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He sighed. “Got it in one.”
“Same. Why they loved me at The Clubhouse.”
His eyebrow rose. “Was that on your resume? I don’t remember it.”
I shook my head. “What we called the small theater on campus. It was as rickety as a tree house and always needed work. But all our money would go to costumes and sets—not much left for upgrades to the actual building.” It was janky as hell, but I’d always loved it.
Mostly because the magic of the short and long programs made the stage come alive. The smallest one-act plays, the vibrant ensembles, and even the solo performances that could be hit or miss—they all infused the space with a different energy. And on the special nights, you just didn’t notice that the curtains were fraying, and the stage was worn thin in spots from thousands of feet and sets over the years.
“Anyway, I was usually the one who was roped into doing set direction when we were shorthanded.”
He leaned back into his chair so far that it squeaked. “So, you’ve been playing manager for years—and not getting paid.”
“I know what I’m worth.”
His blue eyes were darker in the low light of the space. He wasn’t lying about the room being close to a closet. It was windowless and probably had been a storage unit at one time. But the man filled the space. Some of it was the chaos of his desk, but there were other things that screamed Mason.
The sailboat on the high shelf with the hand paintedShip Happenson the stern, the bobble head doll with the iconic NY Yankees jersey and a head that looked suspiciously like Mason, Mardi Gras beads hanging from a tack on the wall—all a little ridiculous set away from his work. High up where it couldn’t be in the way, but also maybe where it wasn’t really noticed either. There was also a photo of Mason with two guys mugging for the camera in the front of a waterfall.
He followed my gaze. “Hawaii. When I worked for a major cruise liner who shall not be named.” The crinkles at the corner of his eyes showed just how much he enjoyed the memory. “A rare day where we got to actually go out and enjoy the day. When I worked for them, I thought it would be all-day excursions.” His laugh was deprecating. “Not the case.”
He leaned forward and set his elbows on the desk as papers crinkled. “I know we’re doing a trial basis, and I thought maybe a set fee would be better than a weekly. That way if you want to bounce, you don’t have to worry about paperwork.”
I folded my arms over my middle. “Like a freelancer?”
“Exactly. If we find we like what’s going on between us, I can put you on the books with a regular salary that will reflect what your responsibilities will entail.”
I gave him a bland look. “If you think I’m desperate enough to take a crap pay out just to prove myself, we probably aren’t going to work out.”
He wrote a number on a post it note and tossed it at me.
I caught it out of the air and turned it to face me.
The number was generous—enough that I shot a look at him. “You’re not feeling sorry for me and giving me a handout are you, Mason?”
The chair squeaked again. Before he could answer me, there was a knock at the door and the scent of loaded fries made me want to weep. God, I was going to gain weight if I worked here. How was I supposed to get the baby weight off if I ate my baby’s weight in fries every day?
A harried kid who barely looked old enough to have graduated from high school held a tray. “You ordered fries, Mase?”
“You can set then down there, Mateo. Thanks.”
The kid’s Adam’s Apple bounced as he swallowed and looked at all the papers on the desk.
Mason took pity on him and reached for the tray. “All good, I got it.”
The kid nodded and gave me a shy smile before he escaped.
“He’s young and I’m not sure if Jackie or Stone will be the one to eat him alive, but he’s coming around.”
“Kitchen’s are no joke,” I agreed. “Why I wasn’t cut out to be a waitress. Though I did bartend a bit.”
“That I can see.”
I stared down at the post-it, the numbers blurring a little. I didn’t want to turn down that kind of money, but I also wouldn’t take advantage. Even if that would be a nice chunk of money to help me get through the next month or two.
Diapers were damn expensive.
Mason tossed a towel over his desk and put down the tray, then dug into the fries. “The first time we met—on that Zoom call—I had a good feeling. I also knew that to get good help, I’d need to pay a better than average wage. You’ll earn that money, Emma. I promise you that.”
