Page 7 of Over & Out (Redbeard Cove #3)

“No one was just right. Not until you. Your friend out there, Lana, she says you’re the best server this place has got.

That you’re the one who has the most… sass when it comes to the rude customers.

It’s all I needed to hear—that your handling of Hop today wasn’t a one-off.

Although, frankly, I was ready to offer you the job the minute you got him to eat those eggs. That was a masterpiece.”

Here I was thinking that was impulsive and stupid. That I should have let him burn out. “What can I say? The guy has a talent for pushing every single one of my buttons.”

But as I say that, I have to privately admit there was something about the way he had a comeback for each of my jabs that was exciting. I felt alive in a way I haven’t for a long time.

“I won’t twist your arm,” Tru says as if she hasn’t already been fully doing just that.

She moves to rise and I jump up to help her.

“But here”—she scribbles on a piece of paper on Mac’s desk—“is the pay for the term.” She folds the paper and slides it over to me.

“Plus, of course, all those other benefits we discussed. Oh, did I mention the Iggies in January? I’d need you to walk the red carpet with Hop. ”

I pause in opening the paper as my eyes practically flash with stars. “I’m sorry. Did you say…”

“Yes. The Iggies. Are you familiar?”

I actually gulp. Like an audible cartoon gulp.

I watch them every year. I’m not necessarily a movie star person, but they’re amazing.

“Yes,” I say weakly, my cool cover fully blown.

“I’m familiar with the awards where people wear thrifted outfits and donate their fashion budgets to charities and have peer-voted awards like Hero in a leading role most likely to join themselves in a lookalike contest —” I’m pretty sure Hopper won that one last year.

Who am I kidding? I know he did. Lana, Annie, Shelby, and I shrieked at the accuracy at our watch party.

If Tru knows I know, she doesn’t say anything. She just smiles. “They’re the party version of the Oscars,” she says. “The place the stars let loose. They’re, well, they’re a shit ton of fun, if I’m being frank.”

How can I not get swept up in that?

She smiles. “You going to look at that?”

I look down at the paper in my slightly sweaty hand.

The number she’s written is…obscene. It’s three times what I make at the restaurant in a year. I clear my throat, folding the paper back up as if it’s not a life-changing amount of money.

“I see,” I say. I scratch behind my ear, trying to calm down.

My whole body is vibrating with excitement.

But my hands are also clammy, my stomach flipping so much I think I might throw up.

This feeling of being hand-picked is so unfamiliar it feels like a threat.

My dad was sometimes wonderful, but lots of times, he’d been so wrapped up in his own problems, he’d fully forget about me.

Like not come home, eight-year-old using a stool to make her own dinner and put herself to bed forget about me.

Later, when he was gone, I was the problem.

The one sent to families who took the “difficult kids.” I was too angry, too reckless. Too much. Unwanted.

But Tru wants me.

What if this isn’t too good to be true? What if, for once in my life, I get a taste of the kind of big, beautiful life I always thought was reserved for people more deserving? More together? More everything?

I’m going to say yes. I’m actually going to sit here and say yes. Is this real life? Is this me? I clear my throat and stand up, feeling lightheaded. “Would you excuse me for just one minute?”

I need a breath. Just a quick bit of air.

I need Lana.

I slip outside, only to find Lana and Mac casually leaning against the wall next to Mac’s door, which we all know has notoriously bad soundproofing.

“Were you eavesdropping?” I accuse.

“Yes,” Lana whispers, not bothering to lie. “I mean, I came to check on you and tell you a movie star left you a bananas tip. But right now, I need to tell you he was very polite. He is capable of manners. So yes. You need to say yes.”

“Lana!” Mac admonishes loudly.

“Shh!” we both exclaim.

She heard the whole thing. They both did. Or at least enough.

“No!” Mac whispers, though I can tell it’s a struggle. “She needs to say no. The guy’s an ass!”

Lana waves Mac away, turning her back on him and facing me. “Chris, when I took a chance on my dream, it wasn’t easy, but everything fell into place so fast. ”

Mac leans back against the wall behind her, groaning but knowing better than to interrupt either one of us when we’re on a mission.

“But this isn’t my dream!” I say, plucking at my shirt, because I’m sweating. “It’s hot in here, isn’t it? Boiling, floor-is-lava hot? I feel a little faint.”

Lana fans my face. “That’s exactly my point,” she says, nonsensically.

“This is three months where you get to find out what your dream is and have the most amazing time doing it.” Of course my best friend has read my mind.

“Come on , Chris. Fancy cars? Spas? Fucking money?” I can tell Lana’s trying very hard not to shake me by the collar.

It’s so funny, because I swear this used to be us, but in reverse.

I was the happy-go-lucky one. She was the one with her feet in the mud.

“I don’t know…” Mac grumbles.

I open the folded-up paper for them.

“Holy shit!” Lana exclaims, her eyes lighting up. “Chris!”

Meanwhile, Mac’s jaw drops wide open. The only other time I’ve seen that happen was when he saw Shelby on his wedding day. “I…I mean, maybe Lana’s making some points,” Mac says weakly, still staring at the number.

I crumple up the paper and press my hands to my temples. “Okay. Both of you go away. I need to think.”

“No thinking! Only doing!” Lana whisper-yells as she shoves Mac out of the hallway.

After a moment, I go back into that room and pepper Tru with more questions.

She answers all of them. And despite everything rational screaming at me that this is the worst idea anyone has ever had, I find excitement coursing through my veins.

Sure, I’d have the worst boss in history, which, after the best one, will be a challenge.

But I’d get to yell at him. I’d get to tell him where to shove it.

I’d get to go to fancy awards and eat lobster and have the kind of life I never ever ever got to have, not even when I look back on my happiest days when it was just me and Dad.

And it’s only three months. I could do that for three months, right?

After that I could go and find my future.

Or I could come back here, like it never happened.

Plus, there’s one thing that clinches it. It’s when I’m grilling Tru about Hopper and I ask the question that matters most. “Will he lie to me?”

Tru blinks at that.

I grip my skirt in my damp palms. “I can deal with a lot,” I tell her. More than most people; more than I’d ever admit. “But I can’t abide a liar.”

It’s my bottom line. The thing that matters more than anything to me in the world. And if he is, I’m out.

Tru looks at me closely, seeming to take in my set jaw, my rigid posture.

Like she sees how important this is to me, even if only I know why.

“Okay, listen,” she says. “I’m not Hopper.

As much as I know him, I’m not inside his head.

So I don’t want to make promises about things over which I have no control. ”

My stomach sinks. I should have known better than to get excited. My whole life I’ve known better than to get excited about things that might change my life.

“But,” Tru continues, “if there’s one thing I know about Hopper, it’s that he doesn’t mince words, and he has no problem telling you exactly what’s on his mind. In all the time I’ve been working for him—seven years next month—he’s never once bullshitted me.”

I can’t help smiling, both because she said what I was hoping she would and because I don’t miss how she clearly didn’t cover anything up in her own answer. She didn’t make me any bullshit promises.

“Three months.” I say finally.

“Three months.”

We shake hands. Then Tru leaves, telling me she’ll be in touch with details later tonight.

The moment she does, I drop into my chair, practically shaking.

What the hell have I done?