Tommy choked, spraying red onion and coriander across the table. She quickly chewed the rest of her mouthful and swallowed. “I would have given money I don’t have to see you hauling ass down the street.”
Hardly fun at the time, but I added my throaty laughter to her breathy one. “I’m so glad there weren’t witnesses. Well… except Rhys.” My eyes slid to her.
Tommy’s ears all but pricked up. “Rhys? Do tell.”
“Boy-next-door type. Tight black tee. Good manners.”
The corners of her mouth tugged down. “Ah well, could be worse.”
I flicked some of the masticated onion and coriander back at her. “No one’s attractive to you at the moment except alternative musicians.”
She conceded the point with a small smile, sipping her watermelon mojito.
“Plus.” I continued. “Rhys was the warm-up. You should’ve seen the specimen who almost ran me over.”
Watermelon mojito sprayed across the table.
I eyed the droplets covering the empty platter. “You should practice keeping stuff inside your mouth.”
“You were almost run over?” she screeched, drawing the attention of the nearest table of college guys.
“Oh, yeah. That happened,” I said, ducking my head. “Guess I should have started with that.”
She slid off the stool and rounded the high circle table. Ignoring my protests, she patted me down.
I batted away her hands. “Jesus, ruffian. Get your damn paws off me. I’m fine.”
Ignoring me, she returned to her stool once reassured I wasn’t an inch from death. The college guys at the table over threw wide smiles our way.
With practiced movements, Tommy scanned them and picked out the most miserable one, winking.
I let my hair fall forward to hide my grin.
“I thought you’d met someone,” I said when she’d finished her first round of flirting.
She flicked her jaw-length chestnut hair back, blasting Mr Misery with another lash-batting come-hither. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.
Tommy cleared her throat. “I have. But it’s casual.”
“You only do casual.” Which concerned me. She was the same age as me—and had never had a boyfriend. Not even a two-weeks-when-you’re-thirteen one. I was fine with her having fun as long as my main girl didn’t have some commitment problem.
“Exactly,” she announced. “Anyway, you were telling me about nearly dying from hot guy.”
I thought of the man who’d approached in slow motion as though we were in some kind of perfume commercial. Or maybe the slow-motion part was just my dirty mind. Wowsies, he was truly the hottest guy I’d ever seen. Talk about instant ladyboner.
Then I remembered his superiority complex and scowled. “I didn’t nearly die from hot guy—though he’d agree with you.”
“So he was really hot then. And rich.”
“I—” I squinted at her. “How did you know he was rich?”
“It’s your ironic caveat. You hate the rich world, but you’re attracted to rich men.”
“Wash your mouth out.”
Her chestnut gaze danced. “Am I right or am I right?”
“Rhys might not be rich,” I grumbled. Though I had envisioned him in a suit. Did I have a complex?
Tommy sighed. “For what it’s worth, what happened to you at that party with Business Guy when you were seventeen has probably made you hate them. Rich guys, that is.”
I sipped at my mojito before remembering I’d necked it in the first five minutes. The straw made a bubbling sound of complaint as it encountered thin air.
I know, buddy. I know.
This was one of those days where I would’ve kept them coming, but I wouldn’t do that on Tommy’s dime. She helped her father pay all the bills at home—including the bill for her pop in the dementia ward of Bluff City Retirement Village.
“I dislike rich guys because I’ve never met one who wasn’t an A-hole,” I shot back. “That arrogance in guys sets my blood at boiling point. Though he did have a three-piece suit on. With a slim tie. That, if he wasn’t a jerk, I might have had the urge to loosen.”
Her eyes glazed. “Oh yeah. I’m there now. And are we on a white leather sofa or poolside? Is he wearing anything else? What are you wearing?”
Laughter trembled on my lips. She always made me feel better. “You need to message your guy tonight for an urgent sleepover. But back to the job thing. I’m not going to worry about it. From what you and Rhys were saying, it’s a miracle I even got an interview. So I won’t hold my breath—I’ll keep an eye on my emails and keep applying for jobs in the meantime.”
“Check now,” Tommy said, drawing out her phone—another of my hand-me-downs.
“Chh, like they’ve already emailed.” I still reached for the offered phone, entering her passcode.
She made eyes at Misery again as I logged into my email.
“Are you going to get his number?” I murmured, waiting for the page to load.
She hummed. “He’s on thin ice. I’ve given him the look twice. He’s either not into me or not confident. I’ll give him one more go and then cut him loose.”
I chuckled, but it faded as my eyes snagged on the top email in my inbox. “Whoa. I have an email from them.” I read the subject lines of the other emails. There was one from my grandmother that I wasn’t touching. The others were from companies I purchased products from in the past and now they felt they could email me for the rest of my life.
Tommy rounded the table. “Open it.” She slapped my arm.
“Ouch. I’m doing it.” I clicked on the email and scanned the contents in mounting disbelief.
I turned to Tommy, my mouth slightly ajar. “Are you reading what I’m reading?”
She recited, “Dear Miss Basi, thank you for your interest in the trainee position at Live Right Realty. We were delighted with your résumé and interview and would like to offer you the position.”
The email went on to detail the payment structure and duration of the traineeship.
“Thirty thousand for the year,” I said, glancing at Tommy. I spent that much in a week sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. “Is that good?”
She grimaced. “No. But it’s a traineeship. When you complete the training, your salary will go up. By a lot usually. I earn thirty-seven thousand a year. Plus, this says that you’ll receive a 1 percent commission bonus of any house you secure.”
“Is that normal terminology for real estate? Secure.” It sounded weird to me. Though my work experience was limited to large-scale, international businesses to be fair—none of which involved realty.
Her face was as blank as mine.
I chewed on my lip. “I have almost no money. I need to take this job.”
“You have nearly three thousand dollars, Basi. That isn’t no money,” she said drily.
What? My pocket change? I hurried to shove down my confusion, feeling that this might be a Y S I S moment.
“Yes, of course,” I said hastily. “But I have to get a place to live.”
Tommy nodded. “True. You’ll need to pay a bond and get a few things for that. Cheap things.” She glanced at me.
I waved her away. “I know, I know. I’m going to email Live Right back now. It says that I’ll start the day after tomorrow if I accept the role.”
“Basil…”
At her odd tone, I glanced up.
She hesitated. “This isn’t coming from a jealous place, so don’t mistake it for that. It’s just… I know a bunch of people who’ve gone for that job. No one ever gets it. You said the receptionist was looking at your pack and digging for your last name. Are you certain she didn’t put two-and-two together? What if she only offered the role because you’re a Le Spyre?”
I lowered her phone to the table.
Tommy’s face flushed. “Oh, I’ve gone and done it. Sorry, my love. Ignore me. I wasn’t there. You should trust your gut.”
“No,” I said slowly. “You hav
e a point.” She wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t thought myself.
I stared at the phone in my hand—at the empty reply tab I’d opened. “There aren’t any pictures of me online and very little information. Daniel and the rest of our security team ensure anything that does pop up is immediately taken down. The only connection Live Right would have is my first name and that I own an expensive pack. A background check won’t yield anything.”
“I’d just hate for you to be drawn back into that game,” she said in a hushed voice.
Rock and a hard place. Somewhere I hated to be—except for that one time with the Caveman.
“If I stay at Live Right for a week or two, I get money for that time, right?” I asked Tommy.
She nodded.
“Then I’ll work there for now and keep interviewing to find something else. If I feel like they’re using me for my estate connections, I’ll jump ship. I can resist for a couple of weeks if they pressure me.”
“A solid plan,” Tommy declared. She threw Misery a third look.
He didn’t budge.
“And he’s out,” my friend said, wrinkling her nose.
I held back a snicker as I typed a quick reply to the receptionist who’d signed off the previous email with the name Angelica.
Brr. Her name was as cold as her eyes.
Hitting Send, I’d hovered a finger over my grandmother’s email for barely a minute before a reply from Live Right came through.
“Angie doesn’t muck around,” I said, impressed by the sadness of her life. It was 8:00 p.m. Woman had to be a workaholic.
I read aloud. “Miss Basi, welcome to the team. We are glad to have you aboard.” I scanned the rest of the email. “She said that we’ll go through details on Wednesday. What details?”
My friend slurped back the minty dregs of her drink. “Bank account number, tax number, address. That kind of stuff.”
As she spoke, my face slackened. “What?” I croaked. “I don’t have any of those things.”
Tommy answered between slurps. “Of course you do.” She took one look at my face and stopped slurping. “You don’t know your bank details and tax number?”
Mutely, I shook my head. “I have credit cards that draw on the estate. I’ve never had a real job before.” Hysteria entered my voice. I gripped the table. “What if I don’t have a tax number? How long do they take to get? Where do I get one?”
“Basi. Basi.”
Tommy rounded the table again and clicked her fingers in front of my face. When I fixed on her chestnut eyes, she threw money down on the table and shouldered my pack.
“Come on, lovely,” she said, dragging me off the stool.
I trailed after her, panic holding me tight. I’d spent all day being shat on by people and now I miraculously had a job and might have to turn it down.
“You have an address,” she said as we walked. “Just use mine. We can go to the bank tomorrow morning and open an account for you.”
There was just one problem. “Can I use a fake name?”
“Nah, that’s illegal. Pretty sure.”
I sighed. “What if there’s not a single bank owner in Bluff City that I’m not on first-name basis with? They’ll recognise my name.”
Tommy swore. “Ah, crap. Sir Olytheiu. I forgot about him. Dang.”
He owned the largest bank here, yes. Not the only one.
I straightened suddenly. “I could use your bank details for the job.”
She shot me an amused look.
“No, seriously. Your middle name is Beatrice. What if I use your last name? Then I’ll use the initial B? Would the bank process that and put the money in your account?”
Her expression turned contemplative.
“It would probably work,” she said. “I’ll have to check if using my tax number will mess with my tax bracket because your salary coming in will be classed as a second job. I used to work two jobs, but the total only made up what I earn now. And my second job was taxed at a higher rate than the first.”
A pain stabbed over my left eye.
“How much of that did you not understand?” Tommy asked after a beat.
“From tax number to higher rate,” I confessed. Rich people had teams for all this fiddly shit.
She cracked a grin, but her eyes were serious. “I’ll look into it tonight. We’ll check how long the tax number application takes. In the meantime, you can call the tax office and see if you already have one. That would make everything easier. I don’t mind lending you my bank number, but I’d rather not do the same with my tax number unless we have to.”
I was putting her in a tricky situation. I didn’t know just how, but clearly I was. “Sorry, Tom. I didn’t consider it might drag you into trouble. I’ll figure something out. Truly. I’d hate to mess with your… bracket.”
She threw her head back, laughing. “Y S I S, bitch. That was a bad one.”
Yep. I really had no idea what any of that stuff meant.
“Plus, I said we, didn’t I?” Her expression was ferocious. “We’ve got a whole day to figure it out. It’ll be okay, Basil. Promise.”
I appreciated that big time considering I felt about as emboldened as a sober karaoke singer right now.
“I love you,” I told her, sighing heavily.
“Loves ya, too, babe,” she answered, flashing a carefree smile.
Was this how the poor lived? How did they just keep going when the entire world was against them? How did they have any fight or laughter left?
I released a breath, forcing away the dregs of my panic. This job business just became exponentially more complicated, but I’d come so far already.
I had to keep going.
5
I stopped outside of 47 Wreath Street and gave it a once over. The rental left a lot to be desired. Put another way, there wasn’t a single desire it fulfilled. Aside from possibly being the first place I’d rent of my own accord.
The house had no grass to speak of—the owner had elected to fill the garden space with concrete instead. The grey slab showed mould where water must pool when it rained. The paint on the weatherboard cladding was cracked and chipped worse than Tommy’s home. Her place looked like a freakin’ palace compared to this joint.
The one thing it had in common with her home was the orange roof.
“You here for the viewing?”
Hand gripping my throat, I whirled to the man behind.
The condition of the house reflected the condition of the owner. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. The stubble on his face passed five o’clock shadow three days ago. Food stains dotted his shirt, and the top button was open, displaying a rug of hair a mouse could get lost in.
I cleared my throat. “I am.”
He grunted and pushed past. “Come on then.”
Nice and polite. What a keeper.
Trailing in his wake toward the entrance, I peppered him with the list of questions Tommy made me memorise. “I understand the house is ready for tenants immediately?”
The man unlocked the door and wrenched it back violently. The sound of metal on metal rent the air, accompanied by a crunching of, what sounded like, something structurally significant. He tugged twice more and managed to get the entrance halfway open.
“That’s what the notice said,” he answered me, offering no explanation for the state of the stubborn door.
I soldiered on. This is why I’d listened to “Skyscraper” by Demi Lovato before coming. “Whiteware is included?”
“Yeah.”
Great…
The man led me into the lounge, and I eyed the blue carpet, wondering which parts were stained and which were the original colour.
The state of the brown and orange kitchen didn’t bother me. I had no idea how to use an oven or how to prepare food. It did contain a fridge—which I opened per Tommy’s orders.
The man’s lip curled. “It works.”
I flipped him an arched look and reached to flick the power switch. The light
inside blared to life and a soft whirring sounded. What noise did fridges make?
Not a clue.
Flicking the switch off, I followed the guy across a dark hallway to the laundry—equipped with a washer—and through two bedrooms. One had housed a smoker at some point. If I took the place, I knew where I wouldn’t sleep.
The bathroom wasn’t as horrible as expected. In fact, it was the nicest part of the house. I smiled at the shower-bath combo. Looked like a new toilet too.
I flushed the toilet, obeying Tommy because she’d sense if I didn’t.
“Want it then?”
Should I refuse based on his manners alone? The temptation was strong, but I’d been taught that emotions had no place in business.
I hummed, slowly walking back through the apartment. “How much is rent?”
“Two hundred a week. As said on the listing.”
Tommy said that price was outrageous for Orange.
Snorting, I turned. “We both know it isn’t worth half that much. So how about eighty dollars a week?”
His scowl twisted, but his eyes gleamed. Was I really so easy to peg as the rich brat? I’d borrowed Tommy’s clothes, so it wasn’t my outfit. What was giving me away? My hair? My nails?
“One hundred,” he said. “Each week. Payment on Sunday by 10:00 a.m. In your letterbox. Not a second late.”
I’d been schooled not to accept more than eighty-five, but it was only fifteen dollars difference. “I accept. I’ll move in tomorrow, so I’ll pay for five days only.” It was kind of strange to do mental calculations without a string of zeros attached to the end, but I managed. “That’s seventy-two dollars.”
The man’s chins wobbled as he laughed. “That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”
“You realise I’m considering becoming your tenant? I’d advise against calling me sweetheart again.”
The smile slid off his ugly mug.
“You’ll pay the entire week or wait to move in on Sunday,” he told me.
I tapped my lips, considering that ultimatum. “Okay, I’ll move in on Sunday. Lose out on seventy-two dollars. I have somewhere to stay. In the meantime, I’ll search for a different place.”
Blood Trial: Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers Book 1) Page 4