by Lindsey Hart
Then again, it wasn’t every day that a person finds themselves knocked up after being artificially inseminated with stolen sperm, but hey… different topics, different stories, different animals entirely.
The baby thing, and not getting caught after what she and her bestie had done, had been number one at the top of Teela’s Things To Worry About list, but it dropped right off the radar when she had to start worrying about her ass being fired by the corporate takeover Troll.
Pastelman’s Fine Foods had been Teela’s second home for the past eight years. Arguably, it was probably her first home when it came right down to the hours she spent there and some of the hole in the wall hovels she’d lived in. So she didn’t want to be forcibly ejected, especially not when she had a tiny little secret brewing up in her belly that she hadn’t exactly disclosed to upper management, meaning Cheryl and Bob Pastelman. That’s right. She was counting down the months until she could rock maternity leave. And god, would she ever rock it.
The main opposition, her new enemy numero uno, came in the form of one Ross Day. Douche bag extraordinaire. Troll to the extreme. The guy probably made his living selling ultra-fancy condos built under bridges to trolls just like him.
Unfortunately, as he stood at the head of the small conference room and surveyed all those assembled, he didn’t look like a troll. And since he was buying out a grocery store, he probably wasn’t in the real estate business either.
He looked like a six-foot-tall, impeccably dressed, strikingly blue-eyed, dark-haired, bronzed skin, chiseled prince. Or something along those lines. He was probably rich. It’s easy to look good when you have money. And yeah. He was jacked. As in, fit and fabulous. As in, probably worked out for hours every single day and did a six-mile run on top of it. Even at nearly thirty-five, because he had to be somewhere near that age, though maybe he was nearing forty and just happened to be born with the world’s most amazing set of genetics, he was stacked.
Teela found it easy to hate him just on that account. She knew how the bastard made his money. He got rich by buying up mom and pop shops and turning them into chain deals. In no time, their little independent grocer, yes, the kind that actually cared about organic goodness and saving the planet and all that, as well as selling goods for local artisans, artists, bakers, chefs, canners, gardeners, florists, and crafters, was just going to be one big soulless supermarket.
The bastard. The troll bastard. He should have some warts. Or some zits. Some flaws.
Unfortunately, he was acres and acres of hard lean muscle and tailored clothing.
Never trust a man in a suit. Her mother had told her that.
It was one of the few pieces of advice from her mom that Teela had ever listened to.
She gulped hard as The Troll Numero Uno, aka Ross Day (and who the hell has a name like that anyway?) stared her down. Nausea made her stomach clench up hard while her throat moistened ominously. She was reminded that she was nearly eight weeks pregnant and that right from the start she’d been sick every single morning. And at other inopportune times throughout the day on and off.
She hadn’t barfed that morning, but then again, there was definitely still time.
Teela swallowed back the threatening bile, oatmeal, and strawberries she’d had for breakfast. She hadn’t expected to be ambushed half an hour into her Monday morning with Cheryl and Bob calling them all into the conference room at the back of the store, locking the front door, and turning the ON sign OFF. There they announced that they’d sold the store and their business to The Troll himself, and promptly left the room.
Left the building.
Left the whole damn thing behind.
Left them in the hands of the well dressed, black-suited, corporate monster.
“Sales are staggeringly low,” The Troll was going on and Teela finally tuned in. “Every single person here is going to have to pull up their socks. We don’t believe in keeping jobs on that aren’t needed and keeping people who aren’t performing. We care about profit. Profit drives business. You’ll see that I’m a fair boss. A very fair boss. The more profit the company makes, the more successful each and every single person here will be. Profit is how companies afford to pay salaries, give benefits, and provide paid vacation time. Profit is how we make jobs. Without profit, there isn’t a reason for any of you to be here. So, I hope it’s with open arms that you welcome all the changes that will be taking place from here on out.”
Teela chanced a glance at Janice, one of the cashiers who was a good friend. Janice had been there for as long as Teela had. They’d started around the same time. She blinked a couple of times and Janice blinked back. When The Troll turned to face the other side of the room she scrunched up her nose and slowly shook her head in her best silent what a dick communication. Teela shook hers back before she dropped her eyes back to her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.
The Troll went on, unfazed. Of course, he was unfazed. Even if he’d seen their dirty looks, or noticed the stunned faces of all the others, he gave zero fucks. He didn’t need to. He was rich and rich people didn’t give a shit about the people they clobbered on their way up and their drive to stay at the top.
“Positive changes are going to make this place as great as it can be. We’ll be taking the next week to go over your new duties with each and every single one of you. Changes including new policies, the new name of the company, and all the other details. Unfortunately, with change, comes the need to reorganize and make room for people who are going to take this company in the direction it needs to go. I’m sorry, but some of you are going to receive termination notices. Of course, we will provide a generous severance package. You’ll each be called into this room throughout the day and notified of your new position, duties, or given your severance package. We will, of course, provide excellent references as well.” The Troll clapped his hands together and spun around like he hadn’t just told the entire room that people were going to lose their jobs. “Okay. That’s all. You can disperse. Your new manager and general manager will be here shortly as well as the people required to do the re-training and the HR reps to get the new paperwork taken care of. Please be prepared.”
It felt good to be dismissed. The staff slowly filed out of the room, shell-shocked by what had just happened.
“They could have at least told us,” Sharon grumbled. She was turning sixty-five in a few months and it was clear from the horrified look on her face that she was extremely worried about being axed.
As usual, Alexander grumbled to Billy, one of the guys who drove their pick-up and delivery truck, about being hungover. It was like he hadn’t heard a word that The Troll just said. Clearly, he didn’t give a shit that he had to be destined for the ax and not a single other employer out there was going to be okay with the store’s manager getting tanked at one in the afternoon on the job.
“Girl! What the hell is going on here?” Janice grabbed Teela’s arm and steered her back to her desk.
It was in the back since Teela was one of those unseen puppet masters that made the world go round by pulling strings and fixing tears. In other words, she was one of those jacks of all trades admin people that fixed everyone’s problems. From break room disasters, employee disputes, assembling and helping with benefits packages and paperwork, to inventory fuck-ups, accounting blow-ups, filing, and all other business bullshit, she was the gal people turned to in order to keep their little world on its axis. She was always first in line to defuse angry customers and angry clients and god knew they flooded in on a regular basis.
She covered for Alexander on a near daily basis. If she had a nickel for every time she saved his ass, her bestie, who just happened to work at a fertility clinic, never would have had the bright idea to sneak out the supplies, meaning stolen sperm and other implements to make an actual child.
That’s right. The baby growing inside of her was pretty much stolen. Amy cried every single day for a month straight about what they’d done. About what she’d done. T
eela was astounded when her bestie showed up on her doorstep in the middle of a storm and announced that since she would have to wait years to be able to afford the procedure, she’d taken matters into her own hands. Teela should have told her no, but uh… well… maybe her moral compass was seriously in the trash because she’d let Amy do it and they’d waited. And waited. And waited. Until they didn’t have to wait anymore.
The whole weight of being pregnant, single, and possibly getting axed from her job at a time she needed to have a job to support herself and her unborn baby, crashed down on her all at once.
All of a sudden, the room was spinning. Violently.
“Janice… I’m going to-”
Janice, because she knew her better than anyone else, had the garbage can ready in a flash. She didn’t know about the baby. No one did. No one but Amy.
With the death knell tolling and the Troll trolling in their little conference room, hell, his conference room, retching up one’s breakfast was probably a perfectly acceptable response.
“I have to say, I was ready to join you,” Janice admitted. “What the fuck is going to happen to this place? To all of us? We’re like a family. That prick came here and he’s going to break it all up. He’s going to get rid of the good in this place.”
Teela took a deep breath and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Janice gave her a sympathetic look and quickly walked off towards the back, where the dumpsters were in the parking lot behind the store, to get rid of the evidence.
She didn’t have time to respond. She barely had time to slam a hand down on her small ancient metal desk and sway herself into her chair before the room started spinning.
Her secret was safe, for the moment. It might be more than she could say about her job.
She was so royally screwed. They all were.
By The Troll.
CHAPTER 2
Ross
The mom and pop shits like this supermarket were the worst.
It left Ross wondering why the hell he bothered. He had more than enough money to just sit back and relax and enjoy the rest of his life. He didn’t need to do crappy takeovers of shit companies that had been losing money not just for years, but probably for decades. How the hell people managed to feed themselves, pay their staff, and keep the doors open was beyond him. Unless the people who just filed out of the tiny piece of shit room that served as some sort of conference room, actually assembled and creatively brainstorm inventive ways to lose more money, agreed to be paid with the groceries on the shelves that expired. Or in the food they grew on the roof or in whatever backwoods jams and meat they were carrying.
Good god, the company was a disaster. Fortunately, the location was good. Nester Falls was located forty minutes out of Philly. It was a good opportunity to score some ultra-cheap real estate in a market where not much went up for sale. Right off the interstate, it was a real gem. People stopping in and out all the time. It was probably the only way the place survived all those years without shutting down and going out of business.
Ross paced around the tiny conference room. He had yet to call in the few people he had to fire. It wasn’t a job he enjoyed, and he was sitting there, trying to catch his breath after his announcement of the takeover. Judging from the glazed eyes and shocked expression, everyone needed a minute.
It wasn’t exactly his first rodeo. He had a chain of grocery stores and he had no doubt that this one would one day be worth carrying the name Grand Day’s Grocery and Convenience.
The real problem with the mom and pop stores wasn’t the loss of profit or the horrible management, the never-ending red in the books. No, it was the people. The staff who remained stubbornly loyal to ghosts of days gone by. The mom and pop themselves who clung to their building like it was the last remaining lifeline in a sea of corporate evil and greed.
Ross didn’t exactly term his business or type of management as corporate, greedy, evil, or cutthroat. He was too nice. Way too nice. He’d had to cut that shit out over the years.
He’d worked hard to make his money. He’d struggled for years, until his app took off and then he could finally, finally start investing in grocery, like he’d planned for. After the app, his stores happened to take off. He’d struck gold and like any real gold strike, it happened all because of his dedication. A hell of a lot of people told him to give up, but he’d refused. People knew his name now. He could expand and roll now worldwide - the whole money made more money thing.
But god help him if people found out what he’d done before that when he was desperate for a few extra dollars. When the app was still in production and people kept telling him to call it a day and get a real job.
Good thing that the system was private. If someone remembered him and decided to breach privacy just to embarrass him, hell, he’d deny everything. Say they confused him with someone else. Bury them in the shaming of letting out private information. Use it as an example as to why people should be worried about information breaches.
Blah, blah, blah. God, business was sometimes incredibly tedious.
At least it was until a nearly silent knock on the door sounded. The woman didn’t wait for him to respond, but instead pushed open the door and stepped inside.
“Ummm… so, I know we were told that we’d get called in here, but I- I’m really nervous and I was just wondering if it’s possible to- uh- get my turn over with. I just want to know if I’m going to be fired or not. Is that okay?”
He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t noticed her before. She was the female version of stacked. Or was that a unisex term? Ross didn’t know. He’d sworn off women. All women were trouble. The pretty ones. The ones who weren’t so pretty. Women of all shapes and sizes and ages. All. Trouble.
He wasn’t some male pig or anything. He’d just had his fair share of shit experiences. Since he’d made his money, he hadn’t had a single girlfriend who wanted to be with him for him. Even before he had money, they were using him for sex- which was a compliment at first and just got old as shit after a while. He was done with the drama, the tears, the moods, the fighting, the blame games. God knew if he couldn’t do a thing right, it was perfectly fine for him to keep to himself and not spread his particular brand of misery amongst the female population. He was doing the world a favor.
But if he did want to spread it, he’d spread it with her. His brand. Of misery. And everything else. Maybe spread her too- okay that was way the hell too far. The dark-haired, green-eyed goddess who stood shyly clasping her hands in front of her, barely managing not to lean against the door. Velvet. Her hair was like black velvet. Rich and soft and shiny even in the piece of shit overhead fluorescent tubes that kept humming and shimmering.
If this particular velvet haired vixen wanted to call him an asshole and yell obscenities at him, he’d take it. Hell, he’d do just about anything to see her worked up and full of passion, anger or otherwise. Mostly otherwise, but he’d take a little bit of rage.
What the hell am I thinking? Seriously?
Women were trouble. Relationships were shit. Disaster could easily be averted if he steered clear of both. Ever since he’d hit that Forbes list of Billionaires, it was so much worse. People, male and female flocked to him, but he didn’t trust a single woman who said they could love him for him and not want anything in return. That was just plain, straight up, ass-hat, wishful thinking bullshit.
The velvet goddess opened a set of pink, perfectly shaped lips. She wasn’t wearing makeup, but she didn’t need it. She had a face that people could probably have worshipped had their culture been just a little more primitive. A delightful pink sheen darkened her high cheekbones. Her skin was flawless. With her dark wavy hair and hourglass figure, she was totally reminiscent of a 1930’s Hollywood star.
Ross stood slowly when he realized that he was intimidating the hell out of the woman. She looked pale, he realized. It wasn’t just a trick of the lights. The blush put some luster back into her cheeks, but no, she was too pale below it.
He might have sworn off women, beautifully tempting and otherwise, but he wasn’t a completely heartless bastard. Just mostly heartless. There were still a few broken shards functioning somewhere in his chest.
“Have a seat.” He indicated the broken-down desk chair that was missing a few wheels. They were all broken down and missing a few wheels, so he didn’t have a choice.
The woman didn’t bat an eye. Why would she? She was used to it. She tugged out the chair, fought with it a little, but strong-armed it into submission, and sunk down. She let out a dainty sounding sigh that, fuck him with a stick- okay, definitely not- where did that saying come from anyway- hit him right in the chest.
And right in the dick, if he was being honest. His happy stick sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to behave. The bastard was doing a wild dance that was supposed to be something maybe to convince his brain that the fairer sex wasn’t just in it as a wild cash dash. He’d been used as a bank account and an ATM too many times to believe otherwise. Even when he wasn’t rich. Go. Fucking. Figure.
Rich green eyes the color of a lush field of grass right after the rain swept to his face. She’s trouble. I maintain, TROUBLE. Her dark lashes fluttered a few times and Ross nearly panicked when he noticed the moisture gathering in her eyes.
“Don’t cry,” he said quickly. “I’m not sure what your position is or what your name is, but I’m only axing a few people and seeing as only one is female and she’s over fifty, you’re safe.”
“You’re axing Dora?” Those perfect bow lips wavered and wobbled and two huge crystal tears trickled down her too pale cheeks. “Why? She’s been with this place forever. She’s barely making ends meet as is. She’s supporting her granddaughter because her mother couldn’t cope with having a kid and ran off and left her behind. She’s been doing it for three years. Angie’s only six.” She finally stopped to take a breath. She swallowed hard to compose herself and damn him, she’d struck him speechless.