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Avian enthusiasts.
Andalise Rhodes Whittenbalm.
Okay, screw Aldon! He was probably exactly the sort of dude who’d enjoyed frying ants with a magnifying glass as a child.
“So what’s she got anyway?” he carried on. “Asperger’s?”
“Something like that,” Dave confirmed with a snort. “She’s one of these high-functioning cases.”
Jesus Christ. No one used functioning labels anymore. At least not anyone with an ounce of education regarding neurodiversity. Hell, Kory had banished the word from her vocabulary after her first week in college.
And,case?What the hell? Andy wasn’t a case.
She was a person with autism.
And her boss was a major asshole.
“But—”
Andy gritted her teeth, no longer under the delusion that anything her asshole boss was about to say would be complimentary.
“To answer your question, son, no. I don’t think she’s good enough for this job. The stress of running the most profitable store in the region is going to eat that girl alive. I give her six months before she’ll be leaning on you.”
“Can’t say I’d mind that much,” Aldon drawled. “She’s got that jailbait-cute thing going on.”
They both laughed.
Andy’s stomach churned. Any more of this, and she might actually throw up. Silver lining: at least she was six feet from a toilet.
“Watch it, Al,” Dave warned. “Her father’s the CEO. Whittenbalm would have your balls in a sling if he even thought you were sniffing after his daughter.”
“Ha. No worries, boss. I’m not into special-needs chicks. Even if she does have nice tits.”
“You said it. I didn’t.”
More laughter. Louder this time.
Which was good because Andy couldn’t stifle a gasp. The emotions coursing through her were too big. Anger. Humiliation.Disillusionment.All of them had her shaking as her boss carried on next door.
“Listen, I may have to promote Andy, but you and I both know who’ll really be in charge. Everybody does. So keep your head up, play the game, and eventually youwillbe running the Delta store. I’d lay money it.”
“Thanks, Dave,” Aldon said with a sickening amount of ass-kissery. “Your support means the world to me.”
“Ah, for sure, buddy.”
Chairs shifted, and there was the sound of the men rising to fist bump, back-slap or whatever it was two misogynistic assholes did to wrap up an “interview.”
Then they were gone, and Andy was left alone with her devastation and a mop bucket. She sat there for a while, rocking slightly as the pressure behind her eyes built and the sobs rose in her throat.
But if she let it all out, she wouldn’t be able to stop. And everyone would know she’d had a meltdown. They’d see her puffy face, red nose, and watery Bette eyes, and they’d know.
Deep breaths, Andygram. Take ten deep breaths for me.
No! I don’t wanna do ten. Ten isn’t my favorite number.
Twenty-five then.
I don’t like this place. I hate stupid paintings. I wanna go home!
