Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Hailey isn’t a lover of major confrontation, and this whole thing with our landlord is becoming messier by the second. She leans closer to me. “We don’t have to work here. There’s still that job opening at the bookstore.”
We vetoed that job when only one position became available. We want to work together, and maybe it’s asking too much to have the perfect job and be able to work with my best friend. If I have to sacrifice one over the other, I’m ditching perfection.
“No, we can do this,” I tell her.
She stares harder at me. “You sure?”
“Positive.” With my finger, I draw an X over my heart, promising her.
Hailey tries to relax.
Jake’s voice pitches louder. “Seriously? Fine.” He growls, “I said fine, Trent. I’ll handle it.” He hangs up the call and turns around.
“Talking with the devil?” I joke. “There’s a magazine for that.”
He’s confused.
I flush. “Because the song . . . ‘Highway to Hell’ . . . and a history magazine—you know what, never mind.” Fuck my new life.
“Is everything okay?” Hailey asks him.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” he says more gently this time, pocketing his phone. “Let’s just get on with this so you both can start your shifts.” He treks down the long corridor with zero pause. Hailey and I nearly jog to keep his lengthy pace. “There are five dining rooms at the club, including the patio dining. Katherine will email the shift schedule at the start of the week, but things change hour by hour. Guests choose where they’d like to dine, and if extra hands are needed in another area, you’ll be shifted there.”
He barely slows at a set of double doors. “Guest locker rooms, library, and anywhere that isn’t a dining room is off-limits. Sometimes we need more servers at the pool and for snack service; again, you fill in where needed. Banquets and events are frequent, and as full-time staff, you’ll be expected to work those.”
He pushes open the doors. Circular tables, burgundy leather chairs, and glitzy chandeliers fashion this elegant, warm atmosphere. Light streams through the tall windows, so it can’t be a smoking parlor. It’s likely the main dining room.
“This is the main dining hall,” he announces.
I smile. Okay, my deduction skills aren’t too rusty yet.
“Anything you hear in VCC stays here. These guests pay for privacy, and they do pay a lot of money. Which reminds me . . .” He turns to me. “Don’t expect tips. We’re a no-tipping club since it’s rolled into the dues.”
No tips.
We were banking on tips to afford rent.
And why did he look at me when he said that? Do I appear desperate for cash? Is it because I almost flashed him at the loft? Most people I can read somewhat well, but he’s more like fogged glass. I hate that.
He flags down a petite girl around our age. With inky black hair in a cute, sleek pony, she’s dressed in the same black slacks and white button-down as us. “Chelsea,” he says. “This is Phoebe and Hailey. They’ll be your trainees.”
Chelsea plasters on a smile that seems artificial. “Great. Follow me.”
After Jake passes us over to Chelsea, my phone buzzes. Three times. He notices, side-eyeing me with too much interest, and I wait for him to disappear before checking the incoming texts.
206-555-1983: It’s Oliver. Now I’m seriously worried. Where are you??
206-555-1983: Just give me your coordinates. Nova & I will come to you wherever you are, no questions asked.
206-555-1983: If someone stole this phone and fucked with the girl who owns it, you’ve messed with the wrong person.
I type out three different responses and delete them just as fast.
I’m okay.
I’m fine.
Don’t worry.
I decide to do the worst sisterly thing and say nothing. A pit is in my heart and stomach. Rocky said he’d handle my brothers. I just hope I’m not making a mistake by letting him take the wheel.
Nine
Rocky
I was thirteen the first time my parents left me alone with Hailey and Trevor for longer than a week. My mom zipped up five designer dresses, packed away heels; her reading glasses were slipping down her nose, chestnut hair already blown out from the salon.
I was sitting on a plush ottoman at the foot of her bed, pretending to be interested in a stack of baseball cards she’d bought me.
“The Graves need our help in Dallas,” she told me. “We’ll be back in a few weeks.”
I licked my lips, picturing Nova, Oliver, and Phoebe alone somewhere. Abandoned while Elizabeth Graves got herself in a mess she couldn’t escape. “Shouldn’t I go with you?” I questioned.
“Not this time, Brayden.” She stood and kissed the top of my head. “Be good.” The advice usually came with a smirk, one she’d share with Elizabeth. But without her best friend at her side, she seemed more somber. She tossed her favorite hardbacks in a carry-on Loro Piana bag. Moving faster.