by Finn, Emilia
Never a job I asked for, but a job I’ve been saddled with nonetheless.
“Nadia!” Drew’s voice rises a couple of octaves. “Did you hear anything I said?”
“Sure. I heard Angelica is giving legal advice where it’s not needed.”
“She’s a lawyer!”
“She isn’t mine, she isn’t yours, and she isn’t your mom’s. What she is, is trying to nudge you toward money, so that she can finally get paid for her time.”
“That’s not t—”
“You’re insane if you think she’s inserting herself here for free, Drew. Your father has outstanding bills, and Angelica was anticipating a fat payout once the will was read. That was Angelica’s mistake, for listening to that conman when he made promises.”
“She said that you can change the orders,” she whines. “You control how it’s all paid out.”
“I do not have the power to change the orders,” I huff. “Only your mother or a judge can do that. One of those two people are now deceased. And the other isn’t likely to change a will that was very clearly written up not so long ago. It’s done, Drew. So instead of bitching at me, why don’t you fulfill the conditions set out for you in the will?”
“Because I’m not a work horse!” she screeches. “I do not want to build houses in Burma. I don’t want to sponsor a child and give them drinking water. I do not want to pick up trash off the side of the road.”
My anger spikes, and my eyes narrow. “The fact you just lumped those three examples together is, one, extremely offensive, and two, the very reason you’ve been leashed. You’re an asshole, Drew. A spoiled brat who was long ago convinced she needs her father’s approval, no matter what it costs her soul. But ya know what? You took after the wrong parent, and it’s gross that you are the legacy Aunt Tracey left behind.”
“Nadia—”
“The orders have been made, and there isn’t a damn thing you can say or do that will make me toss cash your way unless you’ve earned it. It is what it is, so I suggest you get to work.”
“You bit—”
“I suggest you tell Angelica to move on to greener pastures. And my advice for you is to choose better friends, Drew. The ones you chose stink.”
I yank the phone away from my ear and mash my thumb to the screen to hang up, then I toss the device to the couch right beside where Milo snoozes with his legs splayed wide open.
His lips are open just a little while he snores, but when the phone thuds against the cushions, he opens one eye, regards me with unconcealed contempt, then when he’s certain it’s just me, the peasant human, he closes that eye again and goes back to sleep.
“Jerkoff,” I grumble and spin to move into the kitchen.
My phone is still vibrating, still demanding my attention—it’s probably Arlo now, or David, or possibly even Angelica—but it’s also seven in the damn morning, I’m exhausted, and my mood is several notches below glacial.
One-night stands, it turns out, feel horribly cold and empty.
I went to sleep warm and hugged, sated and—dare I say—for a minute there, loved. I don’t mean actual love, nor do I mean I’m looking for some kind of relationship. But in that moment, when we were both who the other needed, when we were touching skin to skin, and the outside world didn’t matter… In that moment, there was something that could only be described as love.
I slept better than I have in… well, forever. Cocooned, cherished, touched and tasted and adored.
But I woke alone. And that moment, when my drowsiness made way for brutal reality, I felt used. Cheap, discarded.
And angry.
Mitchell Rosa promised no tomorrows. No feelings. And certainly no more. But still, waking alone after I’m positive I woke a dozen times more during the night and found him still wrapped around me—or, well, me wrapped around him—means he snuck out this morning, took his things, and walked away like he was never here. Instead of finding consciousness with a Rosa in my bed, I came to because Milo was spewing a furball onto my carpet. Then a minute after that, my phone began, and it hasn’t stopped since.
Monday was exciting: new job, new friends, new adventure. It had its bumps, what with that grieving mother coming into the shop. But it ended pretty well once Mitchell began touching.
Tuesday… I guess I’ll have to wait and see.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I blow out a heavy breath and head toward the kitchen. I snatch up a coffee mug, fill it from the pot I bought over the weekend, then ignoring the constant vibration of my phone against the couch cushions, I head upstairs and into the shower.
I drop my clothes using only one hand, clip my hair up—one-handed—and flip the shower on, also one-handed. Then, with the coffee still attached to my body, I step into the billowing heat and groan as the pulsing showerhead massages my shoulders.
I’m tired, but energetic. Wound up tight, but with nowhere to go.
I’m not due at the shop until nine, but I know Abby will arrive soon to let the delivery guys in, which means the hours set for me, are not the hours I plan to work. Nine-to-five isn’t good enough if the person whose life I’m supposed to be making easier works eight-till-six.
I have one job, which encompasses a million others. My employment contract states ‘shop assistant’, but that includes accounting help, packaging and shipping of orders, customer service, cleaning the shop when needed… The list goes on and on.
Really, what that contract should say, in bold and underlined, is be Abby but better. My job is to help her so that she needn’t worry about any damn thing.
Her starting before me and finishing after me just isn’t conducive to making that work.
Sipping my coffee, and sighing as the boiling liquid rolls down my throat, I close my eyes and let the shower wake me fully. I allow myself twenty minutes to pout about Mitchell and be pissed about Drew; the time it takes to enjoy my coffee and take a quick rinse. But once that’s done, I step out of the bathroom a new woman.
Smile on my face, fake as it may be. Eyeshadow, brows sculpted and shaped, mascara on my lashes, and a thick coat of lipstick. My hair was washed and blown out just yesterday morning, so I piggyback off that and pull it back into a half-up, half-down ‘do for today, and touch up the ends with my curler so they bounce against my back when I walk.
Carrying my empty coffee mug from point to point—bathroom to bedroom, bedroom back to the kitchen—I step into my living room dressed for the day in black slacks, black pumps, and a cute sleeveless blouse that shows off my shoulders.
I slip Aunt Tracey’s single strand of pearls around my neck and forgo earrings altogether. Then walking back through my living room, I snag my phone, which has a half-dead battery because of my cousins’ bullshit, and make my way to the front door. I grab my purse, heavy and too big, drop my phone in, take my keys out, then shooting one last glance over my shoulder at my fat cat, I shake my head and laugh, because he’s a bit of a badass, but he’s wearing a bowtie and looking a little stupid.
Ten minutes after walking out my front door, I walk through the shop door with two to-go coffees in hand and a smile on my face, only to come to a screeching stop when I’m met with a broad Rosa back as its owner leans against the front counter.
“Oh!” Abby’s eyes come up to mine, smiling and excited for another day at work. She looks to a delicate watch on her wrist, and for just a moment, her brows furrow. “You’re more than an hour early.” Her gaze comes back to me. “Seventy minutes, Nadia.”
For as long as he doesn’t turn, I can hope and wish and pray that this Rosa back belongs to one of the other four brothers. I’ve met one that isn’t Mitchell—Nixon—and their sizing isn’t wildly different. But then he turns, Mitchell’s icy eyes meet mine, and my hopes come crashing down like a pile of wet cards.
Shit.
“I… uh…” I clear my throat and try not to announce to the world that I’m a nasty little one-nighter for this guy who stands between me and my boss. “I knew you’d b
e here.” I stand taller, proud, and offer her a coffee. “You start at eight,” I tell Abby, “which means I start at eight.”
“Oh, well…” Pondering that for a moment, she settles on a smile and extends her hand for the coffee, so I walk forward and close the space between us. “Sounds great to me. It’ll give me enough time to catch you up on our orders today anyway, then I’m going to run out and visit with a friend. Nadia, you remember Mitchell, right?”
I stop beside him for a moment, close enough that his elbow touches my arm and his cologne smells like sex and a good time. But when his gaze locks onto mine and drills in without remorse, I slink away and pretend that I’m putting my bag away.
“Of course. Mitchell, Nixon, Corey, Beckett, and… Troy?”
Abby laughs.
Mitchell’s eyes narrow.
“Correct,” Abby says. “Not in that order, but good enough. Oh,” she looks to Mitchell with a childlike glee. “I forgot to tell you! Troy texted me last night.”
“Yeah?” Able to ignore me, I guess, or at the very least, pretend to ignore me, Mitchell’s attention is drawn back to his sister as I set my things down and make myself look busy.
“I meant to tell you, but I thought you were at work last night, so I didn’t call, then you distracted me this morning when you told me all about last night.”
My brows shoot up, but like a good little employee, I grab a watering can and pretend to be useful.
Mitchell clears his throat, awkward and shy all in one. “You mean the bit about my boss,” he says—purely for my benefit, I’m sure. “Yeah. What did Troy say?”
“Nothing much,” Abby laments. “That he’s busy, he’s traveling, and that if his phone stops working soon, not to worry. He said he’ll get word to us that everything is fine.”
“Where the hell is he going that his phone won’t work?” Mitchell snaps. “Jesus, we’re in the twenty-first effing century, Abigail.”
“Language,” she grumbles, drawing a smile to my lips. “And I don’t know where he’s going. He promised it’s safe, though, and that he’ll be home soon.”
“Troy is your oldest brother, right?” My voice is innocent, uncaring, but it hits Mitchell square in the back and brings him around with a squeak of his shoes. I leave my eyes on Abby and ignore her other brother just as easily as he ignores me. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, he’s the oldest.” Abby goes to work setting up her till for the day. Counting out the cash she uses as float, writes down what she needs more of, banks the surplus. “He works for the military, but it’s the secret kind of military.”
“Abby,” Mitchell growls. “Hush.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s Nadia. She’s one of us now. And it’s not like I’m mentioning secret stuff.” She brings her gaze back to me. “None of us really know where he works, or when he’ll be home. But he’s important.” She says it with such pride that my heart swells. “Though he’s been gone awhile now. I’m starting to lose patience.”
“How long?” I look from sibling to sibling.
They look absolutely nothing alike. She’s tiny, red hair, Irish skin, bi-colored eyes. And he’s… the opposite. Portuguese coloring, olive skin, green eyes, and well over six feet tall. To think they came from the same womb, and only a few years apart, boggles my mind.
“He’s been gone almost a year now,” Abby answers.
“Is that an unusually long time?”
She shrugs. “There is no standard for him. Sometimes it’s a year or more. Sometimes it’s days. Most of the time, it’s months. But always, he stays in contact and lets us know he’s okay. I suspect, maybe if some bad people knew he texted us, they might torture us for our phones so they can geo-track him—”
“Abby,” Mitchell huffs. “You done?”
“But they haven’t thought that far yet,” she snickers. “Plus, my phone is an old flippy thing. I’m not sure anyone can track anything on those.”
“You seem grumpy today.” I look into Mitchell’s eyes, and study him with all the attitude I can muster. Coffee in one hand, watering can in the other. High heels, and a cocked hip. “I mean, grumpier than usual. Not enough sleep?”
“Never enough sleep,” Abby speaks before he can. “He was up all night worrying over this work stuff. Plus, he was with a lady friend.”
“Really?” I force myself to turn around and act busy. Despite my teasing, I don’t actually want my boss to know I fucked her brother. “That’s interesting.”
“And private,” he grumbles. Knocking his knuckles against the desk, he says to Abby, “I’m going home to nap. I’m on nights for the rest of this week, so don’t call me before noon.”
“What if Troy calls?”
That brings the guy up short.
It’s sweet to see that the Rosas aren’t only overbearing and concerned about Abigail; they spread the love throughout the whole family. They’re all obsessed with each other.
“If he needs to talk, tell him to call me. If it’s not urgent, he can text.” Mitchell turns away from his sister, watches me from the corner of his eye for just a moment, then he heads toward the door.
“Is he single?”
My question is for Abby, but it’s Mitchell whose head snaps up and shoes skid on the concrete floor. The jerk in me wants to cackle at how easily I can play the second youngest Rosa brother.
I look to Abby, just to dig at Mitchell as much as I can before he leaves. “I mean, you say Troy’s schedule is sporadic and unplannable. He’s away for months at a time, and does some secret stuff. None of that is conducive to marriage, right?”
“He’s single.” Abby grabs a single tulip from the vase on her desk and sighs. “One day, my baboon brothers will slow down and meet someone nice. They’ll marry these girls, and give me lots and lots of nieces and nephews to love on.”
“But for now, they’re single? All of them?”
“All of them,” she confirms with a sigh. “It’s a dirty shame, because they’re all such sweethearts too.”
I look to Mitchell, study his jeans and shirt, which are not the same he wore last night, and exhale a soft breath. “I look forward to meeting the sweethearts.”
“Ha!” Abby hoots. “She’s being mean to you, Mitchell.”
“Yep. I caught it.” He walks the rest of the way to the shop door and grabs the handle. “Don’t go shopping for Rosa brothers, Nadia. It would be unprofessional for you to date one of your boss’ brothers.”
“Part of me would mind,” Abby ponders. “Another part thinks it’s a great idea.” Then she grins. “Regardless, we should do family dinner.”
“Wow, lucky me.” I smirk. “Family dinner with five hunky Rosas, and little old me.”
Mitchell snarls. “No.”
“Four,” Abby says, completely oblivious to the tension pulsing from Mitchell’s every pore. Or perhaps she’s merely used to it by now. “Troy isn’t home. But I bet we could FaceTime him in. He might be the hunkiest of them all.”
Now Mitchell’s glare whips to his sister. “Abigail! You’re playing favorites now?”
I snort under my breath, and clamp my lips shut before I lose my composure and get in trouble.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she argues. “You know this. Plus, Troy was always my favorite. He doesn’t baby me the way you do.”
“Yeah, Ab, he does. He’s just sneakier about it.”
“Are you dating, Abby?” I ask. “Got a special man in your life?”
It’s funny how the thought of me hooking up with one of Mitchell’s brothers makes him snap like a rabid dog. But mention his sister dating, and that dog now has an AK47.
“Nadia!” he sneers. “What exactly is your job here? Because all I see you doing is stand around and gossiping.”
“Mitchell,” Abby cautions. “Stop it.”
“My job is to shadow Abigail,” I answer sweetly. “Fetch her coffee, water her plants, flirt with the customers so we sell more. And if she just
so happens to need underwear advice before going out on a date, then I’m that girl too.”
Abby’s face flames.
Mitchell’s pales.
I win.
“Truce,” he chokes out. “You’re saying that shit to hurt me, so I’m waving the white flag.” He yanks the door open. “Don’t talk about my sister dating, and I won’t be such a dick to you when I’m in here.”
“Mitchell,” Abby admonishes. “Cussing.”
I smirk, proud and playful, and with it comes a balm to the burn after waking alone this morning. “It was nice doing business with you, Mr. Rosa.”
“Yeah.” He stomps through the doorway with a huff. “And don’t date my fucking brothers.”
“Mitchell!” Abby snaps.
But he’s gone, the door gently closes behind him, and when it hits the bells above, that’s the only sound that moves through the shop.
Until I burst out laughing. “He’s such a grump!”
“You tease him,” Abby chides… but she also snickers. “Poor Mitchell. He’s never known a woman who talks back before.”
“Yeah, well, that was your fail, lady.” I set my watering can down and bring my coffee up. “You lulled them into a sense of safety as far as women go. Now your brothers are out in the real world, but playing with a handicap, because they assume all women are as sweet as you.”
She watches the empty doorway for a moment, then her eyes come to mine, and she bursts out laughing. “Oops!”
* * *
I follow Abby around for a couple hours, make notes in my trusty little notebook, and when I see something that needs improving, I let her know.
I’m not here to be anyone’s lapdog, nor am I going to float for an income. I want to make a difference. I want this shop to feel like my baby, my home away from home, and not just a place I go forty hours a week.
So when I notice Abby completely wasting the window space at the front of the shop, I suggest we work on a beautiful display that will draw people in. When I catch her tossing away what she considers unusable green waste, I pull up a tutorial online, and together, we learn how to use everything and make it fabulous. When Abby panics about a late delivery, and a regular customer comes in looking for his flowers, I suggest tulips instead, then we make the best effing tulip bouquet this shop can manage.