Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [51]
Asha had felt this coming for weeks. There was a certain devotion from the people employed at The Windmill. The workers were ‘family’ and Rhonda never developed that sense of belonging. To her, it was a job going nowhere. While Asha was an easy employer, encouraging people to be individuals and secretly delighting in their quirkiness, Rhonda took advantage of Asha’s gentle indulgence as an employer.
“I’m sure whatever you have to say can be said before Netta. Not many secrets are kept around The Windmill.” Asha pulled her friend back down on the couch as Netta started to rise. “Sit. We’re having a nice time.”
Flashing the blonde a disgusted look, Rhonda pulled out her paycheck and flourished it. “What’s this about?”
Asha blinked and shook her head. “Whoa, hold that still if you want me to look at it. I presume you’re referring to the thirty hours pay instead of forty.”
“Yes, I am.” Rhonda put a hand on her hip.
“Well, you worked thirty hours. I paid you thirty hours.”
“I can’t live on that.”
Asha nodded in understanding. “Most people can’t. That’s why they work forty hours and get paid for forty hours. You were late twice and missed a day. And before you say you were ill, I spotted you having lunch at Turfland Mall with George Wilson.”
“I can get a job hostessing at the Howard Johnson’s in Lexington,” Rhonda threatened.
Asha smiled. “Then I suggest you do so. See how long you last working there thirty hours a week and calling in sick all the time.”
Spinning on her heels, Rhonda stormed from the office, then out the front door. Netta gave a little wave. “Bye, Rhonda.”
With a shrug, Asha eyed the cat crawling into her lap. “Dismissing Rhonda from mind . . . I know why I don’t trust Jago, but why do you think you can’t have Liam? Personally, I think he’s haveable.”
“I wish.” The two words reflected Netta’s doubt.
Asha eyed her. “Sorry, fess-up time. Why are you putting Liam beyond reach? Inquiring minds want to know.”
“Oh, you think a couple slugs of Scotch and I’ll reveal all? I’m cheap, but not that cheap.”
“Yep. A side property of The Macallan—it’s a truth serum in disguise.” Asha shoved the bottle at her. “Come on, confession’s good for the soul. Why is a sexy blue-eyed blonde going home alone every night?”
“Like you, sister woman, I was burned. He wasn’t drop-dead beautiful like Jago or Liam, just a sweet boy. He wore those horned-rim glasses, was so studious, and determined to be a lawyer. I suggested we live together to cut expenses. He wouldn’t hear of it, insisted we get married. Insisted.” She sighed sadly. “It didn’t take much convincing. I would’ve jumped through hoops for him. I pulled two shifts to make ends meet while he went to school full-time. We had this dingy little apartment over on Rose Street in Lexington on the edge of the University. But we were happy.”
This was the first time Netta had talked about her past, other than a vague reference here or there, so Asha was curious. “What happened?”
“Rich grandparents. His mother had run away when she was young, after she’d gotten pregnant. More likely they kicked her out when they learned about it. After her death, some private detectives finally tracked him down. They invited us to visit them—in their big fancy house on the hill. They wanted to forget the past and were delighted to have found their grandson after all these years. However, they were less than thrilled with me. I didn’t know Armani from Wang. I laughed too loud, my hair was too bleached. I was too—” she waved her hands in the air—“everything. Common. They always got that same expression that Rhonda had on her face, like I was something they stepped in. Oh, they were subtle, careful to hide it from Jon. To make a long story short, in the end he preferred their money, and they preferred he have a wife more suited to their rich world.”
“Ah . . .” Understanding dawned within Asha. “I don’t trust pretty men because I was burned