Page 14 of Deceitful Oath

“I’m sorry.” He finally looks at me, his face conflicted. “It’s my final decision.”

He quickly wraps up a sandwich and hands it to me. I take it gratefully, shoving it in my purse.

“Thank you,” I whisper as I slink out the back door. I don’t look back. Rocky’s wasn’t the best money, but it was something. And Rocky was a damn good boss.

I climb into my car, shut the door, and melt into my seat. Closing my eyes, I lean back against the headrest and try to sort out the negative thoughts swirling around my brain.

How am I going to pay that ticket?

Never mind that, how am I going to pay my rent?

There’s always the savings jar. No, not the savings jar.

No matter what happens, I promised myself I wouldn’t dip into that money. I take a deep breath and wipe away a few rogue tears, resolving to spend the afternoon looking for a new job.

The drive home is miserable. My tank is almost empty when I park behind my building, and I take a deep breath before pulling out my wallet. I thumb through all of my tips for the week—$157. My bank account has exactly enough to pay my rent and utilities.

So that means $100 for the ticket. Fifty for gas. Seven to survive.

I climb out of the car, ignoring the persistent nagging feeling that someone’s watching me. Although my stomach roils with nerves, that’s the least of my problems right now.

Upstairs, I pull out the sandwich from Rocky’s and sit on my counter to eat it. My apartment looks like a warzone from the break-in the other night. I survey the scene, estimating how much time it’ll take me to clean this up.

The strangest thing is that they didn’t take anything. Not that there’s anything worthwhile to steal, but my laptop sits on the couch where I left it. My savings jar is still hidden in the corner under my bed, all the money accounted for.

Why would someone go through the trouble of breaking in and not take anything?

It seems counterproductive. Maybe they saw my abysmal living conditions and took pity on me. I snort at the thought, hopping down from the counter.

I spend the next two hours in a cleaning daze and then flop down on my floor, exhausted. I grab my laptop down from the couch and flip it open. Job hunting has to be one of my least favorite activities, but it’s practically my only hobby at this point.

I gaze longingly at the blank canvases lining my wall. My fingers itch with the desire to paint. To create something beautiful. But there’s no time for that.

Sighing, I pull up the job listings and scroll half-heartedly, saving a few. After a few hours of doom-scrolling job postings, I shower and get ready for The Velvet Room.

I slip on my tiniest pair of shorts and a crop top, hating myself a little bit. Pimping myself out makes me feel all kinds of vile, but I need to make as much as I can tonight. I sigh and pull on my boots.

Please universe, don’t let anything else go wrong today. Please.

I drive to work, refusing to risk another night walking across the city because the buses can’t seem to run on schedule. My tank is dangerously low, but I get to The Velvet Room just fine. I cruise up and down the street, searching for parking.

Once I’m parked, I head up the street, delighted that I’m a few minutes early. Maybe I can duck into the alley for a much-needed cigarette before I go in.

As I’m reminding myself that I need to quit—not just for my health, but also for my wallet—Carlo rounds the corner, almost crashing right into me.

“Mr. Mancini!” I say, stepping back. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“That’s fine, Lux.” He smooths down his jacket. “How are you?”

“I’m okay, and you?” I glance around nervously. Carlo has always made me feel a bit jittery, like I can’t fully trust him. Even though we’re right outside the club, in plain sight, tension crawls up my back.

He lightly rests his hand on my shoulder, grinning down at me. “Much better now that one of my best girls is here.”

I throw him a mega-watt fake smile. Carlo hitting on me outside of work is gross, yes, but there’s no way I’m shutting him down—I need this job more than ever.

“Thanks, Mr. Mancini,” I say softly, winking at him. “I should get inside and do prep.”

He nods, sending me on my way, and continues down the street to his sports car. I thought Carlo was the reason my stomach felt weird and the hairs on the back of my neck rose, but even alone, the feeling lingers.

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