"Well, I suppose..."
In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. "Also I want to cut my hours in half."
"What did you say?"
"I want to try a twenty hour work week. I'll still work the same number of days if you want, just fewer hours. Starting with the New Year. Yeah, in January, I think." At the start of winter quarter, but she didn't say that. "If that's not acceptable or it goes against SpeedeeGo policy then I understand if you need to let me go." Injecting her voice with that note of firmness felt really good. Of course, she was bluffing. Cecelia could fire her for all of this, she knew that. And she did need this job.
On second thought, maybe she wasn’t bluffing. If she lost the job, she’d survive somehow. She was a survivor. She knew that much about herself. Sure, things might be challenging for a while, but with or without this job, she'd keep fighting as long as she had breath in her.
"Let you go? No, of course not, you're my star worker—but we have to discuss—"
"Oops, look at the time, gotta go, Cece. We'll hash out all the details another time. Rightyo, bye!"
For several minutes after hanging up on her boss, Lia did nothing but absently stare into space. Finally she tossed the phone to the couch and rose to her feet, her palms rubbing together, creating heat.
She'd done it.
Burned all the bridges.
This was it. There was no going back. She was climbing out of this depressing ditch now whether she liked it or not.
Pretty sure I like it...
She was looking around for her umbrella with a vague idea of going full-blown Mary Poppins on the living room floor when the backlash hit her.
Shit. She'd just impulsively laid down the law to a bunch of people who'd been taking advantage of her for ages—without a thought as to how the practicalities would work. She may have just screwed herself royally, messed things up for herself. Be real here. How could anything that felt so right be other than flat-out wrong?
Maybe it felt right because it was right. Maybe this was a long time coming. Maybe you were stagnating and it's time to start your life.
In any case...it was done. Opening up some free time was the first step. Working out the logistics was the next.
The important thing was she'd taken back her life.
Right.
Yes.
Now there was just one more call she really should make...
She started to tap March Ulrich's name—he was listed under Pricklord—and then hesitated, gazing around.
The ground level apartment wasn't half as big as the other units in the building, but it was nice and convenient. Giving up her building manager job would mean giving up free rent. Besides, there was that three-months notice to work out.
Forget it. Sir Dickside would need to be a fixture in her life for a little while longer at least.
Meantime, it was settled. She was doing it. Starting college the next opening there was.
"Now, Lia. Now it's a happy birthday."
And she laughed with true happiness for the first time since Max had died.
CHAPTER 3
IT WAS ALL WELL AND GOOD to go all kick-ass on phone contacts who hadn’t seen her coming, but when the surge of adrenaline faded, she was back where she started. Freezing and hungry. And all out of peanut butter.
She opened the fridge a crack to find...a block of calcified cheese, some wilted celery and three bottles of almost-gone tartar sauce with gross stuff caked on the rims. And...ew. What had promised to be a package of hot dogs in the meat drawer turned out to be a slimy old bag of baby carrots.
Church bells rang from outside, reminding her it was Sunday and she'd be hard pressed to find food by venturing out. Maybe there was some half-melted ice cream in the freezer...that was practically as good as cake...
Nope. No ice cream. Just a slushy blue ice pack for sprains. Grrr.
You have a master key. You could slip into a tenant’s apartment and raid the pantry. You could even raid March Ulrich’s. You left all that good food in that massive freezer. He’d hardly notice.
Sure, she’d do it if it was the apocalypse. But this was just hunger. So no, not the time to become a burglar. Too bad. She'd have gotten a lot of satisfaction from stealing his ice cream.
The phone chimed with the theme she'd chosen for her landlord, the crashing opening notes to Midnight Oil's "Beds Are Burning." March Ulrich's voice came low and smooth over the wireless connection, warming her with its deliciousness.
"Did everyone get out of there? The temperature’s supposed to go down to minus six tonight."
"Hi, uh..." She never knew what to call him. Mr. Ulrich seemed ridiculous. She used Sir a lot, facetiously. And March seemed way too personal. Usually she didn’t call him anything. "Yeah. They're all out." As he should know, since she’d emailed him the list of people who needed accommodations. "Everything is cleaned, ready, and locked up. Mister...sir."
There was a long pause. So long that she wondered if he'd hung up. Then:
"Where are you?"
"I told you I'd be staying at a friend's." She cringed a little. Lying to him before she knew what the situation would be was one thing. But the fact that she was currently letting him assume she'd cleared herself out of her apartment made her feel guilty, just a bit.
"Why does your voice sound like that?"
"My voice? What do you mean?"
"You sound hoarse, like you're sick."
"I'm not sick. I don't get sick." She didn't want him focusing on her, not when she was uncomfortable with her...exaggeration. "Where are you calling from? Your place in Skyview?" March had inherited his grandmother's estate in the upscale New Highland suburb, but hardly seemed to spend any time there, or at his previous home in a trendier suburb.
"I'm staying at Hotel for now," he said. "It's closer to work."
Lia took a deep breath. What the hell. Maybe his calling was a sign from above. As long as she was on a roll, she might as well make it four out of four. "Um, I wanted to ask you something. Tell you something. Say something. About work."
Crap, why was doing this so much harder with this man?
"Oh?" He managed to draw out the word to several syllables.
"Yes. You see, um, I want a raise."
There was a beat of silence. "Pardon me?"
"A raise. More money. I want to be paid more money for the work I do." The words tumbled out too fast. Then she had to wait for his response. And wait...
Finally he said, "I thought I already increased your wage."
"You did," she acknowledged.
"Wasn’t it enough?"
Sometimes Lia was amazed by how oblivious this man was to the ways of the real world.
"Your grandmother was way out of date with money...sir. She still tipped a quarter. She thought minimum wage was outrageously high." Lia had actually liked that about her; the genteel old lady had been thrifty, a world away from her own spend-happy parents who even now were in debt up to their eyeballs and liked to press Lia to lend them money. "Look, I'm sure you meant well, but a couple dollars over what she paid doesn’t really cut it."
"I see. What about those extra jobs?"
The words were out before she thought twice. "Oh, MOWFOMP."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Uh, more work for minimal pay. That's how I think of it when the tenants call me and...never mind. The extra jobs, right, what about them?"
There was a long, heavy pause. "They were supposed to help you out."
She smothered a snort. "Yeah, they help me out all right, they help me lose sleep."
A loud sigh came from his end. "I see. Tell me, Lia, if you needed more money, why did you refuse all my offers?"
"Offers, what offers?"
"Well, you rejected my offer to cover your utilities."
"What do you—oh, you're talking about the time you tried to push charity on me as a tax write-off."
"I didn’t push charity on you." His voice was tight.
/> "Yes, you did. Frankly, you were pretty rude about it if I recall."
Silence. Then: "How is it rude to try to boost your financial situation? Clearly you needed help. You rejected me every time I tried to increase your work benefits package. You left me no recourse but to supply you with—more—work." He spoke like he was talking to an imbecile.
Lia's mouth got stuck in the open position. You needed help. Boost your financial situation. Increase your work benefits.
Was he for real? She remembered him in her apartment, gazing around at her stuff with contempt, curling his lip, insulting her self-sufficiency by pretend-offering to include utilities in her lease. He was right; she'd rejected him out of hand, assuming he was being facetious.
But then, wait...had she misinterpreted what had happened? Had he really meant the offer sincerely?
Sure, his pity was insulting. The fact that he viewed her as one of the less fortunate made her want to rip him a new one. But if his intentions had been noble...shoot. She didn't want to think of Ulrich as kind-hearted.
"You were just messing with me." She wanted to believe that. "You're messing with me now."
"Go on," he drawled. "Keep trying to convince yourself."
Prick. She swooped down to nab a throw rug from her sofa to huddle inside. "I was fine. I didn't need your help. Just because I don't have fancy shi—things—it doesn't mean I'm in dire straits. I can take care of my own needs."
And that sounded way too dirty, put like that. Not that his mind would ever go there. She was a toolbox on legs as far as he was concerned.
"I'm sorry you were offended," he said stiffly.
"I wasn’t offended, I was just..."
"Shit, do you have to argue with all the things, Lia?"
"I don’t...I mean...okay, I was offended. I may, uh, have misunderstood. About your offer."
"You think?"
She raised her chin. "I'm sorry, all right? As I was saying, the raise. I don’t want any special treatment. I only want to be paid what I earn. Paid what’s fair. The day you wanted all those units cleaned I did thirty hours straight. I’m not going to work at all hours any time you say and be underpaid anymore, Mr. Ulrich. I’m just not. I’m done with that."
"You cleaned for thirty hours...why the hell didn't you say something, Lia?"
And have you mock me the way you always do for complaining? No, sir. Thank you, sir. Aloud, she said, "The thirty hours was for all my jobs, not just cleaning work. It's not a problem, I can do it, it's fine. I just want you to know if you want that kind of service, you're not getting it by paying me peanuts anymore. I'm done with that."
"I see," he said slowly. "You're done."
"Yeah, I'm done letting people walk all over me. I may not work at a fancy desk the way you do, but the work I do is worth more than you pay me and we both know it."
"Ah." A note of sudden understanding entered his voice. Exactly what he thought he understood she had no idea. "All right."
"I’m fully aware that you’re running a business here and I don't expect—hey, what?"
"I said all right. Consider yourself raised. I agree with what you're saying. You're worth more."
"Oh. Oh." She pulled the phone away and stared at it before returning it cautiously to her ear. "Okay. Um, how much more will you be paying me?"
A pause. "Double."
The bells sounding in the distance must have scrambled her brain. "Sorry, it sounded like you said 'double.'"
"That's correct. I'll pay you double." He muttered something under his breath. It sounded like "fucking impossible," but she couldn’t have heard that right. Without another word, he disconnected.
She tucked her phone away slowly. Double. Had the man been drinking? Hopefully when he sobered he'd remember having this conversation. Of course, she wouldn't hold him to literally double, but...
No! Yes, she would! Dammit, what was wrong with her? She worked like a dog at this place, fixing clogged toilets, dealing with all kinds of crapola, from rescuing unconscious tenants to dragging furniture up and down stairs to midnight meal runs. She earned twice her wage, easily. He'd said double and she'd take him at his word.
But geez, what kind of crazy wastrel was this guy? Had she offended him so much that he felt like he had to prove a point?
Oh, well. If he had a guilty conscience, that was his problem. It had to be another sign. Things were falling into place nicely today, thanks to her coming-to-Jesus moment.
Her life was on track at last.
LIA FELT A LOT WARMER ONCE she'd choked down the edible bits of cheese doused in tartar sauce. The food made her sleepy too, and the cold seemed to sap her energy.
She sprawled out on the chilly bed, still bundled up in layers. The heat was still out. Every minute her apartment seemed to get colder and more depressing with only ambient light creeping in from outside. Her fingertips were growing numb inside the snow mittens. She was beginning to suspect she’d made a mistake not taking up Trisha’s offer.
Except wait, Trisha hadn’t exactly offered. She’d caved. Bitterly. And Lia had stood up for herself. Leaving them mortal enemies. So, not a real option.
So it happens to be cold, wimp. Deal. You have plenty of muscle mass to keep that metabolism churning. At least you’re not outside where the wind is blowing.
She was trying to determine how much feeling was left in her toes when a thundering pounding came at the door. She jerked upright and almost toppled off the bed.
How had whoever it was gotten into the building? And who in the world would even be visiting today? Parents? Impossible...
Trisha! An emergency with the girls. They got their hands on Alex's antique crossbow and now she and Alex are locked up in jail and the police want me as a witness.
Shit.
Lia scrambled off the bed, drawing the comforter around her, and dragged it along as she hopped to the front door to peer through the peephole.
But it wasn’t who she expected.
She flung open the door, slammed back by a cold draft and the bizarre sight of March Ulrich, littered with snowflakes, towering over her. "What n-n-now?" she demanded.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he shot back. He was draped in a heavy black wool coat and a deep blue merino wool scarf that she immediately began to forming plans to swipe.
"Uh, trying to sleep?"
He pushed past her, actually bumped into her, heedless of the snow that dripped down and melted onto her carpet. He looked around her apartment, taking it all in. She saw his breath puff out in rapid bursts of steam. Then he looked at her and took her all in, the red cheeks, the comforter, the knit hat covering her short brown curls...
"You told me you'd be with a friend," he accused cuttingly.
"I lied."
"The fuck you did, Lia."
Her eyes widened. "Yes, the f-fuck I did."
His long lashes blinked at her. She'd startled him, she realized with satisfaction.
Yeah, I do know how to swear. Don't like it? Too bad, pretty boy. There's a lot I don't like about you. You'll just have to deal with it.
"How did you even know I was here?" she grilled, going on the attack.
He gestured with his head. "I heard the church bells while we were talking on the phone. And I just had this feeling. It's exactly the kind of thing you would do."
And what was that supposed to mean? He didn't even know her. "Congratulations, Sherlock," she said dourly. "Well, I’m sorry you made the wasted trip."
"Sorry? Sorry? Lia, why aren't you at your friend's house like you said you’d be?"
"Because it's Trisha," she snapped.
March folded his arms and looked up to the ceiling, clearly waiting for the story.
Oh, for heaven’s sake! She blew out a long white cloud of air. "I've been b-babysitting her k-kids in the evenings so she and her husband can save up to buy the house of their dreams. She's a pharmacist but she's m-moonlighting at Emmender's."
"Go on, I’m listening."
/> "It was only supposed to be until she found a paid babysitter. That was last December. A couple weeks ago her husband mentioned she hasn't even interviewed anybody. I thought, okay, whatever, but I didn’t say anything." Lia couldn't believe March was listening so intently, like he was actually interested. She had to admit, it felt good to vent about this. "So then when I asked to st-tay over, she called it begging, like I was some kind of charity case. She just made me feel crappy. So I said no thanks."
It was a full minute before he spoke, seeming to process what she said. And his response when it came was not what she expected. "You didn't tell her she was full of shit?"
Full of shit? Really?
Unexpectedly, something warm unfurled in her belly. "No. I wimped out. I used to do that, wimp out like that. But like I said, I'm changing all that." She didn't like the way he was looking at her—like she was a millipede under a magnifying glass. "Now I’ve answered your questions, can you please let me get back to what I was doing?"
He ignored her. "Let me get this straight. For a year now you've been taking care of this woman's children for free while working your other jobs, trying to scrape together enough money to live by."
"I have enough money to live. It’s just that I’m trying to save up."
He nodded as if satisfied, but then he asked, "For?"
"For stuff." When he didn’t stop looking at her expectantly, she said to hell with it. She was freezing and tired and why not tell him? "For my education."
His arched brows drew together. "I didn't know you were a student."
"I'm not, yet. I've got my high school diploma. But I need a bachelor's so I can go for my DPT."
"DPT? What's that?"
"Doctor of Physical Therapy. I intend to graduate from MCU but I'll get an associates degree at community college first, then transfer over—it's cheaper to do it that way. It's taking me a while to save up." She jutted out her chin. "But I do have enough to live on. I have plenty. I'm fine. I just need to cover the tuition. That's why I asked for the raise. And no, in case you’re wondering," she said fiercely. "I'm not taking out student loans. I’m never going into debt. I don't want to owe anyone anything, ever, ever, for anything. Ever."
Jerk Boss: A New Highland Romance Page 3
