Page 41 of Hot Shot

“Wash dishes?” Julia looks horrified.

I restrain my smile. “It’s honest work.”

Julia takes in a long, shaky breath that signals tears pending, but once again she manages to keep them at bay. “Okay. I c-can do that.”

“Well figure out a schedule for after school and weekends,” Carrie says.

“Are you going to tell Mom?”

Carrie’s lips tighten and she looks down at the floor, then puffs out her cheeks in a sharp exhale. “I won’t,” she finally says. “I’ll pick you up after school and bring you here, and I’ll cover for you . . . if you promise you won’t do this again.”

Now Julia looks conflicted. “Aunt Carrie . . .”

Carrie holds her niece’s gaze. “We’ll talk,” she says quietly. “But you can’t do this anymore, Julia. Itisa crime. If you get caught again, you might not be so lucky.”

Julia gnaws on her bottom lip, looking a lot like Carrie at that moment. Eventually she nods. “Okay. I promise.”

“It’ll be all right,” Carrie says. “Like I said, I have an idea.”

I desperately want to know what that is. “Okay,” I say. “At minimum wage, I’ve figured out how many hours you’ll need to work, based on what it cost us to paint over it last time. Let’s work out a schedule.”

“I can’t come on Tuesday and Thursdays,” Julia says. “I have volleyball. And Saturday mornings I have swimming.”

Jesus, it’s not like she’s a kid who’s hanging out on the streets with nothing better to do. She comes from a good family and is involved in other activities. “You like volleyball?”

“Not really.” She scrunches up her nose. “My parents make me play.”

“What would you rather be doing?”

“Painting.”

“Do you paint things besides other people’s property?” I asked mildly.

Her cheeks flush and her gaze drops. “Yeah. But I like paintingbigthings.” The passion in her voice hints at the big feelings inside her.

I meet Carrie’s eyes again and now they’re softer, watching me talk to Julia.

“Could I start now?” Julia asks.

Surprised, I nod. “Sure, kid. How long can you stay?”

Julia looks to her aunt, and Carrie says, “I promised I’d have her home by four. So . . . a little over two hours.”

“It’s a start. Come on. I’ll show you around.” I stand and wait for Julia.

Carrie rises too, holding her big purse in both hands. “I can come back around three forty-five to get her.”

“Wait here. I’ll be back.” I watch Carrie’s eyes narrow at my order, but she gives a short nod.

I take Julia and introduce her to everyone in the kitchen—the cook, Sid; the line cook, Paul; the prep cook, Jenn; the servers on duty who are picking up orders; the two bus boys; and the dishwasher, Sam. “Okay everyone, keep your language PG while Julia here is in the kitchen.”

I trust most of them, but I’m not sure Paul can utter a complete sentence without some kind of curse word. Although I’m probably naïve thinking a fourteen-year-old hasn’t heard the F-word.

“I’ll look after her,” Sam says, and I nod. As I leave, I hear Sam ask, “This your first job, kid?”

I return to the office where Carrie is slouched in the chair, long, bare legs stretched out in front of her, Converse-clad feet crossed at the ankle. She’s staring at her phone.

My gaze lingers on her legs . . . Christ, they’re perfect, lean, smooth and lightly tanned. I want those legs over my goddamn shoulders.

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