–Maggie: Luckily, a few baristas have asked for more hours. I’ll see who I can move around so you can start your important internship ASAP.
She ends the text with an eye-roll emoji. Okay, fine. She’s just irritated about redoing her schedule, but she doesn’t have to act like a martyr. It isn’t like she wouldn’t have done what I’m doing if the situation were reversed.
–Maggie: But I might need you to come in for a few hours on weekends for the next two weeks, so do send me your internship schedule.
I don’t really want to, but since I’m feeling just a tad guilty about leaving her in a lurch, and Roy’s probably going to lie low for a while, I decide not to argue.
–Me: Okay. I’ll do that.
I contact Mina at the hotel catering service and give her my notice, too. She’s much more gracious about the whole thing.
That done, I text Rhonda to let her know I can start tomorrow.
–Rhonda: Yay! I’ll have your HR paperwork ready.
I smile at her enthusiasm. I have a feeling I’m going to love working with her. Nothing from Tolyan, though.
The rest of the shift is uneventful. No deliveries, except for some specialty coffee beans from our supplier.
We have a surge of customers between three and four, and once they’re taken care of, it gets sort of quiet and boring.
Sean and Eric are on their phones. I check mine, too. Nothing exciting there, of course. I have no real friends other than Courtney, and I have no social media feeds to look at. Tolyan still hasn’t texted me or anything. I thought he’d at least say, “Congrats,” after seeing my note. Maybe he’s just busy. I shouldn’t let it bother me.
A little after five, Eric is tapping on his phone when he suddenly yells, “What the fuck?”
I glance over. A few of the customers are looking at him as well.
Eric tears his eyes from the phone. He glares at me, his face bright red. “You got an internship at the Pryce Family Foundation?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tolyan
I shut down my laptop at five o’clock sharp.
“Heading home?” Rhonda says as she’s packing her stuff up.
“Yes.”
“How’s your son doing at Berkeley?” she asks, being her typical chatty, friendly self. “Adjusting well?”
She always maintains a certain level of friendliness. When she fails to hit it, I know something’s wrong in her personal life. Makes my job of monitoring people at the foundation easier.
“As well as expected. How’s your daughter?” It’s good to show interest in her child, even though I already know exactly what her family members are up to. A reciprocal interest in a longtime colleague’s offspring is expected.
“She’s looking over colleges. Says she wants to be a vet.” Rhonda beams—a proud mother.
I nod. “A noble profession.” Anybody who helps animals is good.
We step inside the elevator. She pushes the button for the garage, and I hit the one for the lobby.
“You aren’t heading home?” Rhonda says.
“I’m meeting someone.”
“Angelika, maybe? The new intern?”
So she remembers that we came in together. “Yes.”
“She seems like a nice girl.”
“Yes.” Far too nice and innocent. And not wary enough. If she were, she wouldn’t have so readily put herself in my power, especially after having seen me go into Rick Owen’s house.
On the other hand, our interests are aligned at the moment. She hasn’t said it explicitly, but she wants her stepbrother permanently eliminated. It’s understandable. Death is the only real solution to somebody like Roy Wilks.
I walk across the expanse of the lobby and nod at one of the security guards, who returns the nod with a slightly nervous smile. But that man is always on edge. If I hadn’t checked his background, I might think he was an addict.
I go out to the street and head toward the café. About halfway there, the phone in my left pocket buzzes. I glance at the screen, and satisfaction suffuses me like fine vodka.
Courtney Young. I knew you’d come through.
I contemplate a proper reward—or would it be a punishment?—for her part of the deal. Betrayal deserves something painful in return…
But there will be time enough for that later. I drop the phone back into my pocket and step into the café.
“You got an internship at the Pryce Family Foundation?” Eric is screeching, his face so red he looks like he’s about to have a stroke.
I stop to watch the scene. Apparently he heard. Surprising. I thought she’d share the good news the second she came to the café.
“Yeah,” Angelika says, apparently too focused on Eric to notice me.
“You bitch! That’s mine! You stole it from me!”
Stole? Lizochka wouldn’t have hired him after speaking to him for a single minute. And even if she had a catastrophic lapse in judgment and hired him anyway, he wouldn’t last a day with that holier-than-thou attitude.
“I didn’t—”
He steps forward, breathing hard and shoving his face in hers. “You heard me talking about it, and you decided to steal it from me!” He jabs her in the chest with his finger.
I let him do it, mainly to have the security cameras in the café capture his aggression. Not that the cameras are necessary, because the other barista and customers in the café are pulling out their phones.
I turn my face away from the seating area as I move in. Anger flashes in Angelika’s whiskey eyes. “What’s your problem? I didn’t steal anything from you.”
“The fuck you didn’t!” Now there is spit flying from Eric’s mouth.
He starts to jab Angelika in the chest again. I step forward, intercept the finger and twist—hard enough to hurt, but not quite hard enough to break it.
“Ow!” he yelps. “What the fuck, man?”
“No hitting a woman.”
“I didn’t hit her! I was just making a point. Like this!” He uses his other hand and jabs me in the bicep. “That’s not hitting!”
I look down at him. Nobody has taught this man-child a lesson.
“It can still be painful.” I let go of him and jab a finger into his sternum hard enough to send him stumbling back, his eyes widening with pain. Given his skinny arms and legs, the boy has very little physical strength. Just a loud mouth and a propensity toward aggression against women, who are bound to be smaller and weaker than he is. I doubt he’s ever picked a fight with a worthy opponent.
“What the hell, man? I didn’t do it that hard,” he says, rubbing his chest and wincing.
I smile at him. “Neither did I.”
He glares at me, but the fear is there, flickering in his gaze. He might be a moron, but his survival instincts are intact. It’s just pride that’s preventing him from backing down.
“You!” He points at Angelika, since she’s the most obvious target for his ire. Maybe he doesn’t understand taking it out on a weaker person just makes him look pathetic. “You’re fired!”
“You can’t fire me. You’re not the manager!” she shoots back.
I’m content to watch so long as Eric’s not resorting to physical violence. The little fawn can handle this loser.