AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Indie
FLOPPING ON THE COUCH, I kick off my black heels with a long sigh, flexing out my sore and sorry feet. I am not used to wearing high heels, and the red nasty-looking bumps on my toes and heels are evidence of this fact.
I text Austin to find out why he’s not home and then close my eyes.
My phone dings with a new message. Frustrated, I exhale slowly, reluctantly opening my eyes to check my phone. It’s Austin.
I know, I know, I’m not home. Mr. Harris wouldn’t give me my job back, but Mike from the car yard gave me a guy’s number that needs help loading a truck. He’s paying cash in hand. We should be done by seven.
I sigh again. I wish I could take Austin’s word for it, but I have not exactly been able to trust him lately. For both our sakes, I hope he is being honest.
I have exactly twenty-five minutes before I have to change and leave for my shift at the diner tonight.
After spending most of the day with June, it’s obvious why Roman needed another assistant. I mean, I have no clerical experience whatsoever, but June types at a speed of one word per minute. She files paperwork under the wrong case files, and I’ve had to adjust three of his appointments today. Otherwise, he would have had all three clients turn up at the same time, and he was not even in the office this afternoon. He was at the courthouse.
I don’t understand how June still has a job. Roman doesn’t seem like the tolerable and generous type, although he is helping me. Perhaps, June has a similar situation. June is such a sweet old lady, so I doubt it very much. I asked her today how long she has worked for Mr. Judge, and she just answered, “Which one?” Which tells me she’s probably been here longer than I have been alive.
On the outside, Roman’s demeanor is confident, fierce, and demanding, but deep down underneath all that arrogance, there must be softness, Otherwise, he would have let Moretti pull the trigger. He said himself today that he doesn’t normally do good things for people. So, what is his ulterior motive?
I text Austin back.
I will be at work until twelve. Drop by the diner when you're done, and I’ll have some dinner for you.
He sends back a thumbs-up emoji.
Taking a quick shower, I get dressed in my diner uniform, but just as I’m about to leave a knock on the door startles me. No one ever comes to our apartment. Like ever. My heart picks up the pace, and my palms become sweaty. Is it the police? Is it Moretti? Has Austin got himself in more trouble?
Another knock, only louder this time, has me panicked as I rush to the door and open it cautiously.
“I have a delivery for you, ma’am.”
All the blood rushes back through my body as I let out a long breath of relief. A tall, well-dressed older man stands pointing to a pile of boxes on the floor. There must be at least half a dozen or more of them.
“Are you sure these are all for me?” I ask confused.
“Is your name Indiana Johnson?”
“Yes,” I reply, cringing at the sound of my own name. I used to get teased at school and called Indiana Jones. Kids used to tease me and ask me when my next crusade was.
“Then, yes, ma’am. These are all for you. Could you sign here for these, please?” The man hands me a phone-like scanner, and I sign it with my finger.
“Have a good evening.” He nods without smiling and leaves.
I bring all the boxes into my room but don’t have time to open them. I’m going to be late for work, so I grab the envelope that was delivered with them and head out the door, reading it on my way out.
There are five days in a week, Miss Johnson. One outfit is not enough.
It’s not signed, but I know exactly who wrote it.
MY ALARM RINGS ON MY phone with the piercing sound getting louder and louder the longer I leave it. I groan as I feel for the phone on the nightstand and squint when it lights up, holding it near my face. It’s 5:20 am. I had to work late last night as Fiona didn’t show up for her shift, making it 2 am before I made it home. I could have said no, but I need every cent I can get right now.
Rolling out of bed, I head to the kitchen and turn on the coffee machine. Then I check on Austin while it heats up. I hold my breath as I quietly open his door, almost expecting him to not be there, but I’m thankful to find him asleep in his room.
Pulling the mug to my face, I inhale the aroma, closing my eyes and savoring the warmth around my hands.
I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off, working three jobs and still managing to breathe. Yet I don’t really have a choice at this point. Picking up the boxes that were delivered yesterday off my bedroom floor, I empty the first one onto my bed. As I sort through the clothes, my mouth gapes open at the exorbitant price tags attached to them. How ridiculous! Who the hell pays eight-hundred dollars for a blouse? I stuff the clothes from the first box back inside and open the next box. There are four shoe boxes with the most gorgeous pairs of shoes in them. This is all too much. I already owe him enough.
One by one, I go through the remaining boxes. Admittedly, I love all the clothes. God, the fabric even feels expensive, but one outfit alone would cost more than my entire wardrobe. Why is he doing this? I can’t accept all this. Anger creeps in over my tiredness, and all of a sudden, I’m mad as hell at him. Like I didn’t already feel like a charity case; he has to go throw all his wealth in my face. I’m not some kind of broken doll he can transform into a shiny new one. I throw my bed cover over the clothes and shoes, so I don’t have to look at them anymore. With a tug, I take the clothes from yesterday off the hanger and get dressed. I know Roman will be pissed when he sees I’m not wearing one of his new outfits when I get to the office today, but to hell with him, I don’t care.
