Page 8 of Shift of Destiny
She’d forgotten to discuss a salary with Mr. Maxen, and hoped he’d agree to minimum wage for the ten hours. Some people got stingy when they thought they had the advantage, like the greasy slob who’d tried to short her and the undocumented Mexican lady who cleaned his truck-stop motel rooms. She doubted Mr. Maxen was like that, though. If he paid her cash, she could go straight to Tinsel’s and offer a token payment for her smallest room, then crash. She was unaccountably tired, as if she was fighting off an infection. She hoped it was just stress, because summer colds were the pits.
She lifted the kitten to her shoulder to snuggle her as she walked toward the office. Pandora nuzzled Moira’s neck and tried to suckle on her earlobe. Once on her little bed, Pandora curled into a white ball of fluff and covered her face with a tiny paw. She wondered if the kitten lived in the store. Or for that matter, if Mr. Maxen did.
He appeared in the wide, wood-encased doorway that led to the back of the house. It had what looked like hieroglyphics carved on each side. He beckoned her, with a wave, then brushed a few of the hieroglyphics, as if dust had gotten in them. “Come with me so I can pay you.”
She grabbed her backpack and hoodie from under the desk and followed, interested to see more of the house besides the sales floor, office, and the small customer bathroom. As she passed through the doorway, she admired the detailed carving of the hieroglyphics. She remembered something about Egyptian decor being a fad in the 1920s after the discovery of King Tutankhamen’s tomb.
The back area proved to be noticeably cooler and had little natural light. It had a modern, open kitchen area and a widened back door that had been converted to a loading dock with a lift-door. The rest looked like a giant workroom, with multiple benches with tools and low shelves filled with an eclectic assortment of mundane and exotic... artifacts was the best word she could come up with. Some looked like props from a fantasy movie, like magic wands and crystal orbs. Others looked like exquisite antiques, including an intricate, pierced-metal lantern. Another area seemed to be reserve stock of souvenirs for out front. It reminded her of the back room of a small appliance repair shop, but neater, as she would expect of Mr. Maxen.
After a few steps into the big work area, though, the flickering lights at the edges of her vision came back. She squinted, which seemed to help, until she accidentally brushed her fingers against an ornate, empty picture frame. Light flared suddenly from the frame, with an afterimage of a small pack of black wolves on the trail of a distant fleeing figure in red and blue. She cried out and stumbled, putting her hands up like blinkers to block the lights.
“Are you feeling well, Ms. Graham?” Mr. Maxen turned from the old Victorian desk to look at her. He’d refused to call her Moira, even though she’d invited him to do so several times. She’d whimsically decided he was old school, when men didn’t casually call women by their first names, and had treated him with corresponding deference, so as not to make him uncomfortable with her forward, modern-woman ways.
She resisted the urge to rub her eyes, because it didn’t help. “Just hungry, I think.” She smiled gamely. “It’s been a long day.”
He raised an eyebrow, as if he knew she was fibbing, but didn’t call her on it. “It’s my fault you had such a poor lunch, so I added a bit extra to pay for your supper.” He handed her a cream-colored envelope.
When she looked inside, she gasped involuntarily, then thrust it back at him. “I think you gave me hundreds instead of tens.”
“And so I did,” he said firmly, making no move to take the envelope. “Fifteen an hour, plus commission, plus dinner.”
She shook her head, which was a mistake, because the pain behind her eyes was getting worse. “I can’t take this much. I didn’t earn it.” It brought up unpleasant memories of Witzer upping the salary offers to ludicrous amounts, as if that was all it took to convince her to work for him. She took one of the hundred-dollar bills out and put the envelope on the desk, since Mr. Maxen had clasped his hands behind him. The peripheral flashes were nearly constant, and it felt like the walls were inching closer. “Which way should I go out so I don’t trip your alarm?”
He tilted his head, then dropped his gaze. “I see I’ve offended you, which wasn’t my intention. Turn of the Cards had its best sales day all year because of you.” He moved gracefully to the widened back entrance and pressed an eight-digit sequence into the alarm’s keypad, then raised the door.
She moved quickly. She didn’t want to be rude, but she had to get out of the workroom immediately. A wave of summer heat made her flush, and she blinked to see the bright sun, still a half an hour away from setting behind the mountain peaks. For some reason, she’d thought it would be fully dark and almost winter. Her wayward imagination was always getting her in trouble. She shook her head, laughing ruefully at herself as she slid the money into her buttoned chest pocket and turned back to him.
“I’m sorry if I offendedyou.” She draped her hoodie over her arm and settled the familiar weight of her backpack on her shoulders, relaxing into the outdoor warmth and light that seemed to drive away the strobing flashes. “If you’re still okay with hiring me on a short-term basis, what time should I come in tomorrow?”
He crossed his arms. “I will pay you one hundred and seventy-five a day in cash plus lunch, which I will send you to fetch for both of us. We’re closed on Mondays. If that is acceptable to you, please be here around eight forty-five so we can open at nine.”
The high salary for a simple retail sales job in a small town pushed the boundaries of her comfort zone, but she desperately needed a new engine for her car, or she’d be a sitting duck. She made a private vow to be the best damn employee he’d ever had for as long as she stayed.
“I’ll be here on time.” She glanced down at her plain button-down blouse, jeans, and worn athletic shoes, then at Mr. Maxen’s elegant smoking jacket and velvet pants. “I’ll try to wear something a little nicer.” Maybe the town had a thrift store.
“Your present wardrobe is satisfactory, Ms. Graham. It puts customers at ease.” He brushed the satin lapel of his jacket and gave her a sardonic smile. “I have a reputation as an eccentric to uphold.”
She gave him a teasing grin. “Well done, then.”
He laughed. She turned to look at the small backyard and the alley behind. Most of the yard had been sacrificed to the wide driveway for trucks, but little strips of alpine garden, complete with natural rock troughs filled with delicate flowers and low shrubs, made charming borders for it. “How do I get back to Wizard Street from here?”
Mr. Maxen gave her directions for a shortcut to Tinsel’s, then retreated into his store and pulled down the loading dock door.
Her sore everything complained as she walked down the alley, making her remember her former landlady, Del, teasing about finding a boyfriend to rub her feet.
Moira was tired of making friends and losing them, afraid of even sending an anonymous email, in case it led the hunters to her. She’d only been in Kotoyeesinay for a day, and already she’d miss the proper Mr. Maxen, the warm-hearted Aurelio at the diner, and especially the red-hot, handsome... her ankle twisted, and suddenly, as if she’d conjured him, she was tumbling into Chance McKennie’s arms.
“Easy,” he murmured, as he helped her stay upright. The man smelled divine, like a combination of exotic spices, something civet-like, and earthy male. She blushed to realize she’d been sniffing him. Her nipples hardened as she barely controlled a shiver of desire. She had a momentary image of him nibbling on her neck, and her arching into him with uncontrollable passion.
She pushed herself away from him hastily, before she did something stupid, like kiss him. Her intense response to him was very unlike her.
She seriously needed to have her head examined.
