“It’s just that you haven’t made any payments toward the back pay at all, and–”
“I’m so sorry. It’s just taken me a while to climb out of the hole, but I’m starting to catch up.” I definitely don’t want to explain that I’d prioritized her below my landlord, nor am I going to tell her I got myself evicted.
Behind her, I see Ondrea wincing for me.
“Let me give you the money I have right now.” I push past her, even though she doesn’t seem finished with whatever kind of ambush this is. I grab my purse and fish out every dollar I have, counting them up and handing them to Arissa, who followed me over. “This is nine hundred eighty-five,” I say.
She’s not impressed. In fact, she seems even more offended. “You had this much money in your purse the whole time?” she snaps.
Ugh. “Well, no.” Crap. Now she thinks I was holding out on her. I’d better just tell her the truth. “I just scraped this together to bring to you today.” Not a complete lie.
She narrows her eyes. “You owe me twenty-five hundred more. I need it by the end of this month or you’re out.”
I somehow hide my gasp, but my heart starts pounding like there’s an ax murderer after me. Ondrea makes a horrified face behind Arissa.
She’s kicking me out?
I thought we were on better terms than that. I really did. I was never late before the accident. I thought she knew me.
I blink rapidly, trying to keep the tears back.
She must see them because I can see her resolve wobble. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I can barely make the rent here, and you haven’t shown any signs of catching up.”
“I’m catching up!” I insist, even though it’s not really true. “I’ll pull together the rest of the money. I promise.” I don’t know how, but I will.
“Good.”
She walks away, and I get busy, trying to pretend things aren’t completely awkward for me here now.
Even if I figure out how to put together that much money by the end of the month, I’m honestly not sure I want to stay here now. I love Ondrea and a few of the other stylists here, but…ugh.
I have no right to resent her for leaning on me, either. Of course, she has a business to run. I guess I’m just…hurt, honestly. We were friendly before.
Now it feels icky.
God, I hope I get the trainer job.
* * *
Bobby
“Mayor Randolph. What can I do for you?”
“Cut the crap, Manghini. You know damn well why I’m calling. I had phone calls from five reporters asking about my contracts with you. What the fuck is going on?”
Reporters. Fuck.
How did that happen? Someone at the FBI must’ve leaked the investigation. Talk about an organization in crisis.
“I’ll call you back.”
“The fuck you w–”
Fanculo.I end the call and drop my phone to the floor, crushing it with my heel. I open the bottom drawer of my desk and pull out a burner phone, still in its plastic container. As I tear it open, I stride out of my office and into the hallway, taking the the stairs down at a fast pace. Once I’m on the street, I call the mayor back on his cell phone.
“What were you thinking calling me from your office line? Stop acting so fucking guilty–you’re putting an noose around your own neck.”
The mayor goes silent. “Was that a threat?”