Page 12 of The Toy Maker (The Pink Cherrie #1)

ELEVEN

I woke up with my hair stuck to the remnants of my lip gloss from the night before. Long-lasting didn’t begin to cover the sticky coating of shimmer over my mouth.

“Oh, fuck me,” I hissed while trying to sit up.

The cot squeaked underneath my weight as I realized what room I sat in. Shards of the night before trickled back to me, making sure to pierce my skull as they went in. A headache had formed behind my eyes, punishing me for daring to enjoy my night out.

I buried my face in the blanket in an attempt to block out the morning light. The sun was too happy, whereas I wanted to die.

Instead of sweet silence, hammering started seconds after I decided to drift into a temporary coma.

I peeled my eyes open and glared at the man repairing the window frame.

The one I’d managed to crack on the mission for my personal belongings.

Breaking in was bad enough, but damaging the store filled me with a new sense of dread.

I swallowed the taste of mixed cocktails and groggily lifted my head from the pillow. “Why?” I wailed.

The man holding the instrument of my torture turned to look at my lifeless body. The blankets swaddled me and my many regrets with warmth.

He briefly stopped the assault on my ears. “Rough night?” he chuckled.

I hoped my groan would be response enough. Diving into the gruesome details would only make the headache behind my eyes stronger. “Can the banging wait a while?” I pleaded.

He shrugged. “Sorry, Jason wants this done by lunch.”

Of course. “What a bastard.” My eyes narrowed.

The man laughed, “He’s actually alright when you get to know him.”

I made a mental note to revisit his statement when I couldn’t smell colors. My stomach protested as I fumbled out of the cot. I made a silent wish for my grandmother’s life alert button when my feet hit the icy floor.

Shoes, where are my shoes?

The man hesitated before returning to work. “You need any hel?—”

I raised a hand to silence him. Noises felt like nails scraping down a chalkboard.

I shuffled out of the room with a teaspoon of patience and my pumps hanging off my limp fingers.

The pounding in my skull gave me flashbacks to my mom banging a pot with a wooden spoon to wake me up on Saturday mornings.

The showroom floor was silent; only a handful of employees went about stocking shelves and checking their Instagrams. My tangled hair barely clung to the hairstyle I left the house with before going to the bar with the girls.

I noticed Jason at the front desk. He was emptying the cash register and placing the money in a pouch. In Kitty’s absence, he must have to take over her responsibilities.

“Good morning,” his soft voice echoed in my ears.

I groaned, my hangover still making my head pound. “Morning.”

The glimmer of mischief in his eyes told me that he enjoyed my weakened state. “I’m sorry. Are you feeling a bit under the weather?” His faux sympathy coincided with the logbook slamming against the counter.

I recoiled, and a news header appeared in my head in big red leaders: “Hotshot Toy Maker Found Dead with Dildo Stuffed Up His B ? —”

Jason brushed off my obvious annoyance, “I assume you slept well.”

I winced. “There was hammering.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “I’m sorry about that. There was a break-in last night, and I didn’t want to delay the repairs.”

“Oh, fuck you,” I gritted out, fighting the urge to mention where he could shove his apology.

“Can’t do that,” he laughed, “I’m the boss, remember?”

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I remembered drunkenly collapsing into his bed and declaring him untouchable based on a job description.

He chuckled, “I would be getting ready for rehearsal if I were you.”

“I’m not rehearsing today.” I could barely walk without spilling my guts; dancing would be a massacre.

“I think you are.” His brown eyes twinkled with enthusiasm.

I shook my head and dragged myself to the dressing room, wondering if I could use Jade’s fabric scraps to create a Voodoo doll.

Hours went by before any of the other girls started showing up. My makeshift sofa cushion bed made me dream of my plush mattress at home. By the time Kitty and the crew arrived, practice was about to start.

Jade curled into the fetal position in front of her vanity while Sarah tucked her arms inside her shirt, shuddering from her headache. They looked almost as good as I did.

“It’s about time,” I said, embodying the misery that loved company.

They greeted me with whimpers and swearing, just as sick as I was.

Kitty bounded up from behind me and clapped. “Y’all ready to nail the routine?” Sarah and Jade shot her a withering glare. “I think we should try adding jazz hands today.” She beamed.

“I’ll give you a jazz finger ,” Jade said as she dragged herself out of the chair.

“That’s the spirit.” Kitty was surprisingly energetic for someone who puked wine all over her white carpet the night before.

We clambered on stage with seconds to spare. Due to our unenthusiastic attitudes, Kitty took pity on us and didn’t turn on the usual stripper music. Instead, we practiced the dance in silence with only Kitty’s commands filling the room.

Halfway through practice, Jason walked out of his workshop and watched our trainwreck. My body ached with each sidestep and jazzy flare. Breaking into his workshop wasn’t my finest moment, but he wasn’t a stand-up citizen either.

I kept a watchful eye on Jason, forcing myself to pretend like my will to live wasn’t disintegrating every moment I remained on the stage. He was up to something, or at the very least, taking more of an interest in practice than before.

My stomach swirled, wondering if I had anything to do with that.

I cursed myself for wanting to have something to do with it after waking up with the scent of cinnamon lingering in my hair.

I turned to spin with the other Cherries, and when I caught sight of Jason again, he had the remote to the speakers in his hand.

When he lifted the remote up, I nearly swan dived off the stage to tackle him.

The music blasted through the sound system, and in seconds we were on our knees covering our ears.

“Screw off, Jason!” Kitty yelled over the deafening chorus of Cherry Pie.

He made no attempt to turn off the music or discuss his actions with Kitty. Instead, he bore his eyes into me. This was retribution for stumbling into his lair: a pure act of war. If it was a war he wanted, I’d give him one.

After what felt like hours, he finally muted the chorus. “I wanted to check the sound system before showtime.” Jason casually strolled back the way he came and disappeared into the back.

When Kitty released us, I peeled Sarah, Jade, and myself off the laminate floor. The back room, despite smelling like a melting pot of perfumes, became our haven.

“What crawled up Jason’s butt?” Sarah whined while we slumped into our chairs and floor, respectively.

“He needs to be punished or something,” Jade suggested with an uncomfortable amount of seriousness in her voice.

Kitty snorted. “Sarah mentioned riding the rudeness out of him.”

“No way,” she said, her nose scrunched in disgust. “I forfeit.”

“That leaves you.” Jade nudged my side, and an ache from sleeping on the cot throbbed.

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll pass.” He was rude, and demanding, and from my limited experience, I made the resounding judgement that he wasn’t a giver.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want that hot piece of inconsiderate ass.” Sarah thrusted her hips forward, laughing for a moment before her expression twisted and she covered her mouth as if she was about to hurl.

I shook my head and brushed off the comment.

“I think Tara is smart,” Kitty said with a grin. “Nothing good would come from sleeping with the owner of the company.”

“Wrong! I’m sure there would be plenty of orgasms,” Jade corrected.

I tried to block out the rest of the conversation while I gathered my stuff and grabbed my purse. I could finally hibernate in my bed and watch reruns of Frasier. I checked for my essentials; phone, wallet… Where did I leave my keys?

“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked as I frantically dug around the bottom of my bag.

“I can’t find my house keys,” I mumbled.

“You had them with you last night when you went home.” She laughed, confused by my panic.

I swore when I realized where they were. I’d left them in the back, with Jason. I said my goodbyes to the girls and marched over to Jason’s toy room, dread building in my gut. I promised myself I’d be in and out before he could realize I was there.

The old door groaned as I tried to sneak in unnoticed; I spotted the keys on the table underneath the new window. I tiptoed across the room and had my hand on the prize when Jason’s voice suddenly came out of God knows where.

“Are you kidding?” he exclaimed.

I swiveled around and tried to ignore the pounding it caused in my head. “I forgot my keys.”

He looked between me and the keys, raising a brow. “Couldn’t even bother to come up with a new excuse?” he challenged.

“Whatever.” I started toward the door, but he stepped in front of me.

I waited for an explanation, but he turned and reached for the door handle. He opened the door and stepped aside, nodding for me to go through. “I’ll walk you out.”

I blinked. “Why?” I stammered.

“Why not?” he said easily. I could think of a million decent reasons why we shouldn’t be seen together. Kitty for one and Jade’s nudging elbow was another.

Still, Jason waited for me to leave the room and then followed me out.

“I enjoyed the rehearsal earlier,” he said before we could enter the sales floor.

I shook my head in annoyance. “That wasn’t funny.”

The sales floor was nearly vacant except for a few customers deciding between battery operated and rechargeable toys.

“I thought it was funny,” he replied with a light chuckle, the sound warm and annoyingly charming. “And you were doing good before the sound system malfunctioned.” He shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

Reaching the front door felt like staggering across a desert and finally spotting water, except instead of an oasis, my salvation was the cracked sidewalk outside Pink Cherrie littered with cigarette butts and glitter confetti from last night’s show.

“I saw you with the remote,” I accused, narrowing my eyes at him over my shoulder.

“I would never be so cruel.” With that, he winked and turned away.

I watched as he strolled toward a group of wide-eyed customers and launched into a pitch for whatever new twisted invention sat in the display case. The customers leaned in, hanging onto every word like he was some kind of sinful prophet.

Shaking off the encounter, I headed home to a well-deserved hot shower.