“Only if you apologize to me in front of them first.”
“Fuck you,” I say, stepping back. “I’m leaving, Hayes, if you don’t apologize.”
“Then go.” Hayes jumps up and follows me into the main office where I shove things into my purse. “You’ll be back once you’re done throwing your fit.”
“I won’t come back until you apologize.”
“Then don’t come back. You’re replaceable.”
“Ha! You went through how many assistants before me?” I say, laughing bitterly. “Good luck with the temps.”
“Good luck finding another job where you show up whenever you want and bring your kids to work and get to fuck the boss.”
I glare at him, and he glares right back at me. My hands ball into fists, and I want so badly to hit him. I want to pound his handsome fucking face for making me feel disposable. He’s the one throwing a damn fit. I dared to interrupt his strict schedule, and he’s freaking out.
The twins stand at the door with the dog. They’re scared, and I see their hands balled into fists too. They don’t believe in backing down either. I raised them to be tough enough to face trouble. Life offers them nothing. They’ll have to demand whatever happiness they find.
Hayes looks at my fists and then my face. He seems amused by my anger. Fuck, I think he expects me to hit him. I won’t because I can’t win that fight. With our stalemate, I will win, though.
I refuse to apologize. He’ll be the one to say the words. I’ll never do it. Even if I end up with a shitty job, I won’t bow down to Angus Hayes. My kids need to know they shouldn't take shit from people they care about. If they do it once, it’ll be easier the second time, and then they’ll get used to doing it. Eventually, they’ll wake up as someone’s bitch.
So I tell them to grab their school stuff and go to the car. Hayes watches us walk out. He and Nightmare stand at the front door as I pull out. The entire time, he thinks I’ll chicken out. Even after I speed away, he probably expects me to call him later and play nice.
Hayes might get what he wants normally, but this is one fight he’ll lose.
TWENTY EIGHT - HAYES
Jackknife Casino is one of the places Moot wants to visit now that he’s a free man. Enjoying rules, I rarely play games of chance. I only choose to go with Moot because the idea of sitting alone at my place isn’t appealing. The house feels too quiet.
I blame Candy and her need for noise. Or I ought to blame the twins and their need to create noise which led to Candy craving it even when they’re not around.
“We can eat dinner in the smoking lounge,” I tell Moot while he sits down to a game of Texas Hold ‘Em. “They serve steak.”
Moot frowns, having never heard of the smoking lounge. I’m not surprised since it’s a big rollers perk. I don’t shit much money at the casino, but I have meetings there.
“They serve great scotch too.”
This comment gets a smile out of Moot. All he wants since he’s been out is to eat and drink well, sleep on a big bed, and drive fast. Freedom looks good on the man, and I try to enjoy a few hours of gambling.
After a lucky streak, Moot surprises me by choosing to stop before he pisses away all of his winnings. We retire to the smoking lounge where only two other people are eating on a Sunday evening.
“Work is good?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t bitch about his construction crew. I’m not in the mood for anyone’s drama when I’m still smarting from Candy’s.
“It’s good, man. Feels great to get my hands dirty.”
I nod and fall silent. Over the lounge’s speakers, Toby Keith croons about lost love. I suspect Candy is a fan of the song. She likes country music and plays it rather loudly at her desk. I’ve yelled at her plenty of times to turn it down. She occasionally obeys but often doesn’t. Candy handled my yelling well until she just up and decided to be a sensitive bitch about everything.
“Heard your assistant quit,” Moot says, and I think he wants to laugh at me.
“They always do.”
“I thought she was a keeper.”
“Me too, but fucking her was probably a mistake.”
“Only probably?” he asks, giving me an amused look.
“She’s a great fuck.”
Moot nods and his eyes light up when the food arrives. After he digs into his steak and potatoes, he studies me.
“What do you want to happen with Candy?”
“Simple,” I say, puffing on my cigar. “I want her to apologize for throwing a fit. Then I want her on her knees.”
“Didn’t you say you acted like an asshole?”
“Yeah, but she knows I’m an asshole.”
“Chicks have limits, man.”
I shrug. “She’ll break down and apologize.”
“Because she wants her job or she wants you?”