That Kind of Girl (Fillmore & Greenwich Book 2) (15 page)

It had to be a good omen, she decided, tucking a stray strand of hair back into her bun. This lawyer would cut down her enemies and serve them flayed open.

She rang the door and was buzzed in. Walking up the stairs, she had a moment of doubt.

The peeling wallpaper and aromas of old oil and sesame were charming. She jogged up the stairs and went to meet her knight in shining armor.

Reaching for the doorknob to his office, she twisted it but the door didn't budge. She finally realized something was blocking it from opening all the way. She shoved it as hard as she could and squeezed through.

She saw a box full of papers as she closed the door. A lot of boxes, actually, with papers spilling out—everywhere. She had the urge to organize it all, but it'd probably take her weeks.

Sometimes the best people worked in unassuming places, she assured herself. The lawyer was probably very organized otherwise. She wasn't going to judge. If he got her sales incentive paid out, she'd get him another box for the loose folders all over the place.

He entered the main room from behind a tower of boxes, smiling. "Sorry I didn't greet you right away. My wife called, and after all these years I know better than to let her go to voicemail."

"Is everything okay?" Dana asked.

He shrugged. "She wanted me to bring home milk. I'm Henry Wampler."

She shook his hand. "Dana Olsen."

"Come have a seat." He guided her into the room beyond the leaning tower of boxes and gestured to a rickety chair. "So what can I do for you?"

"I was fired by my employer—"

"And you want to sue for harassment?" he finished for her as he took his seat, too.

"No." She frowned. "They promised me a bonus, but now they claim they don't have to give it to me."

He sat up. "They can't do that."

"They say they can." She pulled out the folder she'd compiled with all the emails and copies of contracts and handed it over. "They say that even though I technically closed the sale, because I was fired before the final papers were signed I'm not eligible."

He extracted the paperwork she'd given him and flipped through it, stopping every now and then to read closer. Then he put everything down. "They're right."

"But the deal was closed," she protested. "That has to make it valid, right?"

"Not according to your contract," he said, setting all the pages back in the folder. He closed it and held it out to her. "I'm sorry. I won't be able to help you. Next time, come see me before you sign a contract and this won't happen."

Frowning, she took it back. "Do you know someone who can help?"

He shook his head, leaning back in his chair. "No one's going to touch this. You don't have a case. You signed a contract saying that sales that weren't completely closed didn't count toward your bonus, period. I mean, you could fight it, but how much money do you want to throw at this? Your employer has deeper pockets than you'll ever have. All they have to do is wait you out until you go bankrupt. Is this that important?"

The money would make things easier, but money came and it went. What
was
important was her sense of pride, and standing up for herself. She couldn't just roll over and let them screw her over—that wasn't who she was.

But it was obvious that Henry Wampler wasn't the one to help her. She stood up. "It might be that important."

His expression stated exactly what he thought about that. "Well—"

"It's okay. I'll find someone else to help me." She held out her hand. "Thank you for your time."

"No one will want to take this on," he called after her.

"I understood you the first time you said it," she muttered under her breath as she left the office. She decided to walk all the way home, because she needed time to think.

By the time she arrived at her place, she was sweating from the walk up the hill and her feet were throbbing. She kicked her shoes off after she entered the building and carried them up the three flights of stairs.

Jeannie was home, lying across the couch reading a magazine, when she let herself in.

Frowning, Dana set her shoes by the door. "You're home early."

"I had a late lunch meeting and decided I needed a pedicure after." She looked over the top of the magazine. "Did you have an interview today?"

"No, I went to see a lawyer to try to get my bonus back."

Jeannie set the magazine down and moved her legs to make room on the couch. "How'd it go?"

She dropped onto the couch and propped her feet up. "Pretty much like you'd think."

"Sucky?" Jeannie asked.

"Yep."

"I've been thinking about that."

Dana held her hand out. "I know what you're going to say, and the answer is no."

'"But it makes sense."

"Actually, the answer is
hell no
." She hugged herself. "I'd rather cover myself in honey and walk into a beehive. I'd rather start wearing plaid and grow a curly mustache. I'd rather—"

"I get it." Jeannie rolled her eyes. "Talking to your ex isn't ideal, but he keeps reaching out to you, so he obviously still cares about you, and you need good advice from someone. Talking to him wouldn't kill you."

"It might," she replied darkly. The last time she'd seen him was when she'd gone to sign the divorce papers. He'd insisted on having her come to his offices. She shuddered again, thinking about the long walk down the hallway to the conference room, everyone in the office peering over their cubicles to witness her. She saw that, in their eyes, it was a walk of shame, and that'd taken away the joy of what should have been a lovely emancipation for her. So yeah, it'd probably kill her.

Jeannie put her hand on Dana's arm. "I get it. He's your ex, and he was unpleasant, and you'd rather not see him ever. But you're cutting off your nose to spite your face."

She shook her head. "I don't think that he'll help me."

"You don't know that he won't." Jeannie gave her a narrow stare. "You're going to give me enough time to find a new roommate before you run out of money, right?"

"I'll find a job before I run out of money." Although the words didn't sound too certain to her own ears.

Jeannie lowered her legs and stood, heading toward the bathroom. "It's your life, I guess. If you want to screw it up because you're afraid, that's your prerogative."

"I'm not going to screw it up," she called after her roommate.

"Whatever," Jeannie called back.

She wasn't. She hugged herself tight. She'd come up with an alternative. Like calling another lawyer. She picked up her phone, opened her Yelp app, and went through the top ten lawyers who handled employee issues. She described her situation to each one.

Each one said she didn't have a case.

Huddling in the corner of the couch, she looked at the next ten lawyers on the list. She wanted to be optimistic, but she knew none of them were going to be interested in her case.

Was getting her bonus important enough to talk to Kevin again?

She held her breath and texted him before she could come to her senses.
I need some legal advice.

His reply came seconds later.
I'll meet you tomorrow afternoon.

She stared at the message. This was her chance: she could say she changed her mind and cancel it. She could say that didn't work for her. She could just give all this up.

Or she could make a date with the devil.

She replied before she could change her mind.
I'll see you then.

George could see the scaffolding and draping covering the garage from two blocks away on her walk to work. How long could it take to paint a mural? Striding up to the garage, she knelt to unlock the gate.

"George!"

She turned around and waved at Pete, who jogged across the street from the firehouse.

"The hairball in my car's engine is turning into the black plague," he said, smiling at her. "You think you'll have time to look at it today? I can bring it by."

She glanced down the street. "It's right there, isn't it? I'll come take a look in a bit."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." She chucked him on the shoulder. "I got you."

"Thanks, G." He grinned and strode back to the firehouse.

Walking in, she left the gate ajar for Ariana and went to her office to look up ads for the Black Shadow.

Shaking her head, she started a search for the missing parts for the motorcycle. She wasn't having any luck, which sucked. She had a feeling she was going to have to modify it, because she was itching to take it out for a long ride.

Riding brought Remy Savage to mind in the most inappropriate way possible. She closed her eyes to block out the image of her on top of him, but closing her eyes only made it more vivid.

Was that bad?

No, it was kind of good. She hummed, leaning back to get comfortable. If the real deal was half as good as it was in her imagination, then maybe she needed to act on it.

Except he wanted her to tango. He'd see sex as an acceptance of his invitation, when for her it'd be just sex. Glorious sex, but sex nonetheless.

Shaking the image out of her head, she got up and went to work. Sometime before noon, she remembered Pete. She grabbed a small toolbox and stopped by Alex's station.

He was standing under an uplifted car, surveying the undercarriage thoughtfully.

"Everything okay?" she asked, standing to the side so she wouldn't crowd him. Poppy used to do that with her, to give her space to figure out a problem on her own.

"It's all good. I just have a feeling I should check it one more time." He shrugged. Turning around, he nodded at her toolbox. "You going somewhere?"

"Just across the street to look at Pete's truck." She glanced at the time. "Will you be here? The owner of the Buick is coming by to pick up her car, and the new furniture is being delivered."

"I got it covered," he assured her.

"Thanks." She nodded at the car he was working on. "I trust your gut."

"That's what I'm thinking," he murmured, turning to look at it again.

Leaving him to ponder his mechanical problem, she went across the street to the fire station.

Robbie and Eugene were outside packing equipment onto one of their fire trucks. They both perked up when they saw her. "Hey, Georgie!" Eugene called out. "Looking fine."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm wearing grease-stained coveralls."

"Yeah, but you rock them."

Robbie nudged Eugene and smiled apologetically at her. "Ignore him. We're trying to send him to etiquette school, but so far he hasn't been accepted. You here to look at Pete's truck?"

"Yes."

"It's open." Robbie nodded in its direction. "He told me to let you know the keys are under the seat. He'll be down in a bit."

Waving, she went to work on the Bronco. He had one of those classic ones that were straightforward but, because of its age, just needed extra TLC. She hopped in and took it for a drive to see if she could replicate the sound Pete said it was making. She was in the Presidio, going up a hill, when she heard it. Pulling over, she opened the hood and did her thing.