by April Wilson
“You’re going to the office today?” I say, as I head into the enormous walk-in closet to select an outfit.
He pops his head in the closet doorway. “Yes. Since you’re abandoning me for the world of retail, I thought I might as well put in an honest day’s work at the office.”
I smile, realizing that he was hanging around the penthouse this morning just for me. Normally, he would have left for work hours ago, before I even woke up.
He lounges in the doorway, watching me flip through my meager wardrobe for something suitable to wear. Even after my clothes back at the house were delivered here, there’s still not much to choose from.
I pull a sleeveless, pale linen blue dress off its hanger and hold it up to him. “Is this appropriate attire for peeing in a cup?”
He chuckles. “She’s not really going to make you do that, is she?”
“Probably. Out of spite, if for no other reason.”
“I’d like to see her take a drug test. After all, fair’s fair. I’m sure it’s in the employee handbook.”
I exchange my shorts and top for a slip and the dress, then stick my feet into a pair of flat sandals.
“You don’t have many clothes, do you?” he says, scanning my rather bare side of the closet.
I shrug. “I have enough.”
“I know women who could fill this closet several times over.”
I scoff. “You mean you’ve dated women who could fill this closet several times over. And by dated, I mean slept with.”
He chuckles, and if I’m not mistaken, he blushes. Shane has a well-deserved reputation as a ladies’ man. I don’t even want to know how many women he’s been with over the years. I’m sure the number would stagger me.
“They weren’t all women I dated,” he says. “Sophie has an extensive wardrobe.”
“Yes, but your sister is a hot-shot interior designer. She needs a lot of clothes. I don’t. Lia doesn’t, and I would imagine Hannah doesn’t either.”
He laughs. “I’d be surprised if Hannah owns more than two pairs of jeans and a couple of sweatshirts. What more does she need roughing it in the Montana wilderness, spying on wolf packs? The wolves don’t care how she’s dressed.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans into the door jamb. “Would you like to go shopping? I’ll take you. Anywhere you want to go.”
“Shopping for what?”
“Clothes. I thought women like to shop.”
“Maybe all your other women like to shop. I’d rather go out on the lake. Can we do that instead?”
“Of course we can.” He comes away from the doorway and takes me into his arms. “But only if you kiss me first.”
In the parking garage, we pass Cooper as he’s coming in from his night out. He’s got his backpack slung over his shoulder, and he’s carrying that black duffle bag, which I think has guns in it.
“Cooper, hi!” I run to meet him halfway and give him a hug, squeezing him tightly. “I’m glad you’re home. I missed you at breakfast this morning.”
“That’s quite a greeting,” he says, as he hugs me back. “Thank you. Good luck on your first day of work, kiddo. Knock ‘em dead.”
* * *
Shane drops me off at Clancy’s on his way to the office, saving Lia a trip. She’ll come pick me up at two, after my half-day shift ends. He pulls up to the curb in front of the store – in a spot clearly marked “ABSOLUTELY NO PARKING.”
I don’t remember seeing that sign before. “Where did that come from?”
“I had it installed last night. It’ll be easier for Lia to drop you off and pick you up.”
Sam is standing just outside the doors.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask Shane, as I wave at Sam. “I don’t think I need security in the bookstore.” It’s not like Kline can get within five miles of me without the surveillance team raising an alarm.
“Yes, it’s necessary. And not just because of Kline. As my girlfriend, you automatically become a target. I’m sorry about that, but it’s unavoidable.”
I think back to the woman who cornered me in the ladies’ room at the hospital charity ball a couple of months ago. I can still remember the vile, hateful things she said to me. Just thinking about Luciana Morelli makes my skin crawl. She definitely falls under the category of disgruntled ex-girlfriend.
“If you don’t like Sam – ”
“No, it’s not that,” I say. “He’s really nice.”
“I’m sorry it has to be this way, sweetheart. You’re just going to have to get used to it.”
“It’s all right. I’ll deal with it.” I lean over and kiss him. As I walk to the front door, I think bodyguards are a small price to pay for having Shane in my life.
“Hiya, boss,” Sam says when I step through the front doors. He’s wearing baggy gray cargo pants and a form-fitting camo t-shirt that hugs his muscular torso nicely, along with a pair of chunky combat boots. I don’t see a gun on him anywhere, but I’m sure he’s carrying one. It must be in an ankle holster, or perhaps it’s in one of the pockets of his cargo pants.
“Hi, Sam.” I smile at him.
He shoves his hands in his front pockets. “So, what’s on the agenda this morning?”
I glance up the wide, curving staircase to the second floor, where the administrative offices are located. “I should probably go upstairs and find Vanessa.”
He grimaces. “Do we have to?”
I can’t help smiling at Sam’s reluctance. He obviously doesn’t like her any better than I do.
He shudders. “That woman scares me.”
“Me, too. Come on, chicken. Let’s brazen it out.”
We enter the administrative area on the second floor marked “staff” and find a mostly empty room. The door marked PRIVATE is closed. There’s a young man wearing earbuds attached to his smart phone who’s busy tapping away on his computer keyboard. He glances up once to look at us, then returns to his work, paying us no mind.
A young woman my age walks into the office right behind us and smiles. “Hi. Are you Ms. Jamison?”
I nod. “Yes. I’m Beth.”
She offers me her hand. “Erin O’Connor. I’m one of the assistant managers. Ms. Markham told me to expect you this morning. I’m supposed to show you around and get you started working at the check-out counter.”
Erin’s definitely a refreshing alternative to Vanessa. Her sweet and guileless face is dominated by a pair of large, light blue eyes. Shoulder-length black hair is parted on the side and held back from her face by small, gold barrettes. With her pale complexion and the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, she’s absolutely darling.
Erin picks up a nametag off her desk and hands it to me. It’s an oval tag, hunter green, with the words “HI, I’M BETH” engraved on it. Vanessa was prepared for me after all.
Erin looks over my shoulder at Sam, who’s standing quietly behind me, trying to look unobtrusive. She smiles at Sam, and I detect a pink tint to her cheeks that I don’t think was there before.
Erin smiles at him. “You must be one of the new security guys.”
Sam nods, smiling back at her. “Don’t mind me, ma’am. I’ll just blend into the scenery.”
I barely manage to refrain from chuckling when Sam calls Erin ma’am as she’s at least five years younger than he is.
Our first stop is the employee lounge, which is located next door to the administrative office. We step inside a dreary, utilitarian space. On one side of the room is a wall of vintage, green metal lockers. On the other side is a kitchenette with a full-size refrigerator, a double sink, and a microwave oven. There are three small round tables with chairs for seating. In the center of the room are two sofas and a couple of armchairs, all of which look like thriftshop hand-me-downs. Pretty much the only nice thing about the employee lounge is the view. It’s a corner room, so two of the walls offer large window views overlooking N. Michigan Avenue and let in lots of natural light.
Erin shows me my locker, and I put
my purse inside. Then she shows me the time clock, which I missed when we first came in.
“I have to clock in?” I say, studying the machine. It’s mint green and looks like something right out of the 1950s.
“Yes.” She pulls a card with my name printed at the top from a rack on the wall and shows me how to punch it. “Each day you’ll clock in when you first arrive, and clock out when you leave.”
“Is this really necessary?”
She shrugs. “Vanessa says we have to do it.”
“What happens if people are late for work?”
“She docks their pay, a dollar per minute.”
I’m still processing the idea of clocking in when Erin leads me downstairs to show me the check-out system.
She’s wearing a gray pencil skirt, a white blouse, and tiny, three-inch black stiletto heels. She’s so wobbly on the heels I’m afraid she’s going to topple over any minute. She even reaches out to the wall once catch her balance, and I have to wonder why she’s wearing shoes like that when she’s obviously not comfortable in them. I glance at Sam, who’s walking beside me, and notice he’s watching Erin like a hawk, as if he too expects her to topple over any moment. At one point, she does stumble and Sam extends a hand as if to catch her, but she rights herself in time.
“Sorry,” Erin says, her face flushing pink. “I just can’t get the hang of these stupid shoes.”
Those shoes are perfect for a Saturday night out on the town, not for someone in retail who’s on her feet eight hours a day. It makes no sense. “Shouldn’t you be wearing something a little more practical?”
She makes a face, wrinkling her little nose. “They’re required.”
I can’t help my expression, which I’m sure is purely incredulous. “What do you mean, they’re required?” I’m sure not going to be wearing heels to work. I’d fall and break my neck the first day.
Erin shrugs. “All of the female assistant managers have to wear dresses or skirts and heels. The heels have to be at least three inches high. But I just can’t seem to get the hang of them.”
I can just imagine who instituted the dress code. Ms. Walking-Fashion-Magazine herself. But it’s silly. No one who works on her feet all day should be forced to wear high heels if she doesn’t want to.
I’m surprised when Erin passes right by the bank of elevators and heads for the grand staircase. Surely she’s not going to attempt the stairs in those shoes. She’d be putting her life in jeopardy. And based on the look on Sam’s face, he shares my concern.
I stop her at the top of the stairs. “Erin? Why don’t we take the elevator?” I’m seriously afraid she’s going to go head-first down the steps.
“Employees aren’t allowed to use the elevators.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “Company policy. Vanessa said it’s lazy.”
“So, you’re going to risk breaking your neck going down the stairs in those heels because someone thinks using the elevator is lazy?”
“Yes.” She says it like it’s a question.
I shake my head and glance at Sam, who gives me a WTF look. He casually steps in front of Erin and precedes her down the stairs, and I’m sure it’s so he can break her fall.
It looks like I’m going to have to rock the boat after all.
The check-out counter is bustling with activity which, from a business standpoint, is a really good thing. All four point-of-sale terminals – I will never make the mistake of calling them cash registers again – are busy beeping and blinking as they total up customer purchases. There’s still a line, though, of about a half-dozen customers queued up for their turn at the check-out, and that can’t be good. People are busy; they shouldn’t have to stand around waiting, especially if they’re just popping in from work during their lunch break.
Erin takes over one of the terminals from one another employee and shows me how it’s done. It’s a brand new retail system, she tells me, top of the line, and honestly it’s pretty intuitive. They’re – I mean, we’re – set up to take smart cards and mobile phone payments, and all the new technological innovations. I watch her for a while, and then she hands the reins over to me, and I start checking out my very first customers.
There’s a huge smile on my face as I greet each customer.... a young woman with a newborn in a stroller is buying the new JR Ward – definitely a paranormal/urban fantasy romance fan. An elderly man in a plaid, polyester suit – I didn’t know anyone still wore those – is buying a copy of The Chicago Scoop, a pack of spearmint gum, and a pair of thick cheater glasses. A harried mom with three rambunctious young boys is purchasing a stack of beginning readers on spiders, snakes, and sharks. I certainly wish her luck in trying to get those energetic kids to sit down and read.
Sam lurks behind me with his hands behind his back, as if he’s standing at attention, ready for anything. I’m seriously worried about him. The poor guy will be bored out of his mind before the morning’s over.
I turn back to him. “You don’t have to hover, Sam. Go do something. Walk around, take a break. Read a book – we have plenty.”
He gives me a suffering look, as if I have no idea what I’m talking about. “I’m fine, boss.”
“Beth.”
“Beth,” he repeats.
A couple of times, I see glimpses of Mack Donovan moving through the store, talking with employees and looking as inconspicuous as a tank. Fortunately, there’s no sign of Vanessa. I think if I had to deal with her condescending attitude right now, I’d lose my happy.
My shift is half over before I know it, and I realize I’m having fun. It doesn’t feel like work. I also didn’t screw anything up, which is a definite plus. But my feet are killing me – and I’m wearing comfortable sandals. I don’t know how Erin can stand being on her feet for hours in those unforgiving heels. I’m really going to have to do something about that.
I also desperately need to pee. The two cups of coffee I had that morning with Shane have caught up with me, and there’s no way I’ll make it until two without making a visit to the ladies’ room.
When there’s a rare lull in the customer line, I lean over to whisper in Erin’s ear. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
She looks at me and sighs, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry, you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You’re only scheduled to work four hours, so you’ll have to wait until your shift is over.”
I sigh. “Let me guess. Another company policy?”
She nods, and her nose wrinkles as she smiles apologetically. “It’s in the employee handbook.”
“So, what if someone has to pee really badly? They just have to stand here and hold it?”
“I’m afraid so.”
I look at my watch. It’s just a little after noon. I suppose I can try to hang on for another hour-and-a-half. I had no idea from the outside looking in that this place was run by an anal-retentive taskmaster. People should be allowed to pee if they need to. I’m definitely going to have to rock the boat.
Chapter 18
After my shift is over, Erin takes me back upstairs to the employee lounge so I can clock out and grab my purse. There are a few employees in the lounge, one sitting on a sofa doing a crossword puzzle from a newspaper and another pouring a cup of coffee. They smile politely at me, and I smile back.
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the same time?” Erin says.
“Yes. Erin, can I have a copy of the employee handbook?”
“Sure. I’ll e-mail you a copy. Come with me to the office, and I’ll show you your desk.”
I didn’t realize I warranted having a desk. Surprised, I follow Erin into the business office next door. She points at a beige metal desk and a small black office chair on wheels crammed into the far corner of the room. That’s it – just the desk and a chair. There’s no computer, no phone, not even a stapler. I guess Vanessa doesn’t want me to get too comfortable.
“There’s a supply cabinet over there, with pe
ns and pads of paper and stuff like that,” Erin says, wrinkling her nose in apology. “And you can bring things in to accessorize it, if you like.”
“Are you sure that’s allowed?”
She flushes. “I know, I’m sorry. Vanessa’s a little... territorial. And I think she sees you as encroaching on her territory.”
“But I’m not here to encroach. I’m here because I want to fit in. I want to be part of this place.”
Erin smiles. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll ease up over time.”
Erin takes me around the office and introduces me to the staff. It’s all a blur of names and faces I’m sure I won’t remember this first time.
Charlie stands out, though, the guy I noticed earlier listening to music through earbuds. Charlie handles payroll and accounting. He’s about my age, with Harry Potter glasses and a lock of dark, curly hair hanging over his wide forehead. He puts me on the company books as an employee at minimum wage, and I complete all the tax and employment paperwork to make it legal. I am officially employed again.
“Minimum wage?” I ask Charlie. I’ll certainly be making a lot less money than I was at the medical school library, especially since I’ll only be working part time. I do a quick mental calculation to determine if I’ll be able to cover my car payment and graduate school loan payment. Just barely.
“Yes.” He gives me a duh look.
I know how profitable this business is – I’ve seen the financial records for the past ten years. And the profits have grown year-over-year, even during the worst of the recession – which I guess is a testament to Vanessa’s business acumen. But surely we can afford to pay the employees more than minimum wage. It’s a privately owned company, so it’s not like there are stockholders to appease. There’s just the owner to appease, and now that’s me.
This is a nice establishment, and we want to attract talented workers. Can’t we offer them more? Shoot, the indie grocery store I used to shop at in Hyde Park pays their employees more than minimum wage.