Page 6 of Outlaw Heartstrings
Finally turning around to face him, my forced smile grows wider. “Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Drummond. I’m very ‘satisfied’ with my tipsandwith the length of my skirt.”
His lips press into a line. Seems like he’s not ‘satisfied’ with my response.
Tough.
Before he can reprimand me, I grab my purse and give a little wave. “Gotta run!”
Even though my boss is mostly harmless, I rush out the employee exit. And as soon as I’m able to put some distance between myself and Mr. Drummond’s creepy stare, it’s easier to remind myself that I need this job. Just as much as I need my other two jobs.
The sad truth is, I wouldn’t be able to keep a roof over Jagger’s head if I didn’t work around the clock.
I glance down at what I’m wearing. Shit—withDrummond breathing down my neck, I didn’t even get to change out of my uniform. Once I’m in the quiet of my crappy car, I find myself needing a minute to regroup.
I close my eyes and do some deep breathing.Paycheck. Paycheck. Paycheck.Okay, that’s my meditation for the day.
I pull out of the restaurant’s back parking lot and head toward Marigold Peak. Whenever I need to recharge, I like to get behind the wheel and cruise up the hill to the rich side of town.
That’s where all the big houses are, the ones with the fancy front doors and the in-ground pools in the backyards and rose bushes that scale entire facades. The field of vibrant marigolds clinging to the cliff that overlooks downtown. I like to roll slowly through the neighborhood and daydream about what my life could have been like. If only things had worked out differently…
As I drive, I place a call to my mother. It takes her a moment to answer, and it’s hard to mask the exhaustion in my voice when I greet her. “Hey, Mom. How are you doing? And how’s the most adorable eight-year-old in town?” I smile to myself at the thought of Jagger.
Even though it kills me to be away at work so much, I know he’s in great hands with his grandmother.
“He’s good. Just at the playground for a bit before coming home for dinner.” My mom pauses. “Areyouokay? You sound…funny.”
I push down any lingering feelings of frustration and disappointment about my lousy job and my pervy boss.
“Of course, of course,” I say. “I’m okay. Can you tell Jag I’ll be home in a bit?”
As much as I’d like to head straight there, I don’t ever like to drag my work baggage home with me. After everything that little boy has been through, I feel like I owe it tohim to walk through the front door with a warm smile and a clear head everyday. Driving through the fancy neighborhoods with the windows down is usually the quickest way to get me there.
I have to be strong. My family counts on me. We need the money, and I’m grateful to be able to provide for them.
At the top of the hill, I approach the nicest of the homes. Just last week, there was aFor Rentsign out front, sitting outside the ornate wrought-iron gate.
I’m sure of it, because after spotting the sign, I looked up how much it cost and estimated how many jobs it would take me to be able to afford a monthly rent payment like that one.
These are the things I do for fun nowadays.
But now, the sign is nowhere to be seen. That means the property must have been rented. Although I can’t think of many people in Fairy Bush who could afford a place like this.
I do some rough math in my head, calculating the commission the realtor must have earned in this deal. A commission like that would cover all of my bills for half the year. Just with this one single listing.
I sigh, imagining the possibilities.But there’s no point in obsessing over what could have been. I’ve just got to accept the cards I’ve been dealt and keep moving forward each day.
Still, I find myself pulling my car to the curb as I recall the details I read in the listing. Three stories peaking above an ornate concrete fence. Five bedrooms, six bathrooms. Roof, decking and windows all replaced within the last couple years. Hardwood floors, all original and restored. A kitchen to drool over. Such a beautiful house.
It seems like a lifetime ago when I thought I’d be sellinggorgeous properties like this one. Or at least doing anything other than working for an asshole who’d rather view me as a sexed-up pet instead of a human being.
Lately, I’ve been haunted by the fact that I used to have so many dreams. But none of them came true.
Which istotallyfine. I swear.
To be fair, most of those dreams changed when Jagger was born anyway. My only goal in life now is to raise that precious little boy, help my mom heal from the shitstorm she’s been through in recent years, and do it all without putting myself further into debt.
I get so lost in my thoughts that I don’t even realize that I’ve climbed out of my car. Then I’m strolling toward the big fancy house, just to get a closer look.
I inch across the sidewalk, stepping closer to the wall that surrounds the property. It’s not one of those gargantuan ten-foot fences or anything, but it’s almost as tall as me. With an unladylike grunt, I hoist myself up to peek over the wall.
