Page 9 of Heat & Deceit
It’s morning.
The phone rings again.
Releasing a heavy sigh, I crawl over the side of my bed and grab the device. Tabitha’s name is flashing across the screen in bold white letters. My eyes jump to the time shown on the corner of the screen, heart already sinking. I cast my glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. The numbers are blinking on and off.
My power must’ve gone out in the middle of the night.
I check the time on my phone. It’s seven-thirty.
Oh no.
I answer the call while I stand and head to the dresser. “Hello?” The question comes out half croaked, and I clear my throat.
“You’re late, Carmine,” Tabitha growls. I instantly produce an image of her lurking behind me while she trained me on the proper way to steam milk, muttering and criticizing every move I made.
“I know. I’m sorry. My power went out.” I grab some fresh clothes and head back to the bed, dropping the outfit onto the mattress. “I didn’t know until you called. I’m getting dressed now.”
A haughty huff crackles through the speaker. “Your phone is working.” My manager is a bit of a cunt. Okay, she’s a huge cunt, but that’s beside the point.
I’m late, and I need this job, likeneed, need. There are bills to pay, pills to buy, and police to dodge. I’m not a criminal, per se, but I am using a fake identity and am about to lose the job I got with said fake identity if I don’t get my crap together.
After taking a calming breath, I nod, even though Tabitha can’t see it. “My phone is working, but I don’t use it for an alarm.” And the phone alarm is usually too quiet, anyway. I for sure would’ve slept through that.
I put the phone on speaker and shake out the soft black jeans, tugging them on while I continue, “I’m almost dressed. I’ll be right there, and Tabitha?”
She doesn’t answer.
“I’m really sorry. It wasn’t on purpose, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll work late or do whatever you need, okay?”
Silence.
I grab the edge of my oversized night shirt and wait. The background noise of the coffee shop filters down the line, filled with chatter, thudding, and screaming steam wands. I wince at the last one. If there’s one thing Tabitha hates more than anything, it’s screaming wands.
She’spissed.
“Please, Tabitha. I’m sorry.” I grab the phone and hold it in front of me. “This job means everything to me.”
Because without it, I’m entirely too dependent, and I refuse to be a burden.
“Then quit fucking yapping and get your ass over here. I’m giving you twenty minutes.” Tabitha hangs up, and I suck in a relieved breath before dropping my phone and ripping off my shirt.
It takes fifteen minutes to walk to the coffee shop in the heart of Museton’s downtown.
I don’t drive.
I don’t like bikes.
I don’t have time.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
After that embarrassing encounter with Mr. Gray last night, I can’t afford to get fired. I need money to live, but I also need money to buy a hoard of pills, so I never have to see that god-like alpha again. Tugging on a fresh purple shirt—the color of Tranquility Coffee’s logo—I tie back my messy hair into an even messier bun. I shove my feet into the nearest shoes and grimace once I realize they’re my knockoff combat boots. They’re not exactly the best choice for a full day on my feet, but I can’t delay.
My apron is waiting for me near the front door, and I grab it, my keys, and my wallet.Crap. My phone.It’s on the floor in the bedroom. I spare one longing glance in that direction before shaking my head and wrenching the front door open. It would take at least five seconds to get over there, which means it would take five seconds to get back. That’s ten seconds I don’t have. I rush down the rickety stairs of my apartment building and burst onto the street in a cloud of distress.
Pivoting, I set off at a clipped pace, pointedly avoiding looking at the people I pass, a habit I can’t seem to shake, no matter how safe I’m beginning to feel. But it’s better this way. It’s better to be no one. To be a ghost of a person rather than someone to be remembered. If I don’t say hello to random strangers on my walk to work, they won’t think of greeting me the next morning. I’ll breeze by them, and they’ll struggle to remember who I am or if they’ve ever seen me before.
I shiver as I approach the intersection, wishing I’d grabbed my jacket. It’s late fall, and the weather is at the point where mornings drop not-so-subtle hints that winter is on the way.
