sorry, Rachel,” she said. “I can’t arrange everyone else’s schedule to suit yours.”
“This is the first time I’ve been more than a few minutes late.”
The woman eyed her upper body as though her jacket didn’t cover enough of her shape. “Late is late.”
She’d often eyed her like that. Rachel let the spitfire that lower-class living had set free in her take over.
“You’ve never liked me,” she said, a revelation. Why hadn’t she seen it before?
The woman’s eyes flitted all over Rachel now, down her trim body and back up to her blemish-free face. “Liking you has nothing to do with why I’m firing you today.”
“You’ve looked for ways to fire me. One or two minutes late isn’t late. You censure the way I talk to customers.”
The woman stiffened, telltale offense. “Flirting isn’t professional.”
“I never flirt here.” The woman invented things!
“I did you a favor by hiring you. It isn’t my fault you turned out to be a disappointment.” She reached over to the counter and picked up an envelope. “This is your last paycheck.”
Rachel took the money. The envelope, its feel in her hand and the knowledge of what it contained, nearly did her in. No more checks would follow. Her will spared her from crumbling. Slowly, she looked up.
“Thank you,” Rachel said. “This is best for both of us.”
The woman’s lower jaw fell slack, and misunderstanding twitched above her nose. She expected another reaction. Would seeing Rachel hurt satisfy her, a woman driven by jealousy?
“I can do better than this.” With that, Rachel pivoted and walked toward the exit.
“If you’re thinking about filing a complaint, you should know I’ve documented everything,” the woman called after her.
File a complaint. As if she’d wasted her time on that negativity. Rachel didn’t turn or respond, just left the store. A man in a nice suit stood at a sunglasses kiosk. He didn’t look her way as she passed.
Rachel checked her phone. Her boyfriend still hadn’t texted her. She’d tried to get ahold of him all day, but he hadn’t responded. Someone to talk to right now would be nice.
She saw a woman dressed to the nines, carrying four bags and looking into the window of a jewelry store as she passed. Did she have a husband taking care of her, or had she made her own way in this vicious world? Rachel slowed her pace and watched her come to a clothing store and go inside, her face peaceful and tastefully made up, giant rock on her ring finger sparkling under the store lights. Rich husband. Pampered woman. But happy.
Rachel loved seeing people this way, comfortable in their environment, the world they created with decisions. The beautiful, sophisticated woman didn’t give off any airs. She had money, her man’s money. Rachel imagined her man treated her as though his money belonged to her just as much as it belonged to him. Equals.
Why did life have to be such a struggle for some people and so seemingly easy for others? Rachel wanted that. Just once, she’d like to know what it felt like to be that woman, the willowy one with shopping bags, admiring a sparkly dress as though contemplating an upcoming party, no worries in the world.
All her life, nothing had ever come easy for Rachel. Granted, she’d gotten herself into trouble as a teenager, but that girl had grown up. Finally. Now that she wanted a good, honest life, life seemed to oppose her every effort. What was she doing wrong? She tried so hard and never got ahead. The constant battle had become routine. She’d gotten fired today, and it had barely fazed her. Routine.
Leaving the mall, she didn’t feel like going home. Somehow, getting fired deserved some kind of memento. Rachel adjusted her backpack as she crossed the street, glancing back to see the man in the suit had left after her. Was he crossing the street, too?
As she walked down the sidewalk, she began to get an uneasy feeling. Nothing like this had happened in years, not since the disastrous affair she’d had with that executive. He’d contacted her last week, trying to reconcile. After all this time, why? His call frightened her. She’d gently refused his invitation to dinner. Had that started up trouble again?
O’Shuck’s was a few blocks from here. She covertly looked back. The man in the suit still trailed behind her. He seemed to catch her notice of him but didn’t stop following her. She didn’t recognize him, but he was far enough away not to be sure. Would Jared stalk her?
Alarm kicked up the knock of her pulse. She walked another block and looked back. Still there. He was following her.
Rachel walked faster. O’Shuck’s was just up the street now. She could see the lights. Almost at a jog by the time she reached the door, she checked the sidewalk. The man walked toward her, looking right at her.
Rachel entered the pub and breathed her relief. What was she going to do now? What if the threats started again? She wasn’t sure if it had been Jared who’d threatened her the last time, and she didn’t recognize the man following her now.
Trying to appear calm, Rachel walked toward the bar. O’Shuck’s drew a nice working-class crowd and boasted Haggis and Irish coffee. She came for the short walk to her apartment, the company and the atmosphere, which was much better than her apartment. Anything was better than that.
Dropping her backpack and putting her cell phone on the bar, she took a seat and waited for Hans to see her. Glancing back toward the door, she didn’t see the man in the suit.
“Hey, Rachel.” Hans had a deep-creased grin for her and a sparkle in his Viking blue eyes. He stepped over to her. “The usual?”
“Make it a vanilla latte.”
“Coming right up. Special occasion?”
“I was fired.”
Hans winced and then said, “Ooh. That is rough. That old bitty come up with a reason?”
“The bus broke down and I was thirty minutes late.” She looked back again and saw the man in the suit standing just inside the door, looking right at her. What the...
He was tall and well built and now that she saw him close-up, blond with a buzz cut and a handsome face. Definitely not Jared Palmer. But had he been the man who’d threatened her before?
Hans put the drink before her. “Sorry, Rachel. You’re good peeps. You don’t deserve that.”
The stranger began to approach.
“That man followed me from the mall,” she said.
Hans looked to the man. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Sir,” Hans said to the man as he stopped next to her chair. “The lady says you followed her. Do I need to call the police?”
Hans to the rescue. She felt safe...for now. But what about when she went home?
“You’re
