Page 56 of Bidding War

ANDERSON

This conversation is a fucking nightmare. I shake off her accusation. “Not for me. For you. You cannot go to work for him for you.”

“Oh, what, in the condescending bullshit, is this?”

I cannot believe she’s being like this. It’s like she can’t see the forest for the trees. In hopes she’ll actually listen to me, I soften my voice. “Do you honestly think it is a net positive for your mental health to work for the man who kidnapped you?”

“You did not … ” She laughs again, shaking her head, and somehow, I have made her angrier. Lucky me. “You did not just try to make it sound like your objection to me working for Andre is about my mental health. You’re not upset because you’re worried about me. You’re upset because you don’t like Andre?—"

“Can you fucking blame me for not liking the man who kidnapped my girlfriend? For doing anything in my power to stop you from being near that man?” Dammit, I have to watch my volume in here. Carla’s Diner isn’t packed, but it’s busy enough that discussing kidnappings too loud is a bad idea.

“What the fuck ever, Anderson.” She drags her fingers through her hair, forgetting she has a ponytail and tugging on it. After a wince, she yanks her ponytail down and rubs her scalp as she speaks. “Look, bartending has been a great way to keep me from dipping too far into my savings, but I still am. I need to make more money. More importantly, I would like to use my brain again. And my degree, which I’m still paying student loans on. Your father blackballed me everywhere in town. I am out of options. I would like you on board for this, but I am not asking for permission.”

“I never said you need my permission?—"

“No, you didn’t. You just told me I couldn’t take the job.”

My head tips back in frustration. Thankfully, the booths are overstuffed, so I don’t hurt myself. “June. This conversation is pointless.”

“Right now, it’s feeling very pointy.”

I huff a laugh. “Yeah, okay. Look, I’m not trying to upset you or tell you what to do. You know that’s not who I am. You’re right. I don’t like Andre. I fucking hate him. I don’t want you to work for him. Partly because I hate that guy but also because I don’t think you need to be around him. Ever.”

“Why are you trying to stop me from getting a good job?”

“That’s not what this is!” There goes my volume again. But I don’t care. It’s like she’s being purposefully obtuse on this, and it’s not like her. “For the love of god, think about this from my perspective.” I lean in to keep my voice down. “Andre kidnapped you?—"

“Yeah, I was there.”

“To make a point.”

“So?”

I close my eyes and huff again. If this keeps up, I’ll be hyperventilating. “He is the kind of man who kidnaps random people for the sole purpose of making a point to someone who has gotten on his nerves. That is one step away from something Moss or my father would do. Is that the kind of person you want to work for?”

That sparks something in her eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s good or bad. “God, you still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“What’s that like, Anderson? To walk through life, getting to be choosy about the kind of people you work for? What privilege?—"

“You did not just fucking say that to me.” I can barely contain my anger right now. Volume? Forget it. “My father has me tied in knots around his finger, all because I tried to be able to pay you what I owe you. I have to go on ride-alongs with Moss—yes, that guy—to keep my father happy, because if I don’t, he will ruin me. He will destroy everything I am and what little I have to my name. Every moment of every day, I have to be ready to do another job for him, whether I want to do the job or not. I am at his beck and call. I did not fucking choose that, June. You think getting blackballed by my father is bad? Try being blackmailed by him.”

She grips her coffee mug with shaking hands. “Then you, of all people, should understand what it’s like to be out of options, shouldn’t you?”

I want to rage right now. I want to stomp out of the diner, march to my gym, and blow off all this steam. But I can’t. It’s not the mature thing to do, and I can’t afford my gym membership any longer, thanks to my father cutting me off. Instead of any of that, I rub the scruff on my chin and try to calm down.

I will try a different tactic. “June, you are the smartest person I know. And I think that’s part of the problem.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Being smart means you understand how things work and can see the paths in front of you. The implications, the fallout, you know all of it. You know how things work. Right?”

“What’s your point, Anderson?”

I hate when she says my name like that. Like it annoys her to have to say it. “Since you are so smart and you understand the game, it makes it easy for certain things to escape your eye. You know the big picture, but the details aren’t clear.”

“Get to your angle?—"

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