“That has no bearing on our conversation,” she said, raising her chin.
“Actually, it has everything to do with our conversation.” He propped his elbows on the desk and rested his forehead in his palms. That did not bode well. “Look. I like you. I do. I think you’re a good girl with bad problems, and that’s what makes this so difficult, but this is a business, and it has to be done.”
Dread slithered through her, a boa with every intention of choking her out. She could guess where this was leading and vehemently shook her head. “Don’t do this, Mr. Calbert. Please. I need the money.”
He lifted his head, his hazel eyes bleak. “I’m sorry, Brook Lynn. I loved your parents. They were nice people, and I respected them, but I can’t rely on you anymore. You’re too tired to work as much as you do, but I can’t cut your hours because you always beg me for more. You break things—”
“I’ll pay for them.”
“—and you get a ton of orders wrong.”
“I apologized to everyone.”
“You put peanuts instead of croutons on Mr. Crawford’s salad, and he had an allergic reaction. I have to pay his medical bill and for his mental anguish!”
“Anyone could have made that mistake.” But okay, all right. Yes, her mind had been zapped by all the extra hours and tasks she’d taken on. “At least now Mr. Crawford knows his EpiPen is working properly,” she tried.
Mr. Calbert shook his head. “I need to be able to rely on my staff.”
“But—”
“I can’t rely on you or your sister. You and Jessie Kay are fired, Brook Lynn. Effective immediately.”
*
JASE HAD JUST finished off his third beer of the evening, knowing it wouldn’t be his last. He had seriously dark emotions to drown, and by hell, he was going to drown them. If he failed, he’d get in his car and head into town to see her.
The new bane of his existence, Miss Brook Lynn Dillon. He hadn’t been this obsessed with a woman since Daphne.
Daphne. Yeah. He’d think about her. Unlike Brook Lynn, the thought of her actually mellowed him.
He let his mind drift to the night he and Daphne had met. They’d both been sixteen, and while he’d earned money repairing and washing cars, she’d worked at a fast-food joint. He’d gone in for a burrito and had come out with her phone number. They’d spent the next two years together, inseparable, and had been saving to rent an apartment together.
She’d represented the future. Stability. And unlike most of the foster families he’d lived with, he’d wanted her to stick.
“Want a beer?” Beck asked West.
They were congregated in the game room, their sanctuary. Beck and Jase were playing pool, while West watched. Or, more accurately, thought about something; the guy had been lost in his head for the past half hour.
“No,” West finally replied, and Beck breathed a sigh of relief.
Jase observed the entire exchange with a frown. Beck had been testing West’s resolve to remain sober more and more lately, and he couldn’t figure out why. But then, the two had a history he knew nothing about. So many years’ worth of memories made without him.
He never had a problem convincing himself he was fine with it—until moments like this.
“You aren’t an alcoholic, West,” Jase pointed out.
“But I am a recovering drug addict,” West said. “Alcohol is my gateway.”
West had gotten high for the first time nine years ago, and he’d stayed high for the next three.
Dark eyes grim...haunted, his friend admitted, “I wasn’t even feeling the temptation...until recently.”
“What changed?” Jase asked.
“What else? The time of year.”