Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“But you like it? You… fix things?”
“I mean, I’m no master craftsman or anything, but I know a thing or two.” I knew more than that, but it was a bad habit of mine to play down what I was capable of.
“What about cleaning?”
“What about it?” I asked. Feeling at a disadvantage in that position, I moved to stand, but still found myself craning my head up to look at him.
“When you’re not fixing things, do you care to clean?”
“I mean, we all have to clean, right?” Except, judging by the man’s gold watch and cufflinks that probably cost more than my rent—for the year—maybe he didn’t. He wasn’t the kind of man I could picture on his hands and knees cleaning out the lower cabinets or swishing a wand around a toilet bowl. He was the kind of man who had ‘people for that.’
“You’re not answering the question.”
Huh.
Okay.
Super hot physically.
But kind of cold otherwise.
“Yeah, I clean.”
“Would you be interested in fixing and cleaning?”
“I’m sorry… fixing and cleaning what, exactly?” As an answer, his arm rose, gesturing toward the building we were standing in front of. “The pool hall? Is this your place?”
“It is. Mine and my brother’s. And we just… lost our maintenance person. It’s a position we need filled immediately. Because, to answer your question, no, I don’t clean.”
Was there a really weird emphasis on the word ‘lost’ there? Sure. But what did I know?
“Right. Uh. Well, as it so happens, I am looking for a job. I actually have some of my résumés in my backseat.” I started toward the car, but the man’s voice stopped me.
“No need. The job is yours if you agree to the terms.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
“I know that brick has been loose for a year and the previous man I had for the job never noticed nor cared. I like people who see problems and fix them without being told.”
“Oh, well, yeah. I’m the girl for the job then. I mean, I don’t have any certificates or anything. I’m not, you know, a professional.”
“I don’t need a professional. But I do need someone who wears something other than… that.”
I honestly almost laughed at the disgust on his face as his gaze slid over my very worn overalls, which I’d had literally since I was a teen, doing home projects at my grandfather’s side. Were they worn soft and white at the seams with age? Sure. And there were random paint and stain splashes that no amount of scrubbing or bleach could remove. But that’s kind of what I liked best about them. They were full of memories.
“I have other clothes.”
“Black.”
“Oh, uh, okay. Sure.” I didn’t own a single piece of black clothing. But that was what the secondhand store was for, right?
“Shoes too.” I pretended not to notice the way he grimaced at the once-white sneakers that were so covered in paint now that you could only see a sliver of the original color here or there.
“Got it. So… what are the terms?”
“The work is five days a week, with the days off being Monday, when the hall is closed, and Wednesday, when we are typically slow. But you will need to be available for emergency calls if something breaks when you are not scheduled to work.”
“That’s not a problem. I live right down the side street over there.”
The man followed my gesture, brows scrunching.
“The old Miller place?”
“I have no idea. It’s a duplex.”
“It’s practically condemned.”
“Well, I’m working on that.”
To that, he gave me a tight nod.
“The pay is thirty an hour, and you will have a credit card for repair expenses and cleaning supplies.”
Thirty?
I was hoping to score a job at the state minimum wage, which was somewhere around sixteen. And according to my math, that would be enough to keep me comfortable. I mean, I’d still have to chase sales and get things from the thrift stores and free marketplaces, but I wouldn’t be hurting.
Getting twice that?
To do work I actually liked?
That was a dream.
“That sounds great.”
“Good. Then you start tomorrow. Three p.m.”
With that, the man walked toward the door. He sidestepped the still-setting brick, then stabbed a key into the lock.
“I’m Este, by the way,” I called to his back.
His head swiveled.
“Konstantin Novikoff.”
With that, he was gone, disappearing inside the darkened pool hall.
I was left alone, standing on the street, staring at the reflection of myself in the mirrored window.
How I nabbed a job from a man in a suit like his was beyond me. What with my coppery hair mostly falling out of its claw clip, my face completely bare, save for the smudge of dirt I must have rubbed on my cheek, wearing my ancient overalls, I looked like I’d just fallen off a boxcar somewhere.
You know, if people still stowed away on those things.
I was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though.