Page 49 of Tame Me

Monday morning rolled around, and the sun announced its arrival with a blast of golden light just before five o’clock in the morning. I poured myself a cup of green tea and headed outside for a short break.

A scattering of clouds dotted the horizon, giving the sun plenty of targets at which to aim its morning rays at. The darkness was an impossible match against the golden beams, and gradually, the clouds morphed into shades of orange and yellow. The dark sea revealed itself more and more by the second, and soon, the sun cast a white stripe that divided the ocean in half.

It wasn’t long before people began to emerge. Joggers sprinted past with earbuds connecting them to their phones as they made the most of the cool morning air. Surfers dotted the water, eager to start the day with a morning wave. Young families and old couples strolled past like they had all the time in the world.

I loved this part of the day. Not only because it usually signified the end of my shift, but also because it showed that no matter what disasters life threw at me, every day could be the dawn of a new beginning.

Once I finished my tea, I went back inside, washed my teacup, and did a quick tidy of the staffroom as I awaited Needledick’s arrival. The start of his six-thirty shift came and went, as did seven o’clock.

The phone rang, and I forced sunshine into my voice to answer it. “Welcome to the Hot Horizon Hotel, this is Jane speaking.”

“Hello, Jane, it’s Richard Thompson here. Is John available?”

Richard? From the executive board?

“Oh, hello, Mr. Thompson. I’m sorry, but he hasn’t come in yet.”

“Really? Do you know why he’s late?”

The idea of covering for him flashed into my mind but just as quickly evaporated. “No, sir, he hasn’t called in late.”

“Hmmm. Well, when he comes?—”

The glass door slid open, and Needledick strolled through like he was walking into a funeral. “Oh, hang on a minute, here he is.” His hair was a mess, and his shirt wasn’t ironed. He looked as if he’d had a particularly bad night, and I suddenly felt sorry for him.

As he neared the counter, I held the phone toward him. “Mr. Thompson wants to talk to you.”

His face paled even more, and he sighed as he reached for the phone. “Hello, Mr. Thompson. I’m sorry I’m late, my mother?—”

He must’ve been cut off because he stopped talking, closed his eyes, and ran his hand over his forehead.

Averting my gaze, I bent down and collected my bag from the floor. There was no need for me to hang around, and I certainly didn’t want to be here when he ended the call. I tapped his shoulder, and when his eyes popped open, I waved at him and mouthed goodbye.

I strode to the elevator and hoped it would open immediately. It did, and I stepped in and jabbed the button for my floor.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Thompson.” John’s sorrowful words were cut off as the elevator doors closed.

I really did feel for him. It would be extremely difficult to juggle a full-time job with a sick family member. But he never asked for my help, he just expected me to cover for him. My stomach churned as I worried about what kind of trouble he’d be in.

But my worry was short-lived as my churning stomach turned to hunger pains, and I focused my attention on breakfast. I entered my apartment and went straight to the fridge, but once I opened it, I sighed at its sorry state of bareness. Annoying as it was, I couldn’t put off grocery shopping any longer.

I grabbed my bag again, and with thoughts of savory mince on toast and strong coffee crossing my mind, I headed out for breakfast. As I rode the elevator, I hoped like hell that John was still on the phone.

I stepped from the elevator onto the marble tiles and felt his dagger eyes immediately.

“You fucking bitch.”

I gasped, stopped in my tracks, and turned to him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

“You trying to get me fired?”

I palmed my chest. “What? No.”

“You didn’t have to tell him I was late.”

I put my fists on my hips. “I wouldn’t have to tell him if you weren’t.”

“That’s not the point.”

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