Discovering Me
Page 9
I knuckle tap the doorframe. “Hey, can I come in?”
Winter puts down the Kindle, smiles, and word vomit flies. “Thank fuck! I love my books, but shit, I need real people, too!”
I leave her door open because she had it open to begin with, and with Win, she always has a reason for the things she does. Even the small and simple things like a door open, she has a reason.
“Sniper is actin’ weird,” I grumble as I climb onto her bed and lay beside her. “I kinda insinuated that I wanted to know what the club business was that had him wantin’ me to carry a gun with the safety off when I leave the compound. Needless to say, he blew up!” I exclaim frustrated.
I am a happy person who tries her hardest to keep things peaceful all around, and, when I can’t read one of my closest friends, it irritates me. A person I love is trouble, and I have to get some perspective as to why.
“He’s worried, that’s all that is. No worries. All you gotta do is appease him. Sniper is one of the simplest guys I’ve ever met. He loves you and wants you safe. I don’t see the harm in you carrying a gun with the safety off.”
There is way more to it than that. His normal behavior would have been something like ‘yo, Pipe, when you leave the compound, carry your gun and be on the lookout’. This morning was so beyond his usual self.
“I told him I wouldn’t leave, and he got even more pissed off though. Definitely not Sniper behavior,” I argue and fluff up the pillow behind my head. I already want to go back to sleep. I’m not a morning person, and getting up early to deal with a weird Sniper has made me grumpy.
Winter eases over on her side and motions for me to do the same. “He’s a man. There is one percent when it comes to normal behavior for them. Ignore it and do as he says. That simple.”
I snort. “Yeah, simple. Yep.”
She cocks one of her eyebrows while she gives me a gaze that says ‘you better watch it’. “Don’t get flippant with me.”
We both go quiet for a little while. It takes everything in me not to question her about what might be going down. Braxxon tells Winter almost all business deals and issues with the club. But if I ask her, she’ll get angry and accuse me of trying to get her to betray her husband’s trust. No matter what I do, I will never know what is truly going down by asking questions. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. If I want to find anything out, I need to put my ear to the ground and the walls, and listen carefully.
“I’m goin’ to work today. With Storm gone and you on bed rest, we’re behind on paperwork and orders. I have those interviews to do as well. I’m still pissed y’all are makin’ me find an assistant. I’m not qualified for this shit.”
Winter rolls her eyes at me, moves to her back, and peers up at the ceiling. “I’d give almost anything to be outta this bed. You love Club Sated, and you love me. I trust your judgment. Besides, you know everything there is to know about the club and how to run it. Hell, you run it as well as me and Storm.”
I let a moan escape. I don’t care for a shit load of responsibility. In my mind, I’m still a little unstable from my past. I wouldn’t trust me at all. I love to party and sleep in when I can, and no way in hell do I want to do this today, but Winter saved me, and for that, I will always owe her one.
“Whatever. Guess I better go get ready,” I grumble and slide out of her bed.
“Pick me up some donuts on the way home?”
Gross. “Sure…” I drag. I love sweets, but donuts are disgusting. You’ll see a donut in my hand if I am starving.
By the time I shower, dress, and blow dry my hair, it’s time to go. I walk over to my nightstand, pull out my gun, and set it on the bed. Then, I pull up my skirt and strap on the holster. When I am satisfied it is tight, I pick my baby Glock back up, flick the safety off, and with care, put it in the holster. As I lower my skirt, I pray that I don’t shoot myself in the leg. I don’t recommend ever having the safety off, but I made a promise to Sniper, and I stick to my word.
Time to go be responsible. The freaking pressure.
***
All interviews have been a bust so far. Every damn applicant asks me more questions than I ask her. Why would they need to know if the guys from Breakneck come inside the club? Fucking whores. I take a red marker and write a giant X on their resumes right in front of them, and then the doorman Frank escorts them out the door. After I fix myself a drink, because hell if I don’t deserve one, I sense a presence behind me when I cap the vodka.
I turn around and the sexiest redhead I have ever seen stands in front of me. I’m jealous of her on the spot.
“Hello,” she says timidly. “I’m here for the open interviews.”
I put one hand behind my back and cross my fingers for good luck that this one will pan out. I can’t handle doing any more of these today. “Follow me.” I do not care if she sees my fingers behind my back. My patience disappeared an hour ago, and my smart mouth is ready to take prisoners.
When she sits down, it is with ease, and after she places her purse on the table, she crosses her hands in her lap. Change of pace, this one is. “Do you have any experience with being a manager’s right hand?”
I never said I had grace or spoke a managerial language.
“I do. Here, let me get my resume out for you,” she says quietly as she digs into her oversized purse, pulls out a folder, and hands it over. “I’ve had one job, but it was for multiple years.”
Winter puts down the Kindle, smiles, and word vomit flies. “Thank fuck! I love my books, but shit, I need real people, too!”
I leave her door open because she had it open to begin with, and with Win, she always has a reason for the things she does. Even the small and simple things like a door open, she has a reason.
“Sniper is actin’ weird,” I grumble as I climb onto her bed and lay beside her. “I kinda insinuated that I wanted to know what the club business was that had him wantin’ me to carry a gun with the safety off when I leave the compound. Needless to say, he blew up!” I exclaim frustrated.
I am a happy person who tries her hardest to keep things peaceful all around, and, when I can’t read one of my closest friends, it irritates me. A person I love is trouble, and I have to get some perspective as to why.
“He’s worried, that’s all that is. No worries. All you gotta do is appease him. Sniper is one of the simplest guys I’ve ever met. He loves you and wants you safe. I don’t see the harm in you carrying a gun with the safety off.”
There is way more to it than that. His normal behavior would have been something like ‘yo, Pipe, when you leave the compound, carry your gun and be on the lookout’. This morning was so beyond his usual self.
“I told him I wouldn’t leave, and he got even more pissed off though. Definitely not Sniper behavior,” I argue and fluff up the pillow behind my head. I already want to go back to sleep. I’m not a morning person, and getting up early to deal with a weird Sniper has made me grumpy.
Winter eases over on her side and motions for me to do the same. “He’s a man. There is one percent when it comes to normal behavior for them. Ignore it and do as he says. That simple.”
I snort. “Yeah, simple. Yep.”
She cocks one of her eyebrows while she gives me a gaze that says ‘you better watch it’. “Don’t get flippant with me.”
We both go quiet for a little while. It takes everything in me not to question her about what might be going down. Braxxon tells Winter almost all business deals and issues with the club. But if I ask her, she’ll get angry and accuse me of trying to get her to betray her husband’s trust. No matter what I do, I will never know what is truly going down by asking questions. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. If I want to find anything out, I need to put my ear to the ground and the walls, and listen carefully.
“I’m goin’ to work today. With Storm gone and you on bed rest, we’re behind on paperwork and orders. I have those interviews to do as well. I’m still pissed y’all are makin’ me find an assistant. I’m not qualified for this shit.”
Winter rolls her eyes at me, moves to her back, and peers up at the ceiling. “I’d give almost anything to be outta this bed. You love Club Sated, and you love me. I trust your judgment. Besides, you know everything there is to know about the club and how to run it. Hell, you run it as well as me and Storm.”
I let a moan escape. I don’t care for a shit load of responsibility. In my mind, I’m still a little unstable from my past. I wouldn’t trust me at all. I love to party and sleep in when I can, and no way in hell do I want to do this today, but Winter saved me, and for that, I will always owe her one.
“Whatever. Guess I better go get ready,” I grumble and slide out of her bed.
“Pick me up some donuts on the way home?”
Gross. “Sure…” I drag. I love sweets, but donuts are disgusting. You’ll see a donut in my hand if I am starving.
By the time I shower, dress, and blow dry my hair, it’s time to go. I walk over to my nightstand, pull out my gun, and set it on the bed. Then, I pull up my skirt and strap on the holster. When I am satisfied it is tight, I pick my baby Glock back up, flick the safety off, and with care, put it in the holster. As I lower my skirt, I pray that I don’t shoot myself in the leg. I don’t recommend ever having the safety off, but I made a promise to Sniper, and I stick to my word.
Time to go be responsible. The freaking pressure.
***
All interviews have been a bust so far. Every damn applicant asks me more questions than I ask her. Why would they need to know if the guys from Breakneck come inside the club? Fucking whores. I take a red marker and write a giant X on their resumes right in front of them, and then the doorman Frank escorts them out the door. After I fix myself a drink, because hell if I don’t deserve one, I sense a presence behind me when I cap the vodka.
I turn around and the sexiest redhead I have ever seen stands in front of me. I’m jealous of her on the spot.
“Hello,” she says timidly. “I’m here for the open interviews.”
I put one hand behind my back and cross my fingers for good luck that this one will pan out. I can’t handle doing any more of these today. “Follow me.” I do not care if she sees my fingers behind my back. My patience disappeared an hour ago, and my smart mouth is ready to take prisoners.
When she sits down, it is with ease, and after she places her purse on the table, she crosses her hands in her lap. Change of pace, this one is. “Do you have any experience with being a manager’s right hand?”
I never said I had grace or spoke a managerial language.
“I do. Here, let me get my resume out for you,” she says quietly as she digs into her oversized purse, pulls out a folder, and hands it over. “I’ve had one job, but it was for multiple years.”
