Page 9 of Devil's Iris
He goes quiet, his head dropping as the gravity of what he did finally sinks in. “I’m sorry.”
We reach my scooter and I hand him my spare helmet, staring him down with every ounce of authority I can muster. “It’s not enough to just be sorry, Ethan. You have to promise that you’ll never go back there. And you have tomeanit.”
He swallows hard, looking properly contrite as he meets my eyes. “I promise.”
“Thank you.” Mollified, I put my helmet on and swing my legs over the scooter, shifting forward to give him enough space to sit behind me. I start the bike, and thank God, it roarsto life on the first try—a small mercy in a night full of disasters.
I know it’s probably hopeless going back to the diner after how spectacularly I screwed up, but I have to at least try. I have to fight for this.
The last few days I’ve been showing up late because life kept throwing curveballs at me. Monday, when Mom passed out at the bus station a few blocks from our house and I had to drop everything to go pick her up.
Yesterday, when the water got cut off mid-shower and I spent over an hour arguing with the customer care representative of the water company before realizing I’d forgotten to pay the damn bill.
I had some suspicions when I had extra money left over last week. Should have known it was too good to be true.
Sure, I might have been late a few other times this month as well, but I had good reasons for all of them, which I explained to Fred. Still… this is business. He’s going to put his diner first over an employee with a sob story.
I just pray he’ll give me one more chance.
“No.” Fred’s voice is firm, final. “I’m sorry about your rough night, but I really can’t hire you back, Leni. I need to put my business first if I don’t want to go into debt.”
I swallow around the painful lump lodged in my throat. “I know I messed up a couple of times, but I’m going to try harder this time, Fred. I promise you that.”
Ethan nods vigorously beside me, practically bouncing with nervous energy. “I won’t distract her with my troubles again. She’s always late because of me.”
My boss just shakes his head, and I can see the decision is already carved in stone. “I’m sorry.”
“But…” Ethan trails off when I grab his arm.
“Thank you. I appreciate having had the opportunity to work here.” I turn with my brother and start to leave Fred’s office.
His heavy sigh behind me sends a spark of hope through my chest, and I’ve already stopped walking before his voice reaches me. “Wait.”
I spin back around, heart hammering.
“I can’t give you your job here back,” he says slowly, “but I have a catering service this weekend, and I need two more waiters who–”
“I’ll do it!” The words burst out before he can finish. It’s a one-time job, but the money should be enough to keep us afloat for next week while I try to sort out another job. “I’ll do it, please.”
“You can’t disappoint me, Leni.”
“I won’t. I swear, I won’t.” I can’t afford to.
5
ROMERO
Client interviews are perhaps my least favorite part of being a defense attorney. These motherfuckers always think spinning lies is going to impress me. Newsflash: it doesn’t. I don’t usually give a shit whether they’re innocent or guilty. What I do give a shit about, massively, is whether they’re honest with me, because that’s what determines if my work is going to be a smooth ride or a complete clusterfuck.
“I really didn’t do it,” Eric says, tapping his Oxford heels against my floor, looking guilty as hell. “Yes, we had an argument and I slapped him, which made him fall—but he was still breathing when I left his apartment. I swear. Then I went to the bar to relax and clear my head.”
My lips press into a thin line. “You’re a terrible liar, Mr. Turner. If you pull this amateur performance in front of the judge, you’re going to get slammed with the harshest sentence possible for murder.”
“You don’t believe me?” The fucker has the audacity to glare at me. “How will the judge believe me when even my own lawyer doesn’t?”
I push back from my chair and round the desk, watchinghim swallow hard and lean back instinctively as I perch on the edge, close enough that he can probably smell my cologne. Close enough to make him sweat. “My job isn’t to believe your story or not. Quite frankly, I don’t care if you did it or not, kid. I’m here to get you little to no punishment. But for that to work, you have to be completely honest with me.” I lean in just a little. “I need the truth. All of it. No lies, no edits. If I don’t know what really happened, I can’t protect you. And if I can’t protect you, you might rot in a cell for the rest of your pathetic life.” Then I straighten, just slightly. “Now, shall we start over?”
He nods rapidly. “Yes.”
