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“Your phone.”

I hand it to her, and she types in her name and number. “If you need money, you call me. You could make a killing at my other job.”

I seriously doubt I’d ever take her up on the offer. But I guess if I got desperate enough…

I take the phone back, say goodbye, and collect my stuff.

I just got fired-not-fired. And while I got two other job offers tonight, for entirely different reasons, they are both awful. Rock meet hard place. Which one is worse?

The answer is simple. Call Triston Smith.

My stomach clenches. It’s like jumping from the pan into the fire…

CHAPTER TWO

Honeyeh

Darius staresat me as I smooth down the floral sundress I’ve put on for my interview. “You’re wearing that?”

He’s fifteen and he thinks he knows everything. “Yes. I’m wearing this. What should I be wearing to an interview, smarty pants?”

“Not that.” He wrinkles his nose. “You look like you’re dressed for a date.”

That comment actually makes me bite my lip. Shoot. I definitely don’t want to give off that vibe.

I can’t believe I’m even contemplating working for Triston Smith, my reaction to him was just so…

Then again, I don’t I have a choice. I look at the dress again, turning in the mirror.

I’m guessing the women Triston dates would never wear a floral sundress. They’d have on something posh and sophisticated like silk or crepe, paired with designer shoes.

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. I’m a college student whose last job was as a barista. I’m also an RA in the upper-classmen dorms at the University of Nevada, but I don’t get paid for that. It’s more of an exchange. Free rent for helping drunk people get in their rooms when they lock themselves out.

I wore this dress to that interview too. I really ought to pick up something more professional, but I have no idea where I’d come up with the money. “I don’t have anything else,” I say with a sigh. “It’ll have to do.”

Darius glares at me in the mirror. “You should buy something.” I think his guilt at all the bills I have to pay for us, for him, frequently comes off as anger, so I leave it be.

Instead, I collect up my purse and adjust the strap of my sandal. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’m not a baby. I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” I snap back. “But since you’re so grown up, how about helping me calm my pre-interview jitters instead of biting my head off?”

He winces. “Sorry, Honeyeh. I’m just…” He hangs his head, and I get it. He hates that I’m always scrambling for money. But this is what people do for the people they love. They help, even when it’s hard.

Walking over to him, I push up on tiptoe. He’s thin as a rail but taller than me. Gently, I kiss his cheek, my hand on his skin, making his jaundice even more noticeable. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” he says, hesitating. “And Honeyeh, don’t take the job if the guy is a real asshole.”

“All right,” I say, but I already know I’ll take any position Triston Smith offers. It’s not that I want to work for him. I can’t think of a more complicated relationship to have with my boss. But I can’t afford to say no.

Heading outside, I walk the three blocks to Clark County Road and hop on a bus. Once I get off at the stop closest to the address Triston gave me, I think it’s going to be a fifteen-minutewalk to his house. His staff manager gave me his address and I mapped it all in advance just to be sure I’m not late.

I’ve left myself plenty of time, in case the bus is running off schedule, or it has more stops than I think, but my foot still bounces with nerves as the bus moves through the heart of Vegas.

My hands clasp and unclasp in my lap as the bus stops several times, picking up mostly tourists.

I look down at my dress, frowning. Darius is right. I should have worn my white Oxford and black pants. Even though Triston has already seen me in that outfit and knows it’s my waitressing attire, it still looks more professional than this.