Page 40 of Detour

I’m about to argue when he speaks again, saying, “Baker’s dozen.”

Against my will a laugh escapes. Dude never disappoints.

“I’ll swing by her work. Maybe she got held up.”

“Alright,” he sighs.

I click off, speeding toward the last place I saw Angela, hoping she’s there as much as I’m hoping she’s not.

CHAPTER 17

Angela

Every time I wash a window, he finds another excuse for me to clean it again. I’ve never had to wash the same window twice. Tonight though, Joe has a bug up his ass and is taking it out on me.

Sweat gathers more now that the bay doors are closed, trapping all the stuffy air inside. I toss Coty’s hat off to secure my braided ponytail into a bun. I’m bending down low, stretching onto my tiptoes, pushing the squeegee with enough force to ensure there are no water spots, yet it still isn’t good enough. I can feel my face growing flushed each time he points out another issue. My stomach growling, Coty’s takeout eaten long ago, is the least of my concerns at the moment.

Joe keeps moving around the wash, making it hard to keep watch the entire time, no matter how I angle my body for a better view, while doing a good enough job. I’m trying to get every nonexistent spot so I can get the hell out of here already. It doesn’t matter where he is though, I can feel his presence everywhere. I can feel his eyes locked onto my body with each movement I make. I want to believe this isn’t what it feels like. If he’d stayed in the office like he’s done in the past then I’d be done by now and wouldn’t feel like I’m putting on a private show for my depraved boss.

“Looking good in here.”

I can’t help the scoff that comes out while shaking my head. Really?

“I would hope so.” I put my hands on my hips, turning to face him. Joe’s eyes immediately make the journey from my toes up to my chest. I cross my arms, cutting off his view. “Am I good to go then?”

He nods absently, looking around. When he steps closer, I dodge to the side, trying to escape the corner he’s about to get me in. Unfortunately, he shoots his hand out, trying to stop me.

I look down at his suspended hand with as much disdain as I feel. “Joe,” I lift my eyes to his, making sure he fucking hears me, “don’t.”

Joe lifts his face, keeping his eyes locked on mine, then puts both hands up.

“Hey, I was just wondering if you wanted more hours. Boss says to keep you part-time when you graduate but I can change that.”

I cock an eyebrow. The owner doesn’t even come around enough to know who I am, let alone to dictate how many hours I work. I seriously doubt he said a word about my schedule. No matter what my mother would have me believe, I’m not stupid. I see right through what he’s doing here. I just need to play my cards right without giving in to his game while somehow keeping my job.

My clammy hands drag down my thighs. “Full shifts on Sundays again would be nice. Maybe add some mornings with Amity during the week once school is out?”

I drop Amity’s name, hoping to distract him. If she’s already taking him up on his offer for “more hours” then maybe that’ll take, and keep, his focus off me.

His eyes narrow slightly before he quickly covers it with a neutral expression. “Amity is great and all, but she’s not cutting it lately. Maybe you can take over all of her shifts?”

I pick up the discarded hat, careful to keep my back away from Joe.

“Sure, whatever works best. We can look at the schedule once school’s done.”

Hose in one hand, I rinse the squeegee, then drop the used towels in the washer. When I turn back, Joe’s wringing out a towel I must’ve missed. He walks over to throw it in the washer, stopping next to me and tugging on Coty’s hat around my wrist.

“Who’s the guy? The one that came through earlier. Is he your boyfriend?”

“No.” I cringe at the waver in my voice.

His interest on the hat, I try to extract it from his grasp but he yanks it forward abruptly, catching me off guard. I lose my balance from the unexpected change which unfortunately, brings me flush against Joe who wastes no time taking full advantage of the compromising position.

The hold on my wrist tightens while his left hand latches onto my other arm, penning me in. It’s just shy of being painful but unwanted just the same. I can simultaneously feel his hot breath on my face that’s twisted to the side, his doughy belly against my taut stomach—that’s now roiling with acid —and his disgusting erection digging into my outer thigh that feels more like a rival flag pole fighting for leverage. Battling down the bile clawing its way up my throat, I try to step back but Joe holds firm.

“Get off me. Now.” I grit out each word, keeping my face cranked.

“You haven’t even heard the arrangement yet.”