That Kind of Girl (Fillmore & Greenwich Book 2) (3 page)

I always thought Marty was a smart man
, her voice echoed in Remy's head.

"And of course you needed a break," Marty continued, "but talent comes from inside you. The talent was always there, and it's still there. Do you really think burying it with her would have made her happy?"

"I don't know. She's not here to ask," he replied, the bitterness sharp in his mouth.

Yes I am, my love. I'll always be in your heart.

Jesus—he was going insane. Next thing he knew, he'd be communicating with Martians. Remy rubbed his neck, trying to breathe, but the dust of the desert choked him. "I can't go back to New York, Marty. There's nothing for me there."

"Then where are you going?"

He had no idea. He'd been riding, endlessly and without aim. He'd left New York immediately after the funeral and had gone as far away as he could: Buenos Aires.

It was one of the few places he hadn't gone with Giselle. He'd tangoed before her but had stopped when he met her. She'd had two adorable left feet. He'd never understood how someone so elegant could lack such grace in dancing.

Buenos Aires and tango had been a comfort. In the dance he could have some sort of connection without feeling guilty that he was allowing someone to take Giselle's place.

"Remy?" Marty's voice rose with concern. "You still there? I asked where are you going."

He looked up and saw a green marker sign he hadn't noticed before.
San Francisco 493 miles
.

In Buenos Aires, he'd met a tango couple from the Bay Area, Christopher and Siobhan Connolly. Siobhan had encouraged him to go to San Francisco, where her daughter, Georgina, lived. She'd said Georgina needed a dance partner, and she thought they might be well-suited for each other.

The thought of dancing made his chest tight with longing.

He stared at the sign and heard himself say, "I'm on my way to San Francisco.

A breeze ruffled his hair, like a contented sigh. Giselle's voice followed it softly.
Yes, love. Dance and be happy.

It was fashionable to dread Mondays and bitch about having to go to work, but Dana loved Mondays. She particularly loved this Monday, because it was the start of the best week ever.

She was going to earn her bonus this week.

Humming, she bopped her head to the music streaming from the guy standing next to her on the 1-California. She loved the Muni, too, and that wasn't any more acceptable than loving Mondays.

The bus stopped downtown, at her corner. "Thanks," she called out to the bus driver, giving a wave as she stepped down. She smiled at a man who walked by and then headed into the offices of Wilson, Lanson, & Wilcox Advertising Agency.

Kendra, the receptionist, glanced up with a smile as she walked in. "Hi, Dana. How's it going?"

"Excellent," she said as she walked by.

"Oh." Kendra half stood and leaned over the high counter in front of her desk. "Stephen wants to talk to you in a little bit."

"Sure thing." Her boss probably wanted to talk to her about her bonus. "Buzz me when he's ready?"

"You got it."

Dana gave the receptionist a thumbs-up and headed toward her cubicle.

Never in a million years had she thought she'd be good at sales. She wouldn't have even tried it if she hadn't been desperate.

She wasn't sure who to blame for the self-doubt: herself or her ex-husband, Kevin. Likely it was both, because she was the one who bought into his beliefs.

When she'd finally decided to leave him, it was like a boulder had been lifted from her chest. And then she found this job and had started to excel at life. Sure, she was forty-one and had a twenty-eight-year-old roommate, but that wasn't going to be the case forever. She was successful and not beholden to anyone. Things could only go up from here.

Before, she'd worked as a cashier in a department store. She hadn't planned on doing it as long as she had, but she'd met Kevin and they got married, and her salary had helped as he'd gone to law school. By the time he'd graduated, she was entrenched.

Leaving him had been the catalyst she'd needed. On a lark, she'd applied for the sales job at the advertising firm. Best. Decision.
Ever
.

She hadn't known that being good at something could feel this satisfying. It was freedom, joy, and fulfillment. She woke up excited to go to work; her days had a purpose. She sold advertising and coordinated social media campaigns. She rocked both. The recognition she got every month was nice.

And this month she was getting The Bonus.

She walked down the hall and entered her cubicle. No one had ever earned the sales incentive before. It was like the Holy Grail of bonuses: coveted but never realized.

She had one last deal to sign—tomorrow—and then it was hers.

She grinned, setting her bag down and sitting on her fancy office chair. It felt damn good.

Her phone buzzed, and she picked it up. "Dana Olsen."

"Hey, Dana, Stephen's ready for you."

"Thanks." She hung up and stood. Tugging her skirt down, she patted herself on the back—literally—for choosing to wear the red dress. Red was triumphant and powerful, exactly how she felt right now.

Striding down the hall, excitement in her belly, she smiled at her coworkers as she walked by their desks. A couple watched her, wide-eyed. A couple turned away.

Odd. She shrugged. Maybe they were jealous that she was getting The Bonus. It was okay—she planned on taking everyone out for a round of drinks to celebrate. That'd get rid of some of the jealousy.

She reached Stephen's doorway and peeked in. "Knock, knock."

"Come in, Dana, and close the door," he said without looking up from his computer.

She arched her brow but did as he asked. He was stressed—she'd seen it so many times she knew the signs. Maybe he was helping someone with a deal that wasn't going well. She sat down and waited for him to be ready for her.

Finally, he pushed his keyboard away and looked at her, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Uh-oh," she said cheerfully. "Looks like someone's really in trouble."

"You could say that." He exhaled as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Without lifting his gaze, he said, "I have to let you go."

"Let me go where?"

He shook his head. "You're fired, Dana."

"That's funny." Laughing, she craned her neck to look over her shoulder. "Is this when everyone runs in here with champagne and cake to celebrate my bonus?"

"There is no bonus, because you're being let go." He looked at the far corner of the room. "There's no gentle way of putting it. You need to pack your things and be out of here in an hour."

She stilled, frowning at him. "If this is a joke—"

"It's no joke."

His words broke through and went straight to her gut, which twisted with a medley of disbelief, anger, confusion, and hurt. "I seriously don't understand what's happening. I'm the best salesperson you've got."

"I know," he replied glumly.

She waited for him to say something more, but when he didn't, she asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. We just can't afford you." He sighed, rubbing his eyes, still not meeting her gaze.

How did that make sense? "I bring in a ton of sales. They more than cover my salary and bonuses."

"But we need to cut back, and you're the last hire."

"But that makes no sense." There were at least two other salespeople who didn't meet their quotas each month and earned large salaries.

"It's the way it is." Stephen stood up and held his hand out. "You've been nice to have around. HR will put together your paperwork and take care of any remaining items."

"Like my bonus?" she said, standing even though she felt numb and wasn't sure her legs were under her.

"They'll handle everything," he said, not looking at her. He lowered his hand before she could shake it. "Take care."

Take care.
She shook her head, dumbfounded, as she walked out of his office.
Take care.

Everyone avoided her gaze as she walked by them again, and this time she knew why. No one had warned her. She glared at them, disappointed, angry, and hurt. She'd have warned them if the situation had been reversed.

She went back to her desk and sat down. There really wasn't much to clear out—she hadn't gotten around to displaying pictures of anyone or adding other personal touches to her cubicle.

It felt like she should take something, though, so she took a pen and a sticky note pad. Tucking them in her purse, she got up and took her coat with her.

She looked at everyone, thinking
Shame on you
as she passed by. At the front desk, Kendra had the grace to appear sorry. "Dana, HR wants to know if you could come back at the end of the week to meet with them."

"Yes." She smiled politely. "Thank you."

Kendra covered the microphone on her headpiece. "I'm so sorry."

"Me, too," she said as she walked out.

"The Vincent Black Shadow," Alex said reverently.

George nodded, her eyes on the new motorcycle instead of her new mechanic.

"900cc?" he asked.

"Almost a thousand."

He walked around the machine, tapping a wrench against his palm. "A sprung rear subframe, black enamel crankcase, unit construction, and a stressed engine, not to mention lightweight. Innovative for its day. Does it run?"