“I keep books correctly. Is this because I wouldn’t pad that invoice for you?”
“You know shit. You’re just a stripper pretending to be a bookkeeper. You’re the same slut you were back in high school.”
Yeah, you know me. You and everyone else in the town based on the bullshit lies Greg spread. Well, I’m smarter than you think. I know your kind, you and your cronies.
“So this is because I wouldn’t suck your dick or cook your books. Good luck finding someone, for both jobs. Get out of my way I need my purse and personal belongings.”
“Already hired someone, bitch.” He stands and moves to the side. “She’s a hell of a lot better than you.”
“Let me guess, one of Greg’s friends. God, you guys will never grow up.”
Opening the lower drawer, I grab my purse and sweater. Hitting the voice record on my phone, I turn quickly, letting my purse bump the tumbler of ice coffee on the desk. The contents pour out soaking all the papers.
Bill jumps back. “Bitch, you did that on purpose!”
“You think I want my personal notepad ruined? Grab the paper towels behind you.”
When he turns, I disconnect my backup thumb drive and slip it in my pocket. Not my first rodeo with jerks like him. I keep my own evidence these days.
Grabbing the roll from him I start sopping up the spill. I get most of it. After wiping off my notebook, I walk around the end of the desk and into the hall. At the time clock I pull my timecard and clock out then go back to my office to take a copy of my time stamps.
“I ain’t paying you shit.”
Stuffing my copy in my purse, I meet his gaze. “Federal law, dipshit. Don’t pay me my last check by next Friday, I report you. Who knows what else they’ll find while investigating payroll fraud.”
I walk out and through the diner. I see Greg sitting at a booth with a dark-haired girl I’ve seen around town. She looks young. Like I once was.
Shaking my head I push out the door. I take care of me now. Just me.
Walking down two streets to where I parked my car I see it’s tucked between two pickups. The first one I recognize as Greg’s. Dread fills me. I know his games.
Both of my back tires are flat.
Fighting back tears, I slamming my hand down on the trunk of my fifteen-year-old Toyota. I kick the bumper and scream. “Sonofabitch!”
“I can help with that,” a deep, concerned voice comes from behind me.
Twirling around I stare into the eyes of the baby daddy from the restaurant. Sayer Reed is no stranger to me, but I don’t think he recognizes who I am.
“I noticed when I walked up to my truck. I was hanging around to see if I could help. If you’ve got a spare, I’ve got the tools.” He shakes his head. “Shit, Gentry, that came out wrong. What I mean is, I can change your tire and take the other to the shop and see if they can fix it. If you’re on your lunch break, I can take your keys and have it done in an hour or so and bring them back to you.”
“Did you know this was my car? Did you see who did it?”
“No, I didn’t know whose car it was. I stopped at the store to get more pull-ups. When I walked up to my truck, I noticed the tires were like that.
“If you aren’t in a hurry, Gentry, I’ll take care of it, if you would sit with Ayla. She’s almost asleep so she should be easy.”
“You remembered me, Sayer?”
“You were the most beautiful girl in our high school. Of course I remembered. Just took a minute for everything to come back to me. Seems, we both remembered.”
Yeah, I remember the sweet boy who tried to comfort me when I was crying. The one who punched some boys for saying stuff to embarrass me. The wild boy with a chip on his shoulders, four years younger, who grew into a man too quickly, then disappeared.
“I’ve got all the time in the world. I just got fired.”
His eyes go wide. “For helping me?”
“No. Because Greg and Bill are still jerks and best friends. Greg wanted a job for his new girl of the month.”
