SARAH
I check my watch. I still have an hour until I need to catch the bus.
It’s day two of bus life, and it’s not so bad, except for asking Griffin to adjust my work schedule, which he was fine with. There’s also the creepy old man who believes he’s a pirate and spends our morning ride filling me in on the government spies out to steal his treasure. Then, there’s the little issue of my refrigerator contents being down to half a gallon of milk, two or three eggs, and a random assortment of condiments and fruit.
Bus life as a single mom of two kids doesn’t afford easy access to grocery shopping, library visits, or taking the kids somewhere in an emergency. It all creates a new layer of planning and anxiety on top of what already exists.
I tap my phone—no missed calls.
I’m still hoping to hear from the garage today, and I need it to be good news—a quick and inexpensive fix. That won’t be the case because that’s not how my life works.
I tap out another message.
ME: Miles, this isn’t funny. The order is clear, and you’re required to follow it. I’m not playing your games.
My brief conversation with Miles went as expected. The fact that I had to have it in front of the man who now holds my only form ofindependent transportation in his hands was the kind of suckfest that’s fitting these days. Given that Miles actually called, there wasn’t a chance in hell I would let a growly mechanic keep me from answering. It didn’t matter what he heard. I’m pretty sure he made up his mind about me the minute I set foot in his garage.
Plus, it was only two minutes of the same damn thing. Me, attempting to be mature and rational, despite wanting to reach through the phone and rip his head off, and him, not giving a single shit about anything but himself. I did, however, survive another round of threats, accusations, and manipulation. Today, I’m still standing. Yay me.
I swipe my phone to check my email, scanning for a quote even though Slade said he’d call me. Slade. Such an interesting yet fitting name.
There’s a light knock on my door. I don’t even have to look to know it’s Cory. It’s like the skinny weasel waits until I have my phone in my hand to appear as if he’s catching me in an office offense.
He clears his throat, and I set my phone aside, twisting in my chair.
“What’s up, Cory?”
He pushes his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose with one hand, the other clutching a stack of files. “I wanted to review the Connor files. You haven’t sent them yet, and the court date is tomorrow.”
I square my shoulders. “Griffin has them.”
His thin jaw flexes. “I wanted to review them when you finished compiling everything.”
“I spoke with Griffin about a separate matter this morning, and he said that wasn’t necessary.” I refrain from smiling, and it takes effort. His eyelids droop a little lower. “Also, my schedule is shifting slightly. Griffin approved it.”And it will be thirty fewer minutes a day that I have to deal with you.
If weasels could snarl, I’m pretty sure he would, but instead, he stands there swiping his hand underneath his nose.
“What are you working on now?” His beady, dark eyes flick to my phone and then back to me.
“Griffin received confirmation on the Sanders case and asked me to update the agreement. Kat is pulling me in on some research.”
He sniffs, extending the file folders in my direction. “Client information needs to be updated in each of these. You can contact each and ensure we have the most recent information.”
I glance at the files and then back at him. “Is it urgent?” I know it’s not, and he needs to understand I’m not his assistant.
“You should have them completed by tomorrow afternoon.” His arm wobbles, and he retracts the files when I don’t take them.
I rest back in my chair. “Isn’t that something Marcie handles?”
“She hasn’t been at her desk.”
That sounded a little defensive.
“Oh, don’t worry. She had an appointment but said she’d be back. I bet you could leave them on her desk with a note or email her. If you want, I’d be happy to deliver them.” It’ll save her from having to deal with his overt condescension.
“An appointment?” He all but rolls his eyes.
I don’t know if it’s a question or a statement, but I’d like him to get out of my office. “Yes. She’s taking care of a little feminine issue.”
