Page 12 of Tell Me No Lies

WHEN YOU CAN’T APOLOGIZE, BRING DONUTS

TATE

"YOU’RE HERE EARLY." Nancy stands at the open door of my office, a gray eyebrow raised in question. “Everything okay?”

I take another draw of the coffee I'm hoping will pump some life into my veins. "Needed to finish the invoices I started Friday so I can get them sent out." I tip my head in the direction of the break room. "I brought donuts."

Nancy lingers, studying me a little too closely. She's old enough to be my mom, and regularly acts like it. I've never minded. Actually, I kinda like it. No one’s ever fussed over me the way she does, and it’s nice.

Usually. This morning I'm worried she might see too much. Might read into my uncharacteristic behavior and suss out the truth of what I’ve done.

And then judge me accordingly.

"Are they from the good doughnut place or the shitty one?" She peers at me through her glasses. "And you better say they’re from the good donut place or I’m gonna be real disappointed in you."

I slowly exhale, relieved that she doesn't seem suspicious, but also knowing donuts are the least of what I’ve done that will disappoint her. "You guys made it pretty fucking clear every one of you would quit if I ever brought the shitty donuts again, so I drove the extra fifteen minutes to get the good ones." I set down my coffee cup and scan the neat stacks of invoices and quotes lining my desk. "Because we’re so busy I can't afford to lose a single one of you over some fried dough.”

Nancy shakes her head and blows out a long breath. "I know that's right. Speaking of, " she thumbs over one shoulder, "you need to start looking for somebody else for the paint shop. Those girls are covered up. They can’t keep up. Especially now that we’ve taken on those insurance jobs."

“I’d help if I could, but my paint skills are decent at best.” When I started my business, I stuck with what I knew, which was mechanics. As my business grew—and Simon, Christian, and I fine-tuned our process for helping women like Myra and her friends—I decided to expand. Both so I could provide more employment opportunities to the women we crossed paths with, and to line my own pockets.

I grew up poor. Poorer than poor. Seeing the struggle it caused made me swear to myself that would never happen to me. I would never have to choose between food or shelter. Heat or medical care.

As a result, I became somewhat of a hoarder. Not of things, but of money.

I'm not stingy—I pay my employees the highest rate around. Plus, they get paid vacations and bonuses and healthcare.

But I sock away nearly every penny I make. That's part of the reason my house looks the way it does. To fix it up would mean digging into my savings. And as long as I see that money sitting there, I have proof I'm nothing like my father.

Nancy gives me a wink. "Don't act like that's the only reason you don't want to lose any of us." Her attention swivels away from me and she leans back, peering down the hall. "Hey, Piper. Boss man brought us breakfast. There's donuts in the breakroom."

It takes everything in me not to react. Not to show my hand. Grabbing my coffee, I down the rest hoping the action will hide the guilt and need warring it out inside me. I must be successful, because Nancy vacates my door without asking any more questions or giving me any more lingering looks. I pretend like I go back to work, but every three seconds my attention strays, drifting to the hall outside. I can't stop myself from watching for her. Waiting for my first hit of the day.

It’s fucking ludicrous.

I spin away, turning to the line of filing cabinets behind me, hoping that if I simply remove the temptation, the overwhelming desire to see her will go away.

After taking a few minutes to sift through everything that needs to be filed, I spend a few more putting the items where they belong. Restoring order always makes me feel better. Following a routine offers the same comfort. By the time I'm done, my shoulders have relaxed and my jaw has unclenched, leaving me feeling capable of handling the day as I turn back to my desk.

And come face-to-face with the bane of my existence.

Piper's expression is uncertain, almost hesitant. She holds out a paper plate. "I thought you might want one of these before they were all gone." She settles the chocolate cake donut in front of me. "The girls are circling those boxes like vultures and this was the only one left." She lifts her shoulder and lets it drop, like this is no big deal. "I figured you might as well get one you like since you bought them."

I stare at her because I don't know what the fuck to say to that.

"Unless you don't want it, and in that case—" She reaches for the plate like she's going to take it from me.

And I snatch it away, rolling back to put a little more distance between us. I'm not hungry. I eat the same breakfast every morning, slurping down instant oatmeal with a plastic spoon while I wait for the coffee to brew.

But I want this goddamned donut.

"I'll take it." My eyes find their way back to her, like they always do. "How's your ankle?"

She shrugs again. "They were hoping putting me in a walking cast at the end would give me time to build my strength back up, but I still feel weak." The last word carries a bitter edge.

I start to tell her it will get better. That if anyone can figure out how to be strong again, it's her. But our conversations aren’t usually this calm, and it's throwing me off.

Before I can get my shit together, Nancy strides in and deposits a fresh cup of coffee on my desk. "Donuts were a hit." She gives me a wink. "You sure know the way to a woman's heart." She loops one arm through Piper’s, spinning her away from me. "How are you this morning, honey? Is it nice having that cast off your foot?"

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