Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
"Maybe you'd be interested in a different job," he says, his eyes sweeping down the front of me, and it makes my skin crawl.
I cross my arms over my chest as I stand a little taller. He has a lot of nerve right now, and I hate that he doesn't even pause in his suggestion. He doesn't falter or take a moment to consider maybe he should stop while he's ahead.
"A different job? One that I'd need to interview for like Teena did the other night?"
I hate that he's pushed me to the point of even mentioning it because I didn't ever want to have a conversation like this with him. I just wanted to skip town and keep to myself.
His chuckle scratches at me like a thorny bush, annoying and angering me further.
"My clientele isn't exactly into middle-aged women," he says in such a matter-of-fact way that I can't help but be offended.
I knew there was something other than just running the bar going on, but knowing he's probably some sort of pimp just solidifies my need to get out of this damn town.
"I want you to leave," I say, exhaustion from the last several days sinking inside of me.
"Where do you plan to go?" he asks as he stands rather than arguing about my request.
"Back to Kentucky," I lie because it's what he expects. I imagine everyone would expect me to go crawling back home to familiar territory.
He shakes his head as he walks toward the front door. "Unblock my number, and the job offer at the bar still stands if you ever need it."
For some reason Tommy makes my skin crawl more than Hemlock ever did, even after finding out he's been lying to me the entire time.
Of course, my first instinct is to drive back to the cabin and ask for help, but I need to be done with doing that. I have to be independent. I have to do things on my own and understand that although I may fail during many attempts to get my shit together, I need to keep on trying until I get it right, and I know for absolute certainty that running to a man for help isn't the right way to go.
Chapter 29
Hemlock
The show must go on.
That's the saying, right?
It doesn't matter that I probably opened up several of the stitches in my side on the bike ride to the bar. It doesn't matter if Zara will walk her gorgeous ass out of the back and start working.
My history, her history, our history... none of it matters. I need to figure out what the fuck is going on in this bar so I can move on to the next assignment. That's the goal. Keep moving.
Yet, Zara isn't here, and in the several hours that I've been sitting in the corner, she hasn't shown her pretty face.
No one is sitting around gossiping about her. Jersey is at the bar and although he tried to glare a hole through me when I first arrived and ordered a beer, he hasn't said her name either.
The elderly lady shuffles around, filling orders, and staying busy doing other tasks when no one needs her, but Zara is missing.
Maybe it's better this way. It has to be this way. Part of me is glad she isn't here, but that part of me, the one deep inside that keeps telling me that I need her that she's as vital as air for me keeps whispering. It tells me that I need to find her, that something could be wrong.
I've ignored it as best as I can and counted it a win that I came straight to the bar instead of driving past her house, but it doesn't feel like I've achieved anything at all.
I pull in a deep breath as I lift the beer bottle to my lips and pretend to take a drink. The damn thing was well past drinkable an hour ago, but no one's paying enough attention to me for it to matter.
I shouldn't be distracted. The job is what I should be focused on, but as the night drags on without Zara showing up, the more distracted I get. No matter what I have on repeat in my head about getting this job done and moving on to the next one, it's her face I see every time I blink.
When the door opens, I lock my eyes there, only instead of it being Zara walking inside, it's the woman she escorted back for a job interview with Wilkinson the other night. Instead of staring at her, I watch the replay of a football game on the TV hanging on the wall and keep her in my periphery.
She approaches the bar, ordering a drink before taking a seat on the very same stool she sat on the other night.