Page 50 of Rich Girl
“Oh my god, what?” My voice is shaky, and tears threaten to spill out of my eyes.
“I took a picture of it when you went to the bathroom.” She sounds giddy with happiness when she tells me that. “I sent it to my lady in the city. She has the perfect event that she can use them for. She’s super excited!”
I stare at her, and I want to slap her. I can’t believe she’s doing this to me.
“Do you know how long it took me to make that?” I snap at her.
The smile disappears off her face, and she now looks concerned.
“I worked hard on this, Evie,” I yell at her as I show her my creation. “It’s taken me hours and hours.For one!”
She is startled by my tone of voice when I yell that last part.
“I’d need at least two weeks to make fifteen of them, Evie,” I yell again. “By the time I finish the last one, the first one I worked on would be dead!”
Evie continues staring at me, her eyes squinting at me in worry. I just want to run out of here and never look back.
Today is my one week anniversary, and I am already done with it. How do people stay at a job for years? I will die if I have to do this for longer.
“Hayden, I’m so sorry.” Evie wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I’ve been so busy, I didn’t realize how stressed out you are. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her kindness takes me by surprise. It is too much, and I burst into tears. How do I tell her that I’ve never held a job in my life? I can’t handle the stress.
I was excited at first, and didn’t even bother going back into the city for my clothes. Instead, I borrowed Ray’s Jeep and went to a shopping mall that’s about an hour away from the small town they all live in. While the quality lacked, I did find some cute stuff that would work during my short stay here.
Evie offered me her grandma’s house to live in, but Ray said he was fine with me staying with him. It is super cramped in there with the two of us. However, he works long hours on some days, with an unpredictable schedule on others. He gets calls in the middle of the night or very early in the morning.
All that to say that I’ve been in the apartment by myself a lot. It’s weird how excited I get when I hear Ray’s heavy footsteps up the stairs every day.
Now, I’m crying my heart out on his friend’s shoulders, wondering how I can get out of this place faster.
“I didn’t mean to stress you out like this, Hayden,” Evie continues with her apologies. “Why don’t you go back to Ray’s for a while, get some rest. I really hope you’ll consider coming back tomorrow.”
I don’t try to argue with her. I don’t want to be here anyway. I mutter a quietthanksbefore grabbing my cell phone and walking out.
I cry with hiccups all the way back to Ray’s apartment, not caring when I enter the yard and see a few of his workers just staring at me. My shoulders go back and head is straight, trying to look dignified and regal despite the snot running down my nose. The thought of wiping it with the sleeve of my shirt grosses me out.
My feet stomp up the stairs until I reach my destination. I slam the door hard behind me before marching to the couch Ray has in this makeshift living room of his.
Just then, the cell phone in my hand starts ringing. I look at the screen and let out a new wail, this time of relief because Jeanine is calling me.
“H-hello?” My voice is nasally, and it is obvious that I’ve been crying.
“Oh my gosh, Hayden! Is that you?” Jeanine’s voice rings in my ear. I’ve never been happier to hear someone I know.
“It is,” I cry out. “I miss you so much!”
Jeanine gets right down to business.
“What the hell is going on, girl?” she yells over the line. “I just drove by your house again. The maid said you’re still not home. She doesn’t know when you’d be home. Have you been kidnapped? Do you need help?”
“Yes,” I cry out again, referring to the needing help part. “I have to get out of here and get home. I have to go to work every day, Jeannie,” I sob into the phone. “I have to make these f-flower arrangements. I don’t know how to make flower arrangements!”
“Of course not.” Jeanine is sympathetic. “You’re not a savage. I can’t even imagine having to work on flower arrangements.”
She sounds appalled on my behalf, which, in turn, makes me feel a little better. I put the call on speaker and place it on my leg as I run my hands up and down my face in an effort to calm down. There’s a bit of roughness to the touch. I lower my hands to take a look, horrified by the blisters and cuts I see on my fingers.
“Oh my God,” I lose it again. “My hands are mangled!”
