by Emilia Finn
“Serrano!” Troy snaps. “Thin fuckin’ ice.”
“But in case the sex doesn’t work…” Spencer giggles. He’s seven feet of muscle and has what I’m certain is a blade in his boot, but still, the guy giggles. “We’re also exploring adoption. Whichever way it goes, it goes. We’ll be happy either way.”
“There’s a clear issue with us living where we live, though,” Abby inserts. “Adoption agencies like a home that is baby-proofed. And, well…”
“Ours isn’t,” Spencer finishes with a chuckle. “Which is a really unfair judgment to make. It’s how I make money, it’s not my fault my workplace is also our home.”
“What do you do for a living?” I ask.
My question is innocent, my curiosity piqued, but when ten sets of eyes stop on mine, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. “What?”
“We live in a gun range,” Abby answers. “It’s where everyone comes to perfect their shot.”
“Oh! Well, I can see how that isn’t ideal.” I pick up my wine and take a heaping swallow, because now my brain is replacing the blade I thought I saw in the large man’s boot with a gun. “Um… can’t really baby-proof a place like that.”
“Right. Which is why we’ve decided to build a new home,” Spencer says. “We’ll still be on the same parcel of land,” he tells us all, since this is clearly news that no one was privy to before now. “But we’ll do it up right. A full house, a real one, for a family.
“We’ve earmarked a square on the north side of our property.” He smiles. “It’s away from the range, away from the bunker, and away from the traffic coming in and out. We’ll get a new driveway for personal use, and keep the business where it’s at; that oughta make the adoption folks happy.”
“When will you start building?” Corey asks. For the first time tonight, he asks a sincere question without a side of teasing or sexual innuendo. “We could probably help out wherever you need it.”
“We submitted our plans for approval just today,” Abby says. “Once they’re approved, we’re ready to break ground.”
“How are you paying for this?” Mitchell asks. “Your shop doesn’t make that much, Cadabby.”
“Mitchell Rosa,” Nadia growls. “You will mind your damn business.”
“I’m just askin’!” he replies. “I’m allowed to ask. It’s not like I’ve got her banking details at home, or that I’m gonna scan her accounts to make sure she can afford this.”
“Oh lord,” his wife rolls her eyes skyward. Finally, she looks to Abby and bites her grin. “You got this, girlfriend. Mitchell will not interfere. And also, yay sex!”
“We’ve got it under control,” Spencer says. “Our finances are fine. The kids down at the school pay big dollars for drugs these days.”
“Spencer!” Stunned, Abby smacks her husband, then looks to me with a furious blush pinking her ears. “He’s kidding.”
“I’m kidding,” Spence agrees with a sly grin. “Everyone knows the real money is in selling drugs to politicians and accountants anyway.”
“Oh geez.” Abby drops her head in her hands. “He’s kidding, everyone.” She grits her teeth and looks sideways to her husband. “He’s trying to be funny, and has no clue that he’s really not.”
“I’m totally funny. Look, Priss.” He points at me. “New girl is smiling.”
Everyone’s eyes come to me once more.
“I’m, uh…” I hesitate. “I’m just thrilled school kids can’t afford you.”
Spencer barks out a loud laugh and picks up his beer to sip. “I love having sex and fucking with this family.”
Tabitha
One of Us
“Dr. Rosa isn’t available today.” I speak into the clinic’s phone and tap at the computer keyboard. “He was called out on an emergency, so I’m calling his clients and trying to reschedule what I can.”
“But I had an appointment.”
I’m trying to smooth things over, to keep this office running, and to pull Beckett out of hot water since he’s had to cancel eight appointments today—and counting.
“Miffie is due for her vaccinations, miss. We made this appointment a whole year ago, at her last checkup.”
“I understand, Mrs. Day. But this is simply unavoidable. If Dr. Rosa were to leave his current patient to see to Miffie, the other could die.”
“I understand,” Miffie’s miffed-off mom huffs. “But the fact of the matter is, this is my appointment day. I’ve scheduled my calendar so I could be there today. Now you’re calling with only an hour to spare and telling me I’ve been canceled.”
“Not canceled, ma’am. Just rescheduled.”
“But I do not seek to be rescheduled!” she shouts. “I seek today. As has been booked in for a year already.”
“Listen, lady.” My patience snaps, and with it, my good manners. “Beckett is shoulders-deep inside a horse right now. That horse isn’t coping, and neither is the foal she’s trying to expel. If he leaves them, one or both may die. Your Miffie wanting a yearly checkup isn’t more important than the life of dying mother and baby. So how about you work with me on this, miss out on bingo tomorrow, and accept this very generous offer of a seven in the morning examination—which Dr. Rosa will come to you to perform. To your home! The man is going out of his way to make it up to you.”
“You are rude,” Mrs. Day chides. “I’ll be certain to mention this to Dr. Rosa when I see him.”
“Great, you do that. At seven tomorrow morning, while he’s checking on your dog. Goodbye, Mrs. Day. I appreciate your understanding.” I slam the phone into the receiver and slump back in my chair.
For just a moment, I allow myself time to sigh. To rub my hands over my face. And when that doesn’t help, I jump up from my chair and walk a circle of my office.
I’m frustrated. Beckett needs help; he needs more vets, he needs more time, he needs a million things, but he will accept nothing but obsessive loyalty and organization from an assistant.
Dropping back into my chair, I pick up the phone and dial his number.
He answers on the second ring. “Yes, Tabitha?”
“Miffie’s mom is pissed. She’s gonna file a complaint against me because I’m rude. Also, she’ll see you at seven in the morning.”
“Thank you,” he breathes out. “I’m doing my best over here, but I think I’m gonna lose the rest of my day.”
I flop my head back and silently groan at the four more phone calls I now have to make. “They’re gonna be pissed.”
“It is what it is,” he sighs. “If I leave here, Potato dies and so does her baby. And I’m not saying Rogers has agreed to the name yet, but I’m calling the foal Chip. If I leave, Potato and Chip both die.”
“I know that. But that doesn’t make your other clients less ragey about it all. I think you forget I’m also a vet, Beckett. I can take care of all the other clients in your absence. I can clear your backlog and—”
“This is your job, Tabitha. Administrative assistant. Just do the fucking thing! And while you’re at it, I need you to text Jordana and tell her I can’t make it to dinner tonight.”
Stunned, I sit tall and look around my empty waiting room. I’ve worked at Lakeside for thirty-one days now. A full month. And not once has Beckett spoken to me the way he is right now.
“Shit,” he huffs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Nope, I heard you, loud and clear. I’ll make the calls.”
“Tabby—”
“I’ll update your calendar so you know where you’ve gotta be, and I’ll get you out of a dinner you didn’t really want. We both know you were only angling for the fuck at the end, anyway.”
“Tabby.”
I hang up instead of risk biting back at my boss and feeling worse than I already do. Then picking up the receiver again, I dial Beckett’s three o’clock and have the exact same conversation as the last, with someone who is, unbelievably, more annoying than Mrs. Day.
“Mark?” On the drive home a
t a little past six, I dial and speak as soon as he answers. “You there?”
“Hey, Tab.” He sounds exhausted. Or bored… one or the other. “Hey, babe. How was your day?”
“Seriously crappy,” I spit out. “My boss is overworked, understaffed, and unable to accept help except with his calendar. Because of all this, I had to listen to a dozen clients bitch me out because Rosa couldn’t make his appointments today, I had to find them new appointments in an already overfull schedule, and those who were in a bad mood about it took it out on me. And you wanna know the worst part?”
I pull around a corner and into the next street as I continue my tirade. “Every single one of those people I had to cancel on could have been seen by me. Every single one! But no. Rosa refuses to share. He would rather run his hospital into the ground than admit he needs another vet on staff.”
My conversation partner remains silent, my boyfriend… absent.
“Mark?”
“Hmm?”
Scowling, I slow near the traffic light and wait for my turn to enter the intersection. “Did you hear anything I said?”
“Yeah. Rosa’s a dick, you’re mad, everyone’s overworked.”
“Well…” My brows pull closer. “Okay. That was the gist of it. Though I was kinda hoping for something a little more.” Disappointed, I brush loose hair back off my face. “What’s going on with you? And when are you coming? You were supposed to be here weeks ago.”
“Ugh, babe!” This, at least, elicits a passionate reply. “I don’t want to have this same argument over and over again. I’ll get there when I get there.”
“I’m not arguing! I’m asking a fair question. Jen is leaving in a week, and that was already after an extended visit. She needs to get back to work, ya know?”
“I never told her to go there with you! You make it sound like that was my fucking decision.”
“It wasn’t, but she took the time so she could be with me. She did it so I wouldn’t be all alone until you got here. She did it,” I snap, “since the plan was that you’d be here soon after I arrived. It’s already been six weeks, Mark.”
“I have twelve years at this company! That’s a lot of loose ends, Tab.”
“Really? Because it sounds like procrastination and a handy excuse to me. Why did you even accept a job here, huh? If you didn’t want to leave your company, why the hell even bring it up or move me here?”
“Ya know what?” He does something on his end. Stomps around and slams a door. “You’re in a bad mood because of your shitty day, and now you’re taking it out on me.”
“No! That’s not what I—”
“Yes it is, and I have to go. I’m busy, you’re cranky, and if we continue this discussion, we’re only gonna fight some more. I’ll text you before bed.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” I snarl. “You didn’t text that night you hurried me off the line so you could go out to dinner. Your farewell dinner, I should add.”
“Bye, Tabitha. I’ll talk to you later.” Mark hangs up, so the silence left behind is worse than if he was shouting in my ear.
He’s dismissing me, disrespecting me, and leaving me on the hook for a move I never asked for. I came here for him! I left my home, my sister, and my clinic all for him, and now that I’m here, having a shitty day because of the new job I took after the move he initiated, he can’t even spare a damn minute to listen to me bitch about it.
Growling, I toss my phone to the passenger seat and breathe through the rage bubbling in my blood.
My boss is a jerk, and my boyfriend is quickly turning into the person Jen has said he was all along.
Is it me? I wonder as I pull into the parking lot of my apartment building. If two men are impatient and unkind to me on the same day, then maybe it’s not them.
Maybe I’m the problem.
Drained, I snag my no-longer-shiny-and-new briefcase from the passenger seat and slide out of the car. Slumping, too exhausted to maintain good posture, I move through the building entrance and onto the stairs, then I start my way up and pray with everything I have in me that Jen isn’t in a foul mood too.
I need her to absorb a little of my mess. I need her to lessen the load.
But if she’s pissy too, then we’re gonna fight, and that’s the absolute last thing I can take right now. Because if she and I fight, then that’ll mean I am the problem. I’m the common denominator, the instigator, the one who has a poor attitude.
And if that’s the truth, I’m sure as hell not ready to admit it.
Moving onto my floor and to my apartment door, I insert the key and sigh at the loud music Jen blasts from my stereo. The music isn’t so loud that my eardrums will ache, but the bass is thumping enough that my neighbors are going to kill us… or at the very least, tape a strongly worded letter to my front door.
“Jen?” I cross the threshold and step into our kitchen.
It’s the first thing we find when coming inside, and it’s an eyesore, really, but Jen is a tidy housemate, a cleaner when she’s bored, which means the kitchen is spotless, and a piece of my shitty mood chips away at the way my sink sparkles.
“Jen?” I toss my briefcase, keys, and phone on the small round table as I pass.
My cell is bound to ring at least a dozen times tonight; it’s what Beckett does, I’ve discovered. He wants help booking restaurants, he needs help selecting outfits, selecting a show to binge, selecting which groceries to add to his online cart…
The man is a damn child. Not a mean-spirited child, nor a spoiled brat. He’s the child who wants attention, so he’ll perform tricks and flash his jazz hands to secure it. And when that doesn’t work, he’ll act out and become a dick.
My phone vibrates against the wooden tabletop I left it on, as predicted, but I’m certain what he wants is not a life-or-death matter, so it sure as shit doesn’t need to be dealt with right now while I’m ready to rip the guy’s face off. It can surely wait an hour, or—how dare I?—a whole night. So I leave the device where it landed and continue into the living room.
“Jen!”
I find my sister sprawled on the couch in pyjama pants and a messy bun. Not the messy kind of messy bun, as the name implies, but the ‘I woke up looking this stunning’ kind of messy bun that most women wish for, but so few achieve.
My sister turns to me when I say her name, and grins around a spoon when our eyes meet. In her hand, she holds a half-consumed tub of Nutella, and though the television is on—a true crime show working its way through evidence that’ll no doubt convict a ‘but he was always so nice and normal’ murderer—the music continues to thud from my speakers.
Huffing, I knock Jen’s feet off the arm of the couch as I pass, and grabbing the stereo remote, I kill the sound and turn to my sister with the wild eyes.
Everyone knows what the wild eyes mean.
“Are you good?” I demand. “Eating, feet up, noise violations and TV at the same time?”
“Uh huh.” She grabs a second remote and hits pause on her ‘nice guy next door’ documentary. “It’s so good to see you’ve got the crazy out.” She juts her chin in my direction. “You got your period?”
“No! Screw you.” I toss my remote to the couch and walk a lap across my new rug. “Why are you being so loud?”
“The music wasn’t loud. It was soulful.” She uses her spoon the way a music conductor uses their baton. “What’s up, buttercup?”
“What’s for dinner? I’m starving, and too damn tired to cook something.” Reaching into Jen’s space as I pace past, I snag her spoon and hazelnut treat. “I’m so effing hungry.”
“Well, that would explain the crazy eyes,” she taunts as I spoon a glob of Nutella into my mouth. “You hangry, or do you have something in particular you wanna talk about?”
“My boss is a jackass!” I spin and continue walking my laps. “Beckett Rosa pretends to be sweet and innocent and charming and all that annoying shit. He’s a decent guy to spend ten hours a day with, and when
he’s helping a sick animal, his compassion is through the damn roof.”
“Uh oh.” Big nose, curious, and obnoxious, my sister pushes to her knees and sits back on her haunches. “Tell me everything.”
“He won’t share!” I explode… and spoon another glob of Nutella into my mouth. “He’s a control freak. He won’t even consider the possibility of sharing his clients and lessening the workload he has—which is astronomical, by the way! And he knows damn well I can do it all. I’m not some silly little intern, Jen. I’m not looking for college credits here. I’ve spent the last half-dozen years with hands-on experience! I’m not looking for a supervisor.”
“So…” She extends her lips as she speaks, widens her eyes, and tempts me to pop her in the face for not jumping onto my hate bandwagon as quickly as I expected. “The dude owns and operates an animal hospital. He’s good at what he does, hence the massive workload and loyal fans. Er…” she grins. “Clients. He hires himself a cute little assistant, to do an assistant’s job, and now you, said assistant, are mad he won’t let you chop a dog’s leg off?”
“I wouldn’t amputate unless it was absolutely necessary!” I growl. “But sure. Your example works. I could amputate. I am qualified and skilled enough that I could do it, and do it well, with minimal pain for the dog.”
“Well, I hear you, sis. But Rosa didn’t hire himself a vet. He hired an assistant. A position, I might add, you went into knowing it would require copious amounts of admin work and zero needle-giving.”
“Why are you on his side!” I shout. “Dammit, Jennifer! Why are you being a jerk?”
“Oh. You wanna fight?” She pushes off the couch and bounces on the balls of her feet. She looks stupid with her hands by her chin, but she bounces anyway and grins behind balled fists. “You shoulda told me that from the start. You’re not looking for a debate, you’re looking to rumble.”
“Oh god.” I turn away with the Nutella and spoon and head into the kitchen. “I’m the problem.” I pass my vibrating phone, see Beckett’s name, and shake my head as I keep going. “I’m the common factor.”