Page 141 of The Sinner: James

It’s not even her job, yet she makes it hers, trying to prove a point.

I’m supposed to keep the shelves organized while she’s supposed to manage the counter, but since there are no shoppers in the store, she’s here with me, trying to drive me nuts.

The afternoons are routinely slow, and today, human traffic is almost non-existent because of the storm outside.

It’s time for her to go home, yet she doesn’t seem to be in a hurry.

Having no other choice, I pivot to face her.

Angel, a petite woman in her twenties, straightens her back and creases her lips, displeased with my attitude.

Her orange sweater and cream pearls make her look washed out.

A tangerine ribbon holds her hair in place, her beaded eyes observing me intently from behind a pair of fashionable, thick-rimmed glasses.

How many times have I been through this with her?

Pretending I’m an idiot while she harasses me?

“I thought you were leaving,” I say dryly, hoping to take her place at the counter.

“I am,” she says, throwing me a stern look, her fingers flipping a freshly sharpened pencil. “But before I go, I need to make sure things are in order.”

Again, that’s not her job, but she keeps talking about it like it is.

“Make sure the customers’ calls don’t go to voicemail. Our boss doesn’t like that,” she says while I bite back another retort.

The little money I get from this job is essential to my survival, so revolting is useless and just not worth it.

This is part of life.

“Okay,” I say, pinning a vacant stare on her.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out why she picks on me the way she does.

Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

She’s been like that from the very beginning.

Before I could open my mouth and introduce myself or say a thing or two about my life, she had her mind made up.

Not much older than me, she’s a college graduate, and for that reason alone, she thinks she’s better than me.

She resents the idea that I’m younger and have no college degree, yet I’ve authored a book.

Her pay is about the same as mine, and that only pisses her off more.

Here she is, forced to share her working space with me, a nobody. Because, like me and others, she has no choice.

Her eyes feel like safety pins on my face as I move around, tidying up the place.

Getting into an argument with her could cost me my job, and I honestly can’t afford it. Not now, and if things don’t get any better soon, not ever.

Dragging my eyes over her fuzzy sweater and fitted pants, I wonder how many people are grinding their teeth right now, clenching their fists and suppressing their true feelings while facing someone like Angel.

Angel… who loves to make my life miserable for no good reason. Especially since we are in the same boat.

Angel.

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