by Abby Niles
In less than ten minutes, she’d lost both sources of income. Had no way to pay for rent, food…her daughter’s medicine.
That last thought knocked the tears back. No more crying. Faith needed her. Noah needed her. She was all those kids had and she refused to allow this to break her.
Like all the other times, she had to stay strong and find a way to get through it.
And she would.
Somehow she was going to have to get her job back at Sutherlands.
CHAPTER FOUR
Madison gripped the steering wheel tighter as she stared at the large reflective glass building that housed Sutherland Investments. Anger and anxiety churned in her stomach.
How had she ended up here?
Twelve hours ago, everything had been fine. Okay, maybe not fine, but at least normal. Her kind of normal. Now she was jobless.
But, hopefully, not for much longer.
She was getting her day job back. Even if it meant groveling to the asshole who’d questioned her self-respect. In the end, what he thought didn’t matter. The two mouths she needed to feed did.
With that reminder, she pushed open the door to her eighteen-year-old white Oldsmobile Intrigue and stepped out into the parking lot. A brand new black Porsche sat a few feet away.
Sutherland’s.
The only reason she knew it was his was because of where it was parked. His designated parking place. The car changed every few weeks. He liked the sports variety. Porsche, Lamborghini, Ferrari, she even saw a Bentley once. Too flashy for her taste. She’d settle for a car that was actually inside this millennium.
She straightened her black pencil skirt and adjusted her emerald blouse then straightened her shoulders. Confidence was important. Yes, she’d told this man, “fuck you,” last night, and as far as she was concerned, he’d deserved it, but pride didn’t pay the bills.
Once she made it to the third floor, swiped her security card and entered the office, nerves suddenly gripped her. Her already frazzled stomach started churning again and the tips of her fingers started to tingle. Madison backed into an unoccupied cubicle, bent over and took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.
Wow. This was going to take bigger balls than she’d imagined. Not that she expected it to be easy. The man had insulted her to her face. And she was about to all but plead with him to allow her to keep her job. But still, her reasoning alone should give her strength.
Her two babies.
You’re all those two kids have. If you don’t fight for them, no one else will.
With one more calming inhale, she exited the cubicle, head held high, walked straight down the hall and into Mr. Sutherland’s office.
“Miss Walker,” he greeted from behind his desk, all regal-like in his tailor-made gray suit. He swept his hand toward the twin leather chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”
Like he’d been expecting her. That kind of threw her off her game. She was supposed to waltz in here, give her speech and that be that. Now he had the upper hand. She didn’t like it.
“I owe you an apology,” he said without preamble.
Madison blinked, her mind taking a second to process his unexpected words. What an interesting turn of events. She was pretty certain that an apology from this man was a rare occurrence and she wasn’t sure where this was headed. She sat, crossed her legs and folded her fingers on top of her knee.
“Go on,” she encouraged. She wasn’t saying a word until she’d heard more. She wouldn’t show her hand too soon.
Mr. Sutherland tugged at his tie. Apologizing and admitting he’d been in the wrong had to be eating him up inside. After the way he’d spoken to her last night, it was nice to see him squirm a little.
“I was out of line last night…what I said was out of line.” He shifted in his seat, then leaned forward until his elbows rested on the desk. “I want to make it up to you.”
For the second time in less than a minute, she was having to take a moment to digest his words. Mr. Sutherland was full of surprises this morning. “How?”
“I want you to stay on as my secretary.”
It wasn’t like she was a highly skilled employee, so she asked, “Why?”
“Because you make a mean cup of coffee,” he answered with a strained smile.
His attempt at humor felt flat to her and she stared at him with furrowed brows. He cleared his throat and tugged on his tie again. “Things escalated quickly last night and that was my fault. I never should’ve issued an ultimatum right there at your other…place of employment. Yes, there is currently a conflict with you working at the club and here, but that should’ve been something we addressed privately.”
“So you’re saying I can keep this job and still strip?”
His jaw clenched. “No. To work here, you’ll still have to stop—” he paused for a very noticeable moment—“dancing.”
The fact he couldn’t even say the word “strip” got under her skin. Not to mention the sarcastic undertones he’d added to the word “dancing”. There was nothing wrong with exotic dancing as an occupation. That foul word he couldn’t seem to utter had kept a roof over her and her kids’ heads, fed them, clothed them. The ladies had pitched in to help her when her louse of an ex had left in the middle of the night. Adam had been the closest thing to a father figure she’d ever had in her life.
How dare this man judge her.
Cocking her head to the side, she asked in a sugary sweet voice that belied the anger starting to simmer below the surface, “So how exactly are you making anything up to me, Mr. Sutherland? From my standpoint, I’m still losing a steady paycheck.”
She needed to shut her mouth. Staying employed by him had been her goal, and she had it. But, damn it, he was pissing her off again with his holier-than-thou attitude about her other occupation.
“I plan to up your pay to cover the loss of the other job. A couple hundred dollars extra a week should do, maybe give you a little extra to pad your pockets.”
She was speechless. The way he said that—like he was doing her a favor—was like a slap to the face. He wasn’t doing her any favors. He was the reason she was in this situation in the first place. She hadn’t signed a contract to work here. There was no ethics policy that stated, ‘Thou shalt not strip’. She made twelve dollars an hour to be a glorified barista to this pretentious jackass.
“An extra two hundred dollars a week,” she muttered. “I guess I’ll have to accept that since I don’t have a choice.”
Confusion crossed his face. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t come in here this morning to gather my stuff from quitting, Mr. Sutherland. I came in here to ask for my job back, because your scene last night cost me my job at the club. My boss fired me as soon as you left. Said you’d been pestering him about selling the place. He was worried I was in on it.”
She wasn’t sure what had hurt worse. Adam firing her or him believing she’d ever betray him like that.
“That’s fantastic news!” He clapped his hands once. “There’s no longer a conflict of interest. Everything worked out for the best.”
One day she would make this man pay. “For you,” she said between clenched teeth.
She was trying desperately to rein in her anger. But the happier he acted the angrier she was getting. He had no idea how much his actions last night had made her life harder. No idea that the extra money he was giving her wouldn’t make a dent in the income she was losing. That she was still going to have to find another part-time job as quickly as she could, but she had no idea what kind of part-time job she was going to find that would bring in the amount of money she made at the club.
“I don’t see what the issue is,” he said, frowning as he lowered his hands. “I did cause you problems last night so I’ll give you the pay raise. You should be thankful. This will free up a lot of time for you.”
She laughed. A hollow, dead sound. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Do you understand that I made a lot more money stri
pping than I do here?”
This time he blinked. “I…uh—”
“Yeah, that’s right. I make more taking off my clothes than I do typing out your letters. In fact, I took this job to supplement my income, not the other way around. I wouldn’t have chosen this job over stripping. In fact, I didn’t. I quit. But, because of you, I’ve lost a majority of my monthly income and I’m in here having to listen to you tell me I should be thankful for freeing up my time.”
His eyes narrowed. “Good Lord, woman, how much money do you really need?”
“Wow,” she scoffed, shocked. “That’s rich coming from you. You don’t have a goddamn clue what it’s like to actually struggle, do you, Mr. Sutherland? You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth.”
“Are you calling me spoiled?” A vein in his forehead started to pulse. So she’d struck a nerve. Good. Because he’d been striking one with her since she’d started this damn job.
“You’re worse than spoiled. You’re entitled. You wouldn’t last a day on a budget.”
“Really?” He lifted a condescending eyebrow. “What are you? In your mid-twenties? What kind of budget do you really have, Miss Walker? Putting enough aside for your bar tab? Cover charges? Concerts? Girl weekends? Whatever wild oats you’re sowing right now?”
At the unintentional insult, she lifted her chin in the air. She refused to let the remark get to her. He didn’t know anything about her life. At her age, what he’d described was exactly what she should be doing. But that wasn’t the life she’d been given. And though she’d wished things could be different, she wouldn’t change how it’d played out because she wouldn’t have her kids. No matter how tired or how broke she was, they were her everything.
“You think life’s that simple? This coming from a man who has an endless supply of money. Who’s never had to worry about running out? Never worries about rent, or gas, or groceries, or hell, college tuition. You’ve had everything handed to you.”
If the man’s face got any redder his head might actually explode. She shouldn’t be getting so much enjoyment out of his reaction, but she was. After everything he’d said to her, after every little superior dig, to finally get under his skin was a huge sense of victory and she was relishing every damn second of it.
He shoved back his chair and rose. Placing both hands flat on the desk, he leaned forward, his nostrils flaring. “Put me on a budget, then, Miss Walker. I’ll prove you wrong. I’ve about had it with you judging me.”
“Yeah? Same here, buddy.”
Her comment seemed to hit home because the tension and anger eased from his frame and he sat back down. They stared at each other, neither breaking eye contact. She could almost hear the old western stand-off music play in the background.
“You’re serious then?” she asked.
“I’m dead serious. You set the rules of the challenge.” He paused, clearing his throat as he tugged on his tie. “Consider it my apology for costing you a well-paying job.”
It took her a second to catch up to what he was saying. “Anything goes?”
“Anything goes. Have the arrangement to me within the hour.” He looked at his computer, clicked on his mouse. “Now get back to work.”
She didn’t have to be told twice. She hurried out to her cubicle then sat and stared at the dark screen on her computer.
What the hell had just happened?
In all honesty, she should be jobless right now. But she’d seen Mr. Sutherland’s entire demeanor change when she’d insinuated that he’d been judging her too. Now not only had she been able to keep her job, but she was going to put the arrogant ass on tight budget. She smiled, reaching for the phone.
She knew exactly who could help her out.
The phone rang three times before her neighbor answered with, “What’s up, Maddy?”
“Would you be willing to loan your place out while you’re away so I can prove a point?”
“I’m intrigued. What point are you trying to make?”
Madison quickly filled Racheal in on the challenge her boss had agreed to and her friend’s responding cackle made a grin stretch her lips. “Oh. Maddy, that’s awesome. I just wish I was going to be here to watch it.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Yes!”
“Thank you, Racheal.”
“No problem. Just promise you’re really going to make him suffer.”
“Don’t worry. I plant to make Jaxon Sutherland the poorest he’s been in his entire life.”
***
What the fuck had he done?
Jaxon jiggled the key in the lock. When it failed to turn for the fifth time, he grabbed the knob and shook. How old were these doors? His condo had an electric lock. All he had to do was press his fingers to the pad then key in a code.
He shoved his shoulder into the door and it finally popped open. He stepped inside the apartment. The living space couldn’t have been more than nine-hundred square feet. The kitchen was only big enough to fit two people comfortably and was separated from the dining and living room by a half-wall.
An old wood table sat in front of the half-wall so he assumed it was supposed to be the dining area. The rest was the living room, which was filled with beat-up, mismatched, second-hand furniture that even in its better days had been lower quality. A flat screen television hung on the wall, but it was one of those knock-off brands that sells for cheap.
Off to the right of the living room were three doors. One led to a sparse bedroom with nothing more than a bed with two end tables and lamps. A picture frame on the end table showed a photo of a man, woman and two kids. The other door led to another bedroom that had two twin beds. One bed was covered with a fairy blanket while the other had Toy Story characters. A mixture of dolls, teacups, dinosaurs and cars littered the floor.
He stepped back and opened the third door. A bathroom. A very tiny bathroom with barely enough room to turn around in. Jesus. He sighed and rubbed his forehead.
Four people lived in this cramped apartment. Unbelievable. His living room was the size of the entire place. Had he ever stayed in a place this small? The closest he could think of was the villa on a small island off the coast of France.
He’d make it work. It was only for a week. He could live anywhere for a week.
Yesterday, Miss Walker had made good on her word. Within an hour she’d been back with a key and an address. She said she knew someone who was going to be out of town for a week and talked to her about him living at her place.
At first he’d balked at the idea of staying in a stranger’s home, but she’d gotten this satisfied gleam in her eyes that had screamed she’d known he’d try to back out so he’d shut his mouth. He’d stay in a fucking tent before he gave her the satisfaction of thinking she’d bested him.
So the challenge was: Starting today, he’d stay here for one week. Since rent, utilities, cable and Internet were paid for, he was given fifty dollars for the rest of the week. He was to buy his own food, gas and any extras he might need.
He wouldn’t lie. He’d recoiled at the fifty dollar bit. One plate of dinner usually topped that or more. Now he was having a hard time coming up with ideas on what he’d eat over the next seven days. He never ate at home. His kitchen was mostly stocked with post-workout supplements. On a fifty-dollar budget, he sure as fuck wasn’t going to be spending any of it on that, and one of the stipulations of the challenge was he couldn’t bring any “extras” with him.
Including wine. And right now, he could sure use a drink.
The only thing Miss Walker had said didn’t count as “extras” was medication, including, but not limited to, over-the-counter or doctor prescribed. He wasn’t on any, but he found it odd that she thought to exclude those things from the challenge. It certainly wouldn’t have been something he would’ve thought of.
He glanced around the small space. Now what?
Jaxon blew out a breath. Damn, it was quiet. He walked the few steps into the living room, picked up t
he remote, and turned on the television. Two minutes later, he turned it off. He wasn’t a stay-in and watch TV sort of person. He was a go-out and do shit sort of guy. But the “do shit” life cost money. Lots of it.
He paced the apartment. As the minutes passed, his tension grew. He’d gone to the gym first thing this morning before he’d gone home, showered, packed a bag and drove over here.
It was the weekend. He’d be out doing…something. Flying off somewhere. Going to a party. An opening. Anywhere. The world was his playground.
Not this week.
He had fifty dollars.
Groaning, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Goddamn it. He was five minutes into this stupid challenge and he was already being a bitch about it. He was not entitled. He could enjoy the simpler things in life and by God he would prove it.
She wanted to get all up on her high horse about him never having to struggle.
She was right. He hadn’t. He’d been born into wealth. That wasn’t his fault.
And it didn’t make him a bad person. He wouldn’t have his character called into question just because she hadn’t heard him say a goddamn thank you and because he liked expensive things.
Fuck that.
He stormed to the door, snatched it open, and almost stumbled right over a little boy wearing a Superman cape and swim trunks.
The blonde-haired child, who couldn’t be older than four, pointed at him with huge, frightened blue-gray eyes and yelled, “Shit!”
“Noah Walker!” A familiar feminine voice sounded from inside the apartment across the hall. “What have I told you? That’s an adult word!”
“Momma!” the little boy screamed, before he turned tail and raced back into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. The lock bolted into place a second later.
Jaxon stared at the space the child had been a moment before, stunned. For a few reasons. There was no doubt in his mind that the voice he’d heard coming from inside that apartment had belonged to his secretary. She’d left out the fact that she lived in this complex, much less, that she lived right across the hall. Probably because she didn’t believe he’d actually go through with it.
