Page 18 of Married to the Frenemy

My heartbeat echoes in my ears as every muscle in my body goes rigid with anger. Normally, I’d walk away and let security know about a problem customer. That’s what I’m supposed to do.

But I’ve seen how these situations go. Nine times out of ten, they’re given a warning and continue their entitled behavior, hitting on more cocktail waitresses as if it’s their right. I’m so sick of everyone thinking they’re better than me. Of being taken advantage of. Of not standing up for myself.

I’m so tired of this fucking job.

When he runs a finger down my arm, all my self-control flies out the window. Without hesitation, I grab one of the full glasses off my tray and fling its contents onto his smug face.

All traces of his pompous attitude instantly disappear and he glowers at me.

“You… Do you have any idea who I am?”

“You’re a fucking asshole. That’s who,” I snap back, adrenaline coursing through my veins. “You have no right to touch me or anyone else.”

He laughs dismissively, wiping the liquor out of his eyes. “Get off your high horse. You honestly think I’m going to buy that? I’m more than aware of how all you girls supplement your income by spreading your legs for the right price. So tell me… What’s yours?”

My blood boiling, I reel back, delivering a harsh slap across his face with my open palm. “Fuck you.”

The seconds stretch as he stares at the carpet, massaging his cheek. Then he turns his malice-filled eyes on me. “You’ll regret this.”

“Actually, I don’t think I will. Because that felt really good.” I spin on my heels and hurry away, feeling everyone’s stare burning my skin as I go, the casino floor seeming unusually silent.

Probably because the thunderous beating of my heart is infinitely louder.

I’ve never done anything like this before. Up until now, I’ve just let these assholes get away with doing and saying whatever they want so I could keep this shitty job. Not anymore.

As I approach the serving area, Frank barrels down the hallway like an enraged bull, his dark eyes on fire and face so red I’m convinced he’s about to keel over and have a heart attack.

“Haley!” he roars, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “My office. Now!”

“That won’t be necessary.” I shove my tray at him, a surge of defiance washing over me. “I quit.”

His gaze widens. “You…what?”

“Isn’t that what you threatened me with if I didn’t come in tonight? Well, I’m done with this shitty job. Done letting asshole men ogle and grab at me, which your actions seem to encourage. Done with your sexist comments. So fuck off, Frank.”

I storm past him, my entire body vibrating with fury as I hurry into the break room and quickly collect all of my things.

It’s not until I’m driving away that the reality of what I just did hits me, unease gnawing at my stomach.

I quit my job.

I quit the job that provides the majority of my income.

I quit my job when I’m on the brink of having nowhere to live.

As I come to a stoplight, I glance into the rearview mirror, the lights of the casino visible. For a split second, I debate turning around and begging for my job back.

But I hate that job. Have been wanting to quit for a while now.

As skeptical as I am about the whole manifestation thing, I can’t help but wonder if the universe had something to do with my actions tonight.

I asked the universe for a solution to my problem. Seconds later, Beckham Lawrence knocked on my door with a proposition that would solve both of our problems.

Maybe this is the universe giving me a push in that direction.

CHAPTER NINE

BECKHAM

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