Page 7 of Not On Your Life

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Millie, please don’t become a drug dealer.”

”There’s something I haven’t tried yet.” She muses. ”It would be way more lucrative than doing hair.”

I do not have the energy for this right now. ”Millie.”

”Fine.” She mutters something I can’t understand. “Well, do you want to talk about it?”

My jaw tenses. That is the last thing I want to do right now. “I’m fine.”

“Geez, you sound about as mad as you were when you left your white shirts in the washer with my red bra.”

I press a fist to my head as it begins to pound. “Again, that wasyourfault.”

’I’ve heard it both ways.”

“Millie, that doesn’t even make sen—”

Click.

And she’s gone.

I drop my head to my hands with a groan. No matter what I do, I’ll let someone down. Better to be Maddie when she already hates me.

Chapter 3

Maddie

Four months later

I drop my athletic bag onto the counter and log my hours into the computer. It’s time for a nice long bath and a good night’s sleep.

Gunnar slides up next to me, his childish cologne mixed with the ever-present BO making me instantly nauseous. “Hey Maddie, hope you weren’t heading home. Someone requested you for personal training at four.”

That’s in twenty minutes.

“Nooo.” I whine like any self-respecting twenty-six-year-old. “Why can’t Rachel take it?”

Gunnar shrugs and leans against the counter “I gave him a list of everyone, but he insisted it had to be you.”

“Did you make sure he’s not a creeper?” I groan, giving in to the inevitable. I can’t afford to be picky. Beggars can’t be choosers, and until I get back into law, I’m the definition of a beggar. This is what I get for being fired from my first real job as a lawyer. A smelly gym, and questionable clientele. Can’t forget the disappointment I am to my mother. I canneverforget that.

“If you want me to protect you, all you have to do is ask.” Gunnar slings an arm around my shoulder, but I shove him off.

“No thanks. But feel free to review the sexual harassment clause in your contract at your earliest convenience.”

His unflappable laughter booms through the front entry.

I push past him, making my way to the employee locker room.

“You know you want me.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“How’d you know I dream about you?”

I roll my eyes so far back I can almost make out my brain. The very one that is not being used the way it was supposed to be.

The locker room is blessedly empty, and I dump my bag onto a bench then sink down beside it. My head drops back against the wall of lockers and I close my eyes. I’m exhausted. I spent my morning appealing to three different law firms to no avail, and the rest of the afternoon taking my frustrations out with a high-intensity interval training class, followed by two personal training clients. The never-ending job search is defeating. For some reason, people don’t take too kindly to a first-year lawyer attacking other employees.