The following morning, I woke up with a dull headache that signaled I’d spent most of the night worrying instead of sleeping. I didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. I needed to call Nicole and beg for more work. After I checked to see that Mom was still asleep in bed, I dialed the Haute Holidays number on my phone.
It rang once.
“Samantha, are you okay? We were worried about you last night.” Nicole’s sing-song voice had a ring of concern around it. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” I got up from the couch and began tidying up the mess of my clothing. “I was just a little dehydrated, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”
“Well, I’m sorry that you had to leave. You’re one of my best servers.”
“Thanks.” I sat down then propped my feet up on the rickety coffee table in front of our threadbare sofa. “I really do hate to let you down.” I paused. “And listen, with that in mind—”
“You need another shift or two, don’t you?”
I sighed. “I could use a few.”
“Hmm.” Nicole clicked her teeth. “Well, the main party season hasn’t started yet, but I could use you for a cocktail event next week on the island. Thursday, six to nine at Gromet Gallery on Sunrise. Will that work?”
“I’ll be there.” I shut my eyes and pushed out the realization that I’d be pulling a double that day, getting off from my work as a front desk attendant at the Royal Palm only to head to the event. I’d be tired, but I’d have to push through it. I opened my eyes. “The cocktail party is perfect.”
“Good.” I heard her shuffling around on the other end of the phone. “And what about tomorrow? If you’re available, I could use someone to clean the catering trucks.”
“I’ll do it,” I said, knowing full well she was simply finding things for me to do out of pity. I didn’t have time for pride, though. We needed the cash, and we needed it fast. “I can swing by around seven and do it before my shift starts at the complex at nine.”
“See you then.”
We said goodbye and I almost hung up the phone, but she let out a small cry that stopped me. “Oh, I forget to tell you. Last night after you left, a guest stopped me as we were starting to break down the bar.”
“They did?” I bit down on the inside of my bottom lip. I could have predicted what she was going to say next. “Who was it?” I tried, and failed, to hide the uncertainty in my voice.
“Davis Armstrong? The younger one? He said he wanted me to give you his number.”
I sighed, still chewing the inside of my lip. Suspicion confirmed.
“Anyway, I’ll text it to you.” She paused. “Listen it’s not any of my business, but he seemed pretty frantic about it, and adamant that he wanted you to contact him.”
I stopped biting my lip. “Really? Okay.”
“That doesn’t sound like the tone of voice of someone who’s going to do it.”
“You’re right. I probably won’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated.” I got up from the couch and walked over to the refrigerator. I opened it and felt my heart drop a little. We needed milk, eggs, creamer, cheese, vegetables, and meat. Basically everything. “My family knew him a long time ago, but things ended badly.” I shut the fridge door. “It’s awkward.”
Understatement of the century.
“I get it,” Nicole said, though there was no way that she could. “I’m going to send you his info anyway, just so I won’t feel like I made a promise I didn’t keep. Whatever you do with it is your business.”
Thank God for Nicole. I knew the moment we’d met I’d like working for her. She was an insightful, thoughtful boss who recognized hard work and rewarded her staff for it. Knowing she understood when I needed work but never lorded it over me, was something that kept me loyal to her as well. She’d never corner me or bribe me…
We said a few more things to each other before she ended the conversation. After she hung up, I put the phone down on the kitchen counter and braced myself against the cabinet. My heart felt like it wanted to escape my chest, and the breaths pushed in and out of my lungs in desperate gasps.
God, the mere mention of the Armstrongs made me want to collapse.
Ten years of hiding. Ten years of living off silence money. Ten years of building resentment that one man could derail our lives so easily. Simply because he was wealthy and thought he was entitled to take what wasn’t his.
But the cash was long gone. Mom’s emphysema treatments had made sure of that. Funny how quickly savings could disappear in the face of a chronic illness.
My phone dinged, and I looked down at the lit-up screen. It was Nicole, with a forward of Davis’s phone number. I stared at it for a few minutes before I decided to save Davis Armstrong III, as a new contact.
Did that make me a fool?