Page 86 of I Saw You First

“Then who told you to do this?”

“You know who it was, Wil. Finish reading it.”

I shove the document at him. “I’ve seen enough.”

“Let me summarize for you. You are not allowed to see her outside of work. Any additional occurrences of this nature could result in further disciplinary action, up to and including termination, blah blah blah. And I could give two shits if you sign it or don’t. Either way, it’s on your record.”

I shake my head. “Thanks for the support, you dick. You’re the one who told me lightning didn’t strike twice.”

“What do you want me to do here? My hands are tied. You don’t tell the CEO no, you know what I’m saying?”

I clench my fists. “You should try it sometime. It’s very liberating.”

Except I didn’t tell him no today. Today, I gave in. Like always.

He frowns. “You think this is a joke? This is your career on the line, and mine.”

I shake my head again. If I get myself fired, fine. But I won’t do that to Jeremy.

“I want to help you,” he says. “But don’t be an asshole.”

I bark out a laugh. “That ship sailed a long time ago. It’s in my genes.”

I don’t sign the corrective action document, but I choose Hometown over Abbey, and yeah, that makes me an asshole, even if I did it to save her job, too.

I slam my clipboard into a plastic bin on the wall. The idea comes to me in a flash. “I heard that Ford left Hometown to sell cars.”

“And?” Jeremy asks. “You want to sell cars, too?”

“No. I want his spot.”

“You want his AGM spot? At Ridge?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t just jump the line, Wil. You’ve still got what, three, four months left in merch, and there’ve gotta be at least a couple of people in line for AGM ahead of you.”

I shake my head. “There aren’t. Shelly moved to North Dakota and Lars didn’t make it past operations.”

“Huh,” he says. “You really think district will go for this?”

“Woodlake had the best December in store history because the product was on the floor so the team could sell it. I’ve proven myself. I’ve earned this. And—bonus—it’ll make Mr. Wilshire happy because I won’t be around Abbey every day.”

“Wil—”

“No, don’t. We’re done talking about that. I want the AGM spot at Ridge and I want it now.”

“All right, all right, Veruca Salt,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“No. Don’t see what you can do. Make it happen, Jeremy.”

I leave the store and drive to Sam’s, a tiny tract house built in the 1940s that looks a lot like every other tract house in the neighborhood except for the giant Vikings logo painted on the garage door. What a homer. At least it’s easy to find the right house.

“This is a surprise.” Adriana holds Sammi at the front door. “Come on in. Sam’s downstairs.”

Sammi reaches out a chubby, sticky hand to my cheek and says something that could be uncle or dumbass. Either one applies.

Sam’s on the couch in the basement rec room playing NHL 97 on the PlayStation. He looks up in surprise when I come around the corner and sets down his controller. “What’s wrong?”