Famke Noor was doing her damnedest to keep her cool with her boss, but the man was practically an expert at pissing off women. She stared him down, folding her arms over her chest.
"I'm asking again, just to be clear. You want to cut my hours because you think, as a woman, I need more time to get out there and find a man?"
He rubbed his yellow, cigarette-stained fingers across his chest after shoving the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. "Yeah. I think a beautiful woman like you needs to get a man. You work too much. Men like a woman who is available. Robbie needs more hours, so it's a win-win."
"There's no need to get huffy, missy."
"Famke. My name is Famke. Not missy, babe, sweetheart, sugar cheeks, or any of the other bullshit names you spout. Famke." She threw the schedule back on his desk. "Now, fix it."
"No can do. Robbie needs the hours."
"Then I quit."
He paled at her words. "Look, there's no need to get bent out of shape. I can give you twenty hours."
"Those twenty hours won't pay my rent, Jack. I'm out."
"You have the other job. Robbie only has one."
"See, Jack, when you have two shitty jobs for minimum wage, one pays rent and the other pays utilities and groceries. However, minimum wage jobs are a dime a dozen. I can go find another one and be working within an hour. When you're not fussy about the work and have a flexible schedule, most employers will hire you on the spot."
She walked out of the office. Behind her, she heard the screech of metal chair legs sliding across the floor as he chased after her.
"Famke, you can't quit. You need to give me notice."
"You can't ignore labor laws and expect me to pander to your desire for notice," she shot back. She walked behind the counter and grabbed her purse. "I'll be by on Friday to collect my earnings." She smiled benignly at the customer waiting at the counter and nodded. "The owner will be right over to help you out."
"Thanks."
The man's voice was a rich, dark tone that made her think of drinking expensive black coffee on a Sunday morning while lazing in bed. She'd done that once. It had been a good day.
"Can someone please take my payment for the gas?" the man asked, looking at Jack with his lips curled back in disgust.
She spun to face him, her fury spilling over. "Four years. I have worked for you for four years. I've never taken a sick day, a vacation day, or been late once. I've never had a raise, and I've never asked for anything other than to be allowed to work. And you repay my solid work ethic by cutting my hours in half because a boy asked for more time?"
"I was doing you a favor!" he argued.
"Telling me I need to work less so I can find a man to take care of me is not a favor, you toad," she growled. She pushed past him. "Also, I might only have my grade twelve, but you have used me like a manager. I do your bank deposits, inventory, and cash floats, but you still only pay me minimum wage. You made me train the little pissant you gave my hours to, and you had me cover his shifts when he no-showed. Twice!" She held up two fingers. "You don't deserve me. I can work for the same salary at a fast-food restaurant for less hassle. Good luck figuring out your cash system."
"Miss?" the customer interrupted. "A friend of mine owns a coffee shop not three blocks from here. If you take my payment, I'll personally take you to him and introduce you. He told me he's desperate for staff. He had one girl leave to go to school out of state and another went into labor last night. I just left him, but I'll be happy to go back. I really do want to pay for my gas, though, as I have a long drive back home and I don't have cash on me."
She flicked her eyes back and forth between Jack and the man, then groaned. It wasn't in her nature to walk away from a person in need. She stalked around the counter, took his credit card, and swiped it to pay for the gas. She nodded. "Thanks. I'd appreciate the reference. Where is the shop?"
"I know it. It's walking distance from my apartment, but I've never been in there. I can walk down there now. If you could call him and let him know Famke will come in to chat with him, I'd appreciate it."
"I'll give you a lift. I promise I'm not a creep. I owe him a huge favor from a few months back, and if I bring you in—someone who clearly wants to work—it will settle my score."
"One of those faces, perhaps?"
"Yeah, I guess." She sighed. "Fine. But if I end up on the six o'clock news, this place has CCTV, and my brother will not rest until the cops arrest you in your fancy car."
He laughed at her comment as she rounded the counter again to leave. She liked his laugh. It came right from his belly and wrapped around her warmly. If he were a local, she might have flirted a bit.
Jack was bug-eyed at the exchange. "You can't leave!"
"Watch me."
"I'll raise your wages ten cents an hour."
She giggled at his words, feeling the stress of dealing with Jack melting away. "And you work on Wall Street, Mr. Fancy Car?"
He chuckled at her words. "My name is Royal. And yes, I work on Wall Street. I run an investment firm."
"Ah, fancy name, car, and job. Should I bow, Royal?"
"My mother decided she was going to name her children in a way which would drive them to success."
"She likes to think so. My father would tell you it's the foot he kept planted firmly up my ass which made me the man I am today."
She laughed loudly at his comment. "I bet there's more truth to his statement than hers."
"I like to think I did it on my own with hard work and loads of sleepless nights, but who am I to deny my parents?"
"Do you have family, Famke?"
"A brother." She shrugged. "He's younger than me. He's a senior in high school. He's going to graduate in June."
"No other family? Kids?"
"God, no." She shook her head and pushed the guilt down. "I work two jobs to make sure my kid brother has food to feed his teenage body. I'm not equipped to have a child of my own." She looked at him. "You?"
An uncomfortable silence followed, and she felt strangely like he was angry at her. Famke reminded herself that getting into cars with strange men was probably not her best decision as she pressed herself against the door.