𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝑾𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝑺𝒂𝒚

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

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𝐀 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥
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Tuesday, December 12th, 2017

"How does it feel?" Danny asks as he walks through the door. I'm sitting in his chair, leaning back with my feet up on his desk. Waiting as I suck on a lollipop that I got from behind the register.

"Not as good as I thought it would be," I reply, a smile playing on my face. As he gets closer, he playfully slaps my Converse off his desk. With the shift in weight, I spring up, now sitting up straight, and his hands find their place on the arms of the chair.

"What are you doing here, pretty girl?" He asks. I cringe at the sound of that nickname and pull the lollipop from my mouth.

"Just dropping off some cash," I respond. His eyes follow my hand as I reach into my pocket and pull out an envelope.

"Okay," he says, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me up. He takes my spot in his seat, placing the envelope in his drawer before reaching for a small tin. "What's on your mind next?" he inquires.

"I was actually thinking about taking the next couple of weeks off," I mention, rounding the desk to create some distance between us.

"What? Why?" he asks with a snap in his tone. "You're my best distributor." He adds.

"Wait, really?" A smile begins to form on my face, but I quickly shake it off. "I mean, I just want to try something different," I say. He looks around for a few seconds as if thinking.

"What about school? I thought that was the whole reason you began working for me in the first place," he says, followed by a taunting, "Because daddy wouldn't cover tuition."

I bite down on my tongue, finding it not so easy to brush that remark aside. "Um," I stammer, my gaze darting around before returning to him, "There's a diner up the street. Maybe I could..."

Before I can finish my sentence, he cuts me off, asking, "You want to be a waitress?"

"It's an option," I shrug.

"Come on, what is this about?" He asks. "You're not getting enough of a cut?"

"No, it's not that I-" Again, he cuts me off.

"How about 25%?" Oh, game-changer.

Sure, the number may sound low, but I am only making 15% before. And just for example, a gram of coke costs about 200, and even though 50 bucks doesn't sound like a lot on its own, it sure feels like a lot when, on average, I sell about 45 to 50 grams a week.

He rises from his chair and circles his desk. I refrain from moving too much because taking a step back would be too noticeable. So, I remain still as he positions himself on the front of his desk, leaving very little space between us.

"Okay, how does this sound? Take the week off, think it over, and just let me know your final decision by Friday."

You might expect this to be the part where you'd get your ass kicked, as seen in the movies, but my agreement with Danny is pretty clear. I only intend to do this job until my schooling is paid off.