Page 4 of The Love You Hate
CHAPTER TWO
Nate
I left her to duke it out with Ryan after he offered me employment. I mean, I’m still here, lingering by the window, but at least now I know nothing of substance will likely come up while she’s rallying against hiring another employee. She’s so against the idea of working with me, it’s surprising. “You don’t know anything about him! How can you hire people off the street like that? What if he’s… dangerous?” Ah, so she didn’t buy my story. Good for her. She has more intuition than I gave her credit for.
“He won’t start working until I’ve vetted him. Don’t worry, my aunt is thorough with the background checks.” I chuckle. Not true. “It will be good to get new blood in here. Training both of you at the same time will be easier than doing it again in six months.”
Presley sighs. She sounds utterly defeated. “Do you even have the budget to hire someone else?” Digging deep, I see.
“The budget isn’t your concern, Presley.”
“Whatever,” she says back. “He is just weird.” So much for our newcomer alliance.
Ryan laughs. “You think he’s hot and don’t want to work with him,” he says.
Grinning, I listen to the abhorrent noises coming out of her mouth. “You could not be more wrong!” Finally, the English language appears in the form of a coherent sentence. “I’ll just wait for the background check. He appeared out of thin air handing me mail today. Why do you think I think he’s hot?”
“He’s basically the reason for global warming,” Ryan says, trying and failing not to laugh. “Get it? He’s hot? Ba-dum-tiss!”
For someone who loves jokes, Presley isn’t impressed. At all. She groans. “Why do you have to grow a sense of humor now? When I don’t feel happy or funny or jovial at all.”
“Just take care of the bread, Presley. We need more. Let me worry about new employees.”
“You really think he’s hot?”
“No,” Ryan says. “I’m straight, you know that, but you looked at him like you thought he was. Good perception is all that was. I didn’t think you were looking, though.”
Presley doesn’t have a rebuttal to Ryan’s argument, I hear pans banging around and nothing but bake talk for the rest of the afternoon. She announces she’s leaving to head to Jake’s Junkyard. I gather my bag, and put a piece of black tape over the bug so it’s not noticeable, thinking how convenient it will be to plant permanent ones inside the building when I begin working there. I rush across the street and enter the general store. I’ll come out when I see Presley leave.
I put up a hand when the crotchety old lady eyes me. “Just grabbing a snack,” I say, feeling the need to explain myself when I shouldn’t. Chips are the first thing I stumble into and grab a small bag, and a protein bar on the shelf next to it and slide a five-dollar bill on the counter.
I see Presley from my peripheral and try to leave. “I’ve got my eye on you, boy.” Her voice is raspy from disuse and if I had to guess, years of chain-smoking cigarettes with wild abandon.
Winking, I play dumb. “That’s flattering. Hope you like what you see.” I let my gaze drop to her name tag. “Rayleen. It was nice to meet you, ma’am. I’ll be seeing you around.”
She grunts, a noise that sounds like a cross between a farm animal and my uncle Phil after he eats Thanksgiving dinner. The rusted bell clamors against the glass as I exit into the sunshine. Presley speed walks on the other side of the road, oblivious to the fact I’m walking at the same clip. Crossing to her side, I fall into sync, stepping right next to her. Startled, she jerks away and pulls her ball cap down. “What are you doing here?” She slows her pace.
I look around, arms wide. “There aren’t too many places to go around here. Where are you headed?” I know already.
“Jake’s,” she says, exasperated. “Jake’s Junkyard. I need to find a car.”
I narrow my eyes at the side of her face. “You don’t have a vehicle already?” Again, I know the answer, but I need to ask standard questions. It takes skill and a sharp memory to function in this gray area.
“No. I, ah, had to sell it when I moved here. For money.” Ah, she’s trying to play her part. Her Range Rover and Lambo were taken before she was placed here. But I’m still not sure why she needs a car in this small-ass dusty town. She’s not allowed to leave. Not yet anyway. These first months she has to be careful, lay low, and hide out within reason.
“And you think the junkyard is the only place to find a vehicle? I could help you find something. Maybe something that doesn’t come from a dump.”
She halts, spins to face me, and glares daggers. “What’s your deal? You come out of nowhere, decide you want to work where I work, follow me when I leave work, and now you’re an expert at car purchasing? What are you playing at, Nate? Do you really have a girlfriend, or were you just saying that, so I didn’t see you as a threat and I’d let my guard down?” The cat has claws. Interesting. No jokes either. “I love to bake, and ironically so do you. Are you now also telling me you’re an expert with cars?” She tosses her hands up in the air and then balls her fists by her sides. She smells sweet, like Sunday morning breakfast. I clear my throat as I check the random thought.
I lick my teeth and tilt my head. “You’re right. I’m being far too forward. I saw you as a friend with the same interests as me, and thought you might want a friend, too. Fine if you don’t.” She folds her arms and presses her lips into a firm line. “I do have a girlfriend, and do you love to bake or do you love to burn? Loaves of bread. Get it?”
She would exhale smoke from her ears if it were a possibility. “Not funny. You’re the reason they burned.”
I start walking in the direction of the clanking and clanging noises of someone tossing shit around. “I am pretty damn hot if I do say so myself. Come then, let’s get you a beater.”
Presley clears her throat. “I’m only letting you tag along in case they try to mansplain something and try to take advantage of a woman.”
This place is sketchy as fuck. It’s hidden behind a tall metal fence that stretches back against a craggy low mountain. My eyes widen as I turn from the dangling Jake’s Junkyard sign, and let my gaze find hers. She’s as horrified as any person born into extreme wealth would be, I’d imagine. “Take advantage of you. Now why would they do that?”
