Hasty (Do-Over Book 4)

by Julia Kent

  “Maybe that can be your new job,” Mom says to me. “You can work at Hesserman’s Dairy.”

  Eric and Dad laugh. It’s a disturbing sound.

  “Actually,” I say, pulling myself up to full height, stretching the red sweatshirt down as I realize all the coffee’s gone and I’m gonna have to brew another pot, “I have a job. I was going to tell you this morning.”

  All eyes are on me.

  “You do?” Dad says. “Who are you working for? Ian McCrory?”

  “Good guess. Yes.”

  “The same guy who paid for your legal defense?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is this some way to pay him back?” Dad inquires.

  One of Eric’s eyebrows is cocked high.

  “No,” I say. “Ian refuses to take any money for that. He wants me to do data analysis for him.”

  “You do data analysis?” Dad asks.

  “Of course I do. It’s part of finance. Investment, venture capital. You know, all the things that I’m famous for.”

  “Embezzlement, fraud, money laundering,” Eric says under his breath. “Insider trading.”

  I elbow him. “I may be famous for those as well,” I inform him, “but I didn’t commit any of them.”

  “Fair enough.” Eric smacks the side of one of the milk containers. “How many pounds of cheese will come out of this?”

  “You work on a dairy farm, Eric. You should know.”

  He shakes his head. “Not cheese, and certainly not aged sheep’s cheese. I don’t know anything about that.”

  “A gallon makes about a pound. So four pounds or so. When it’s done, I’ll let you know, and you’ll get a cut.”

  He brightens. “Lori was asking.”

  “Lori?” Mom looks like a lightbulb turned on behind her eyes. “That’s right! You have a daughter, don’t you? I think I saw her working the ice cream van once.”

  “I do, and it turns out she’s a manchego freak.”

  “I’ll be sure to deliver some to her,” I tell him. “And if this works out, I would love to know the name of your supplier.”

  “You really make sheep’s cheese for fun?” Eric asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re a strange woman, Hastings Monahan.”

  “Don’t look at me like that, Eric.”

  “Like what?”

  “You had your chance in high school.”

  He’s in the middle of finishing his mug of coffee as my words sink in. Deep, wracking coughs make his big chest rumble. Dad has to whack him on the back a few times before Eric can finally speak again. “You were about as likely to date me in high school, Hastings, as you were to watch a botfly video voluntarily.”

  I shudder. Mom shudders. Even Dad shudders, and he has nerves of steel.

  Eric walks over to me. I give him a hug. “Thank you,” I whisper in his ear.

  “No problem. By the way, the woman up at the farm where I got this stuff said that if you’re any good, she’d love a sample. I’ll hook you and Susan up after you make it.”

  And with that, Eric leaves.

  Mom and Dad run upstairs, separate showers turning on within a minute. I brew another pot of perfectly adequate coffee, sit down, and wait for it to drip.

  I stare at four gallons of sheep’s milk. Four gallons is thirty-two pounds of milk that will eventually become four pounds of cheese. I just have to figure out how to refrigerate it, because I am due for my first day at work with Ian in an hour and a half, and the train leaves in exactly forty-three minutes.

  A frantic shower with what’s left of the hot water, Mom's help fitting the milk in the fridge, a travel mug, and a prayer later, and I make it in time. It feels good to be rushed on the way to the office.

  Like old times.

  The commute into Boston gives me a chance to contemplate the strange thrill of riding a train to work. Last year, the only “public” transportation I took was a private jet that landed in Bedford.

  Now I'm using the MBTA app on my phone to buy tickets with my sad little secured credit card.

  It sounds silly, but the normalcy of it makes me feel like there’s hope.

  Like my life has a future.

  Like I’m on the right track.

  Six months ago, I never would have imagined that I’d be happy to ride public transit to a job well beneath my abilities, working for my biggest competitor.

  And now? The thought excites me.

  The reality centers me.

  The train sways gently as we make our way toward the center of the city. My travel mug, full of coffee when I left the house, is almost empty. My brief bag rests against my hip, nestled next to me on the seat. I’m in a two-person spot, no one next to me, and the sun is shining straight into my eyes as I look out the window.

  Sunrises out here still surprise me. After so many years on the West Coast, I’m accustomed to seeing the sun descend down to the ocean, not peek up from it. You would think being born and raised here would have made me find the sunsets over the water in California the aberration.

  When I moved away from home, I reinvented myself. I sharpened all the edges and left hard granite exposed to the world. Every part of who I was, except for Mom, Dad, and Mallory, relocated itself to my new home.

  Only the parts I wanted to take, though.

  Now I have holes in me, giant chunks of what makes up a person cut out by Burke. I’m still capable of functioning, but not at my optimal level.

  Ian McCrory somehow is helping me fill in the missing pieces of who I am.

  Or at least one of them.

  The train slows as it makes its entrance into North Station, where the doors open and we pour out like ants released from a jar. My running shoes make no noise as I join the throng and curve to the right, headed to Congress, then Summer Street, where I’ll walk the rest of the way. It’s a bit of a hike, but I can use the exercise.

  Ocean air combined with car exhaust hits me in the face, and then, as I continue to walk, a waft of marijuana joins in. Legalization has changed the terrain for pedestrians in any city. It was true when I lived in the Bay Area, and on frequent business travel to Seattle, actual fresh air was a rarity on some streets.

  The fact that I notice it at all says something about my state these days. I’m less in my head and more in my body.

  I’m more in the world.

  The walk to my office is a good transition from train to Ian. My heart quickens just one beat as I see the hotel and walk through the revolving door.

  “Silly,” I murmur to myself, knowing that the heart rate change is about Ian. He’s getting under my skin. What I want is to have him over my skin.

  Over me, the rough strength and the sophisticated mind that twist together into the man I see.

  When I arrive at the penthouse, I’m greeted by Irene.

  And no Ian.

  “I’m so sorry, Hastings,” she explains as she guides me to my new office. “Ian had to leave the country for an important meeting. He wants me to train you in the basics. He’ll be available by teleconference at some point, but not today.”

  I know a blow-off when I see one.

  She looks at her phone, types a quick text, then looks back at me.

  Irene’s gracious, but I’m now basically the help, and the help never gets the head boss’s direct attention.

  “It’s fine,” I lie. “Just direct me to whatever I need to do, and I’ll get started.”

  She pauses, hands clasped in front of her, face impassive. I wait her out.

  We sit in silence. It’s not tense. There’s no conflict here, no rivalry. We don’t compete with each other. But her silence and my silence acknowledge each other. She knows exactly what I’m doing, and I know precisely what she’s doing. There’s no need for either of us to have the upper hand, but neither of us are backing down, either.

  A phone rings in the distance.

  “Don’t you need to get that?” I ask her.

  Her eyes move, but he
r body doesn’t. “Actually, Hastings, that’s your phone, in your office.”

  Curses. I’ve lost.

  I race to the phone, grabbing it just in time. “Hastings Monahan,” I say, keeping my voice modulated.

  “Welcome. It’s Ian. I was hoping I’d catch you.”

  “I’m at work. At the job you hired me for. Where else would I be?”

  He laughs. “You’re certainly not in Jakarta.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I’m here, Hastings, and you’re not.”

  “How do you know? Maybe I’m VPN-ing from Jakarta.”

  “Irene told me you’re there.”

  “Maybe I paid Irene off to lie.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I’m the greatest criminal mastermind in modern history, remember?” I say flatly.

  “Look,” he says, suddenly all business. “I have a unique opportunity here. I’m sending an encrypted file to you. I want to see if you see what I see in these stats.”

  “What are you hoping I’ll see?”

  “That’s the beauty of it, Hastings,” he says, an intriguing challenge in the tone of his voice. “I’m not going to tell you what to look for. I want to see if you find it.”

  “Day one on the job, and I’m being tested?”

  “That’s right. That’s how it works.”

  “I thought you hired me because I have one of the best minds in business.”

  “I did. Prove it.”

  Click

  The call ends before I realize it’s ending, leaving me with a bruised ego but a racing mind. Apparently, this isn’t going to be some boring job where I check in, sit in front of a bank of terminals, and do the equivalent of maintenance.

  Every day I’m going to be on edge.

  Every day I’m going to be challenged.

  Every day I’m going to walk in the door not knowing what the hours will hold.

  And you know what? That makes me smile.

  A real smile.

  The kind I haven’t felt on my face in a very long time.

  10

  “What’re you doing?”

  My sister’s voice is sharper than normal as I turn and look over my shoulder to find her nose right there, staring at the screen of my phone.

  “Avoiding you,” I reply as I reach for my coffee and take a sip. I’m at Beanerino with my work spread out before me. Ian gave me permission to do some work from home, and after cashing my first paycheck, I’m joining normal society.

  I’m spending my own money, my own real money.

  I never thought that a four-dollar cup of coffee could taste so good.

  “No, I mean what app is on your phone and open?”

  “It’s a dating app,” I tell her as I hide the evidence of my desperation, slipping the phone under a manila folder.

  Perky comes on over and plunks herself down on the bench seat next to me. “What’s up?”

  “She’s got the dating app open,” Mal says in an arch tone.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “The dating app,” Mallory says firmly.

  Perky looks as confused as I am. “There’s more than one dating app, Mal,” she says.

  “She’s using the one with the conversion consultant.”

  “Conversion consultant?” I ask as Mallory sits down, too. My nice, quiet work session at a coffee shop is turning into an impromptu social gathering.

  Perky’s eyes narrow. “Are you talking to a guy on there?” she asks me.

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of date does he want for his first date?”

  “Why should I tell you that?”

  “Why shouldn’t you?” Perky shrugs and takes a sip of some sparkling water in a tiny little bottle. “Unless you're into some kinky sex thing I don't want to know about.”

  “Fine. His name is Steve.”

  “Steve. Hmm.” Perky and Mal share a look.

  “That’s not the guy’s name, is it?” Mallory says under her breath. “It was David.”

  “Are you worried we’re dating in the same pool? You’re almost married, Mallory.” I look at her ring, then at my own bare hand. No heirloom engagement ring, no wedding band.

  Anyway, it turns out the diamonds Burke bought me were fake. Just like my marriage.

  “Of course not! I’m engaged to Will. We’re getting married in two months. I don’t want to date. I just don’t think you should date within that app.”

  “Why not?”

  “Has he asked you out to dance?” Perky asks.

  I cock one eyebrow. “Why? Spill it!” I insist, looking at the two of them being cagey. “What’s going on?”

  “Wait a minute,” Mallory says, leaning closer to me. “You’re ready to date?”

  “That’s really none of your business, but yes.”

  “Like, really ready? I mean, everything with Burke was so messy.”

  I don’t know why I do it, but I relent and confess something personal to her. “I just need to date, okay?” I take a sip of my coffee just to keep my mouth busy.

  “Need to date? Like, need needs?” Perky elbows me and winks at Mallory. “Because there are plenty of plastic boyfriends you can use to meet your needs.”

  “I am not answering that,” I snap at her.

  “But make sure they're BPA-free and slave-labor free,” Perky tosses in.

  “Then why?” Mal drills down.

  “Because I want to. It’s good enough to say because I want to. In fact, it’s good enough to just say because. It’s even better to ignore you two and pretend you don’t exist.”

  Perky snorts. “Good luck with that.”

  “My personal life is none of your business. Every single shred of my entire being has been exposed to the world in the media. I have had to talk about things so personal, you can’t even begin to fathom it.”

  Perky leans in. “Like what? You can dish with us. You can tell us anything, Hastings. Burke was a bottom, wasn't he? A toe licker? Did he wear a puppy mask?”

  “Stop it!” I throw a napkin at her. “Go away.”

  “This isn’t sixth grade. You can’t just throw a flip-flop at my face and make me cry again.”

  “Try me.”

  “We just want to warn you,” Mallory says sincerely. “When I was dating before I met Will—”

  “You met Will in ninth grade.”

  “Before I re-met Will,” she clarifies, “there was this guy named David, and he was on the same dating app that you just had open on your screen. He was using women by scheduling these first dates with them at a dance studio–you know, the dance studio–and he came off as this really sweet, nice, charming, smart guy who was offering something unique: a dance lesson for a first date. Cute, huh? All of these women that he was hitting up on the app would show up to the dance class and find out that he not only no-showed, but he was making money if any of the disappointed women turned around and became paid lesson subscribers.”

  I blink. “This isn’t David. This is Steve. And that’s the stupidest story I’ve ever heard,” I snap.

  “But it’s true!” Mallory replies.

  “Just because it’s true doesn’t make it any less stupid.”

  “She’s got a point, Mallory,” Perky says under her breath.

  “I am not stupid for falling for some con man!”

  I laugh in her face. “Anyone who could be snowed by that kind of line is a naïve sucker.”

  My sister's glare makes me admire her a little. For someone so sunny all the time, the woman can glower.

  “I'm not a sucker.”

  “But you don't deny the naïve part.”

  Perky makes a funny sound.

  “Of course she's naïve. She wound up on a porn set because of the word fluffer.”

  “And ended up marrying the best guy in the world!” Mal says hotly. “Yes, I can be overly trusting,” she adds, avoiding the word naïve.

  “Naïve,” Perky coughs into her hand. I'm star
ting to like her.

  A little.

  “And because I'm trusting, people sometimes take advantage of me. Like David. I'm just trying to protect you, Hastings.”

  “I don't need to be protected.”

  “The last thing you need is to be conned again.”

  “I'm the opposite of naïve, Mallory.” My voice fades out as I realize I was snowed by a con man.

  People who live in glass houses, and all that.

  I look at the app and see the message from Steve, inviting me to meet him for dancing. We’ve been texting back and forth for the past couple of days, and I like the guy. He’s no Ian, of course, who’s still in Jakarta and who barely talks to me now that I work for him, but Steve’s a guy.

  And he’s interested.

  In me.

  So I do what any woman would do when confronted by two people trying to tell her that she’s wrong.

  “Go away,” I tell my sister and Perky. I shoo them with the back of my hand, fluttering in the air over my coffee. “I’m a grownup. I can handle myself.”

  “Fine.” Mallory stands up in a snit. “But don’t you dare come crying to me when it turns out you’ve been played by David.”

  “Why would I come crying to you?”

  “Because that’s what you do when… well, when…” She looks at Perky.

  “When someone hurts your feelings,” Perky says to me. “And you need a friend to talk it through.”

  A weird silence hangs in the air between the three of us. I don’t do that. I don’t have that kind of friend.

  I’ve never had that kind of friend.

  Mallory’s hand closes over the back of mine as she squeezes gently, then lets go. “I hope Steve is real. But if he’s not, at least convince Philippe to give you the first lesson for free.”

  And with that, I'm alone again.

  The app's open, Steve's message stream right there. It starts with:

  I’m branching out and trying something new. Would you be interested in a really different first date? A dance lesson? I’m tired of coffee-shop speed dating and I have two left feet (full disclosure). Want to meet up for some fun? Steve