grabbed his crotch? Shoved his hand right down his boxers, trying to cop an unwanted feel while slurring creepy words in his ear with his scotch-soaked breath? He’d punch the guy’s lights out.
“You’re a bartender, Shayna. If you don’t want to get hit on, then go get yourself a job in a library.”
A library?But I hate books. All those fictional lies that make you believe in true love and happy endings, and that girls like me get swept off our feet and treated like a princess. Life isn’t a fucking fairy tale. Far from it. The only happily ever afters occur between those pages. And it’s not like nonfiction is much better. Self-help books remind me of how fucked up I am. Cookbooks make me fat. Diet books make me depressed. And history books put me to sleep. I’d rather go scrub dirty toilets than work in a library.
“Can I at least have my cut of the tips for tonight?”
Mr. Livensky will have my ass if I don’t have the rent for him tonight. I know for a fact he won’t give me an extension. In fact, he’s been looking for a reason to give me the boot, but because of housing laws, he has to have a good reason to evict me. Not being able to pay my rent would be a good reason.
“Your tips went to cover the tabs of everyone that got drenched by your outburst tonight. The rest will be taken out of your paycheck.”
Shit. Now, what the hell am I supposed to do?Grovel. It’s my only choice, though the thought of having to ask for forgiveness for defending myself against creepy groping men pains me.
“Look, Terrance, I know I messed up and I’m really sorry, but he…”
Again, he holds up his hand, not giving me a chance to explain, and I swear I’m going to scream. I should at least be able to explain my side of the story. I should at least have that right.
“I don’t want to hear it, Shay. Just get your things and go. I’ve had enough of your shit. You verbally castrate every man that comes into my bar, and I’m done. Get your things and get out of my bar.”
Fine. What-the-fuck-ever. He’s just more proof of the fact that guys are assholes. I turn on my heel and leave his office, knowing there’s nothing left to say. And honestly, I no longer want to work here. I refuse to work for a man who won’t defend his employees. He should’ve kicked that bastard out of the bar for touching me, not bought him a round of drinks and offered to cover his check for the night. I should be the one getting compensated, not that asshole.
As soon as I step outside, the skies decide to open up and I’m caught in a heavy downpour. That’s Heaven reminding me that my life is shit, drenching me in the misery of my reality. And with each sloshy step back toward my apartment, I pray that lightning will strike me down and take me out before I have to face my landlord. Knowing Mr. Livensky, he’ll be waiting by his door, opening it right as he hears me enter. His scowl sharply narrowed in like I’m an evil miscreant. In fact, I only know the meaning of that word because he called me it. The moment he ran the background check, he was pounding on my door, yelling about how I’d misled him online, manipulated him into renting the apartment to me, and how he would never have rented to a “miscreant” like myself had he known the truth.
Over the internet, he was fine. He gave me the lease, took my deposit, and had no problems with me. He was cordial and polite. But once I showed up to get the key and he saw my tattoosand my leather skirt, he decided to do a background check. And after that, he wanted me out. But he couldn’t break the lease without good reason, otherwise, I could sue him. Not that I have any money to my name to do that.
“Did you forget that it’s the end of the month, Shayna?” His stern voice is like a strike of lightning. “Your rent is due.” He holds out his hand. His calloused palm waiting for me to garnish money I don’t have.
“I know it is, Mr. Livensky. I got caught up at work and missed going to the bank to cash my check. As soon as it opens in the morning, I’ll get you the money.”
I don’t have enough in my account, but I need to buy myself time to get it. Izzy will lend it to me, but she’s almost two hours away, and in this weather, I don’t want to chance the drive. God, I hate turning to her for cash. She’s working extra shifts just to cover her own expenses. The scholarship only covers her tuition and books. Everything else, she has to pay for on her own.
“That’s not how this works, Shayna. If you can’t pay the day the rent is due, you have to pack your bags and leave. I’m not running a homeless shelter. And actually, the property taxes just went up, so you will now be required to pay an extra thousand each month. Which means starting next month that will be twenty-six hundred.”
Twenty-six hundred. Is he kidding me?
“You can’t just raise the rent like that. I have a lease. And until my lease is up, I will owe you sixteen hundred a month.” But right now, I have fourteen hundred to my name, on account of me stupidly buying a new pair of combat boots this month. But they’re camouflage and super cute and currently soaked through. Another reminder of a careless mistake I’ve made. I’ve made so many bad decisions in my life, it’s hard to keep count.
The smug sneer on his face has my stomach churning. The man looks like Mr. Rogers in appearance. Perfectly quaffedhair, collared shirt covered by a pastel sweater, always dressed in khaki pants and brown loafers. But he doesn’t act like the friendly neighbor. He acts like a crotchety Ebeneezer wanting to kick me out into the cold without food, shelter, water, or a care of what would happen to a girl like me on the streets.
“I met with an attorney this afternoon.” His lips form an evil sneer. “And I found out that I am well within my rights to increase the rent. The lease specifically states that in the event of my property taxes going up, rent will be subject to change. If you don’t believe me, I can provide you a copy of the lease with the part highlighted so you can see for yourself. I can also provide you with a copy of the tax records so you can consult with your own attorney should you feel the need to confirm that I’m within my rights.”
He knows I don’t have enough money to do that. I can’t even cover the rent; how can I afford an attorney? And how am I going to come up with an extra thousand next month? I can barely cover my bills as is. And I just lost my job, which means I’m stuck against a wall here with the evil scrooge glaring me down. It could be at least two weeks before I find another job, and then another week before I get my first paycheck. There’s just no way I’ll be able to make it.
“You have until midnight.” He looks at his watch. “Exactly two hours to get me my money, otherwise, I’ll be starting the eviction process in the morning. And just so you are aware, Miss Jones, once I file online, you will have that brandished on your record. You’ll be lucky to find a place that will rent to you after that.” In other words, it would be best if I left now, willingly.
