Page 35 of Wanted Beta

I’m about to walk by the copy place, when I spot a flash of crimson in the window, and I realize Jack’s inside.

Fucking hell.

He’s already handed out so many flyers that he’s getting more printed.

Clearly, that approach isn’t working, or the restaurant would actually be busy, and the streets wouldn’t be covered in trash with our logo printed all over it.

This is insane. It has to end here.

I open the shop’s door, and Jack turns around, giving me a smile from where he’s standing at the counter.

“You caught me,” he admits. “I’m getting another batch done and I’m heading out a little further this time.”

“How much?” I ask, as I close the door behind me.

He sighs. “I’ve got it covered.”

“No, I’ve got it covered,” I insist.

He’s still at college, and I’m not letting him use the money he makes from the gigs his band plays for this.

“It’s not that much,” he argues.

I take out my wallet and pass him two hundred bucks.

“G …” he starts, sighing when he looks at my face.

“You’re helping enough handing those out. You made a promise that you wouldn’t let your course work suffer for the restaurant and you’re already giving up more of your day than you were supposed to. I’m not letting you spend your own money on this. It’s a business expense.”

He takes the cash, but only after I say those two magic words.

Business expense. As if that means the business is paying for it.

We haven’t made enough to cover one weekly salary never mind all the rest.

“I can’t head back yet,” he tells me, not looking at me as he puts the cash in his wallet.

“You can, and you will. I’m taking over this … marketing effort.”

He raises his visible eyebrow at me. “Um, what?”

“Give me the bag. I’m assuming the flyers are still being printed if you already paid for them?”

“Uh, yeah. They guy said they’d take ten minutes so …”

“So, give me the bag and I’ll wait. You can go practice chords, or whatever it is that music students do when they're not in class.”

“Um …” he holds onto the strap of the record bag.

“I can make it an order if that helps?” I ask, wondering what’s making him so hesitant.

He shakes his head, and slowly moves the strap over his head.

“It’s just … I don’t even know how to say it.”

“The flyers aren’t working.”

“No, well, yeah, but … Forget it. I’m just having a weird day.” He passes me the bag and pushes his hair back.

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