Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 28810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Just running some errands. I’ll be back.
You’ve been “running some errands” during the twilight hours a lot lately…
Is everything alright?
Yes, Jenny. Everything is fine.
You promise?
No… But it will be. I promise THAT.
I’ll be here waiting for you to explain what the hell THAT means…
I sighed and closed my inbox, pulling up the job ad I'd saved weeks ago.
The pay was ridiculous compared to the last five night-shift jobs I'd applied for. If I could land this one and hold onto it for six months, I'd make enough to keep Slow Burn alive.
Unfortunately, I was probably one of a hundred people who'd done that math.
Established Book Warehouse Searching for Packers & Loaders
$45/hour plus benefits
Night Shift Only
I stared up at the massive steel building, and my confidence slipped a notch.
The last five places had lost interest the second they learned I owned a business of my own. Apparently, I desperately need a second job to keep said business alive wasn't the selling point I'd thought it would be.
Straightening my back, I walked into the building with my printed resume in hand and my pride firmly tucked away.
“Welcome to Sinclair Paperback Printing!” A brunette smiled at me from the receptionist desk.
“Wait a minute.” I paused. “You mean Hudson Paperback Printing, right?”
“If you’d come by last week, yeah.” She waved a hand. “Adrian Sinclair just bought us in a private sale, so…”
Oh, fuck this.
For three full seconds, I considered turning around and walking straight back to the subway.
Then I remembered the forty-five dollars an hour.
“How may I help you today, Miss?” The woman tilted her head to the side.
“I have a job interview at eight,” I relented. “It’s supposed to be with a Mr. Tatum.”
“Okay… Well, why are you here two whole hours early?”
To prevent myself from being late. “I’m just a naturally early person.”
“I’ll see if I can get him for you.” She picked up her phone. “Mr. Tatum? There’s someone here super early for her interview. Are you available? Awesome!”
She hung up and slid out of her chair.
“Great news! You're hired.” She reached for a bright blue lanyard. “Here you go, Miss, uh—what’s your name?”
I stared at her.
“Summer Connors.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Connors.” She extended her hand. “I’m Veronica Jenkins. I’ll give you a quick tour and show you to the basement. When exactly can you start?”
“Tonight if I forget all my business values…” I muttered. “I’m pretty flexible.”
“Tonight would be great, actually!” She motioned for me to follow her to the elevator. “Fill out your paperwork by four and I'll see if I can sneak you onto this week's payroll.”
I stared at her. Either they were really shorthanded or I’d severely underestimated my warehouse appeal.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I haven’t even done the interview yet…”
“Mr. Tatum said you don’t need to.” She shrugged. “He said your application spoke for itself.”
“There were only like six questions on it…”
“And you answered them all perfectly!”
“Um, okay.” That didn’t make any sense, but I bit my tongue before I could talk myself out of the position.
We rode the elevator to the bottom level, and the scent of freshly printed paperbacks smacked me in the face the moment the doors opened.
“Okay, so…” She led me down the hall and into a colossal room with exposed white pipes, towering shelves, and stacks of boxes that seemed to stretch for miles. “We ship books to all the bookstores and coffee shops within a two-hundred-mile radius.”
She stopped in front of a stack of boxes and stabbed the top one with a box cutter. Then she pulled out the book—The Firm by John Grisham.
“So, like, this entire stack obviously belongs to this Grisham dude.”
This “Grisham” dude?
“He writes way too many legal stories, but people seem to like him for some reason.”
“He’s like one of the top bestselling authors—ever.”
“I thought that was the King dude? Stefon, right?”
“Stephen…”
“Oooh, you’re a book lover, huh?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“I use them to prop up things around my house all the time.” She winked at me. “Anyway, everything down here is in alphabetical order, so you’ll get an order sheet, grab the books, and carry them over to the flashing blue robot station over there.”
I followed her finger toward the blinking lights several massive rows away.
That was it?
Grab books. Walk them over. Repeat?
I was still convinced there had to be more to this.
“Any questions?” she asked.
“Yeah… Um, this sounds a bit too easy. Am I missing something?”
“Not really.” She shook her head. “Most people quit because they get bored or fall asleep.”
“Fall asleep?”
“Yeah. Apparently walking back and forth carrying books for eight hours gets monotonous.”
“But you're definitely paying forty-five dollars an hour?”
“Yep.”
“Plus benefits?”
“Yep!”
I narrowed my eyes. “What's the catch?”
“Hmmm.” She tapped her chin. “That's probably a Mr. Tatum question. Hold that thought.”
She rushed out of the room, leaving me alone.
Curious, I walked over to an opened box and pulled out a book. A Baby-Sitters Club collector’s edition.