Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
I smile.
Ethan is such a mix of me and his father. Like me, he doesn’t care about designer labels. He wears whatever he feels best in—even if that’s a hoodie so bright I pray it fades every time I toss it into the dryer. Like his father, he doesn’t care what anyone thinks of him. He says I love you in front of his friends without a care in the world.
Not that Jared ever did that. I love you doesn’t generally come out of his mouth to anyone.
I sit on the sofa and grab the remote. With the push of a button, the romantic comedy I’ve been keeping half an eye on for the last hour starts playing again. It’s not a bad flick, but it’s not great either. I mainly keep it on to prevent the house from being too quiet.
I turn up the volume before folding Ethan’s hoodie. Then a pair of joggers. Then a Nirvana shirt he sleeps in because someone on social media told him Nirvana was cool.
I’m about to reach for a pair of shorts when my phone rings. I glance down and see Skoolie’s office number.
“Hey,” I say, expecting to hear my boss, Kirk, on the other end.
Instead, I get Burt.
“Palmer?” he asks, his tone gruff.
“Yes?”
“Where is the title for the bus we’re sellin’ to Agnello?”
“It’s in a file on my desk. Why?”
“’Cause he’s here to pick it up.”
I spring to my feet, the top of my head so hot that I think it might blow off.
There’s no way he did this.
“Agnello can’t pick it up. He hasn’t even paid for it yet,” I say, moving my hand around in front of me. “We had this conversation on Thursday.”
“And I told you that he’d be here today.”
I grit my teeth together and try not to see double.
“Have you called Kirk?” I ask, my heart beating in the side of my neck.
“No,” he says like I’m a child. “I’m calling you because I need the title. Kirk doesn’t have the titles.”
“No,” I say, using the tone he used with me, “but he might like the money.”
His sigh is mixed with a growl.
You’re irritated? Me too, asshole.
“What do you expect me to do?” he asks. “Tell Agnello to come back on Monday? Tell him that he drove all the way here from New York and he’ll have to stay a couple of extra nights because you won’t tell me where the fucking title is?”
Nope.
I’m willing to overlook Burt most days. He’s never my favorite person, but I bite my tongue for the good of the business. Besides, he’s generally just a dick, and I don’t waste my energy on getting mad.
But this? No. We aren’t going to pretend he’s not talking to me like I’m a child. He can shove his farm game where the sun won’t shine on his crops.
“First, change your tone. Now,” I say, standing up straight. “You will not speak to me—”
“Just get me the title.”
It’s amazing how loudly someone can hang up a cell phone.
My hand trembles as I toss my phone on the couch. What a jerk! I eye the stack of laundry and wish I could go back three minutes ago and fold in peace.
But that’s over. I’m pissed now.
I pace the room and consider my options. This isn’t my problem. I know that. Rationally, I’m aware that Burt making side agreements with customers has nothing to do with me. But I also know . . .
My phone rings.
That I’m going to get roped into going in on a Saturday.
I clench my jaw and scoop up the phone. This time, it’s Kirk.
“Hi,” I say, my voice soaked in a faux sweetness.
Kirk picks up what I’m throwing down. I can almost hear him grimace.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Well, that would be great if the apology was yours to deliver.”
“I’m going to talk to Burt. I got his version of the events . . . in a manner that has me driving to the office right now to lay down the law, so I can only imagine what actually happened in your conversation with him.”
“I’m done when it comes to him, Kirk. I take his mouth and language day after day and ignore it because he’s not worth me getting worked up. But when he talks to me like I’m a child, like . . . like I don’t have value to our company and as a human being? I’m done.” I pause to let the point hit home . . . and also to catch my breath. “I’m telling you right now that I’m not having it. I can’t beat him up, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t square up with him.”
Kirk laughs.
“I’m not joking!” And I’m not. Exaggerating? Maybe. But I’m not going to be belittled by the oversize five-year-old who bullies me because he’s bigger. And a man.