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Authors: Carmen Green

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BOOK: What a Fool Believes
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Chapter Eight
“Tia, come into my office, now.”
Tia rose from her cube and felt both acute embarrassment and sympathy from her peers. Chance, her boss, had made the demand over the office paging system. Her voice had blared into everyone's work area, which was exactly what she'd intended.
She liked her employees shaking and defenseless before she killed them.
While Tia didn't want to keep Chance waiting, she didn't want to appear afraid, either. She wasn't Chance's bitch, so she took the long way to her office, passing one extra cube before entering the vacuous space.
The distance between the door and Chance's desk seemed to be the length of the Hollywood red carpet, and Chance enjoyed every quaking step her staff had to take before they arrived, intimidated and often crying.
Chance was a size 2 bully.
Tia arrived at the desk, folded her hands, and forced herself not to shake.
“Yes, Chance?”
Pale hands extended from under jet-black sleeves and flipped open Tia's personnel folder.
“Do you know how many days you've been absent this year?”
“Three.”
“Six. I'm counting the half days as absences, too. In addition, you've embarrassed this station with your—”
“Chance, I had pneumonia two days in January. Besides, I've already apologized for everything else.”
“Else? No,
antics
is a better word. Taken to court by all the local news stations. You were so hideously funny, the AP picked it up. ‘I'm sorry' isn't good enough, Tia. We are an organization of professionals, not two-bit hoodlums,” she said imperiously. The folder snapped closed. “And you weren't even good at that.”
“Chance, I'd had a terrible shock. I'm sorry for causing you or the station any embarrassment. It won't happen again—”
“Excuse me,” Chance interrupted sharply. “I'm extending your action plan because of your unprofessional behavior, attendance and poor work performance. If you miss work one day, if you're twelve seconds late, or if you miss one of those anger management classes, I'll take great pleasure in firing you.”
“Chance, this is so unnecessary. I had a simple lapse in judgment. It was immature, I know. But believe me, people will forget this with the next big news story.”
Chance folded her hands over her waifish stomach. “Now you're an expert? Shouldn't you have thought of that before the profanity flew out of your mouth? Didn't you see the cameras in the courtroom? My God,” she exclaimed. “That's why you're not a forecaster now, Tia. You don't use mature discretion. Do you know anything about my personal life? No. Do you see me or anyone else from this office on our rival station as Atlanta's funniest person of the week? No, only you hold that distinguishable honor.”
What could she say? Some of what Chance had said was true, but an action plan? She'd been a stellar employee for five years. She'd never used a sick day before this year and had never given her parents, the Normans, a reason to doubt her integrity or commitment to the station. It wasn't until Chance had joined the family business two months ago that Tia had become a problem.
Chance pointed at her, and Tia noticed red marks lining her wrists. When she saw the direction of Tia's gaze, she slapped her hands on the desk. “You have an additional thirty days to convince me not to send you packing. Once my decision is final, my parents won't save you again.”
“Please assure them that they won't be disappointed.”
“You work for me,” she said softly. “Your job is to please me.”
The glint in Chance's black-rimmed eyes sent chills up Tia's spine. Her tongue rolled in her mouth as she tried to formulate words that involved mature discretion. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
To kick your ass
, her brain completed, but thankfully, the words stayed inside.
“Why are you still standing there? Get back to work.”
Tia hadn't wanted to hurry out of Chance's office, but she felt as if Chance's eyes were boring a hole into the back of her head. Before she knew it, she was on the other side, with her back pressed into the handles of the door.
Ronnie/Rhonda, the cross-dressing mail clerk, sashayed up, dressed as a woman today. “I'd have kicked my sister's bitch ass. You held your ground, though. Good for you.”
Tia sprinted after him. He was six feet four and had a stride like a gazelle. “How do you know what went on in there?”
“Baby, Rhonda knows everything. Now get to your desk before you're on the street. She's coming.”
Her heartbeat thundered as Tia careened up the side aisle of workstations and duckwalked to her seat. She landed just in time.
“I thought you were going to make my job easy,” Chance said from behind her, making the hairs on Tia's neck stand up. “Sign these.”
Tia squeezed her hands before turning around and taking the papers. The other meteorologists and various assistants were all huddled in their cubes like frightened kittens.
The papers outlined her action plan and the performance review she hadn't seen. She leafed through it and saw the low scores. “I'd like the opportunity to read this over. On my own time, of course. May I return this to personnel tomorrow?”
Tia knew she was pushing her luck, but Chance couldn't skirt the law, no matter how much she hated her.
“Nine a.m. sharp. Sign the other one now.”
Furious, Tia scribbled her name and thrust the action plan back at Chance, who grinned. “Ah, so the peacock awakens.” She snatched the papers. “Get to work.”
Tia turned to her desk and looked at the reports she needed to complete. The worst part of her job was that sometimes it was just plain boring. Her assignment for the past month had been to review data from Alaskan meteorologists, who, on a daily basis, measured glacial melting. Not exactly her dream job, but someone had to do it.
She tried not to think about it as she plugged in figures for the next three hours.
She typed in numbers that resembled her bank PIN and realized she needed to check her account balance. Craning her neck to see if Chance was around, Tia typed in her banking institution and accessed her account. $897.04. That was all the money in her checking account. She already knew her savings account was empty.
Her heart rate increased by ten beats a minute as she memorized the withdrawals, closed the screen, and returned to the weather Web sites before getting her checkbook out of her purse.
The card for the anger management class fell out.
Damn.
She still had to face that awful music.
“Want to do lunch with us?” Ronnie/Rhonda asked.
Tia fumbled with the checkbook. “You need to make some noise and stop sneaking around, scaring people.”
“The guilty always protest too much,” Ronnie/ Rhonda said, with a sweet grin, his eyes bright blue. “Hungry, peacock?”
Tia glanced at the card, knowing somehow that the class wasn't going to be either free or cheap. “I'd better not, but thanks.”
“Don't let that Morticia freak get to you.” Ronnie/Rhonda's voice rose a bit.
“I'm not,” Tia said to quiet him. “I've got something to do, that's all.”
Tia didn't fold under the intense scrutiny. The last thing she needed was to cause a scene. That would surely get her fired. And she'd make Chance's day.
“All righty then. Come on, girls,” Ronnie/Rhonda said to the two station interns who stood dutifully behind him. “We're lunching on the outdoor patio at Blanco's so we can babe watch an hour of our life away. Ciao.”
“Ciao,” Tia said, as the group weaved to the elevator and left her in miserable silence. She and Ronnie/Rhonda had never been close friends, but the cross-dressing man was always good for a laugh and gossip every now and then.
Not for the first time, Tia wondered why he'd been kept on at the station. Two years ago, he'd started as a man and then one day showed up as a woman. The staff had been aflutter and his parents hadn't been happy, but Ronnie/Rhonda had endeared himself to the people at WKTT and now he was a treasured member of the staff. The truth was, he knew something about everything and that made him invaluable.
Tia eyed her checkbook again. The state had cashed her thousand-dollar check in a hurry.
She dialed the number on the card for the class and waited. Instructions were given, and then her mouth fell open. She pressed ONE to hear the message again. “Registration for the anger management class is $295. If you are registered before five p.m. eastern standard time tomorrow you will be enrolled in the class that begins tomorrow night at 7:30 p.m. at Reynolds High School. To register using a credit card only, please press two.”
Tia disconnected the call, then redialed. Her fingers hovered over the 2. That was three hundred dollars. She needed that money for other important stuff.
Like that cute Kate Spade purse she'd eyed on eBay.
The judge's words haunted her, as did Chance's.
She didn't have a choice.
Tia pressed TWO and entered her credit card number, then ran to the bathroom stall for a good cry.
This better be worth it,
she vowed as she hunkered over the toilet, relieving herself.
The outer door opened and closed.
“Of course I was serious about your niece working here,” Chance said into her cell phone. “I just have to clear up a personnel issue, and then we're all set. Two weeks, tops.”
Tia had stopped peeing midstream. She cringed at her only option and let her bare ass hit the seat. Quietly, she put her feet on the door and prayed she didn't catch anything else communicable.
“The job will be vacant in two weeks. The idiot in it won't last. Right, of course. I didn't mean to offend you. Good-bye, Miss ...” Chance's voice trailed off as she snapped her phone closed. “What was I thinking? Why did I say that? God, I'm in trouble. I've got to get Tia out of here, or I'm toast.”
Tia strained as her butt started to slip on the seat.
The outer door opened and closed with a hiss, and Chance was gone.
Tia let her legs down and shot off the seat. She vowed to soak off the germs tonight, righted her clothes, and left the stall. Washing her hands, she was back at her desk in under a minute.
She was the idiot Chance had been speaking of. Why had her job already been promised to someone else?
Well, she wasn't going to make it easy for Chance to fire her. In fact, she was going to be employee of the freaking year if it killed her.
Chapter Nine
The corner of Tenth and Piedmont wasn't a normal hookers' hangout, but construction on Luckie Street had driven business in.
The calls about the trash and activity had started coming in at midnight, an hour into Byron's shift. He'd responded with increased patrols, sometimes flashing his lights, but as soon as he pulled away, they'd resurface, like cockroaches, and claim the corners again.
Unsettled, he drove the streets, wishing everyone would just go home and go to sleep. That's where he wanted to be. At home. Asleep.
Alone. There wasn't another option, considering he didn't have anyone.
That was cool, he reminded himself. His last girlfriend, Lynn, had driven him crazy with her suspicious, jealous ways.
But she could cook. And she could make him lose his mind in bed. More than once he'd been glad for the half acre of space between his house and his neighbors. Or else he'd have had some explaining to do.
He directed his patrol car up Fourteenth and down Piedmont Avenue, heading back toward the heart of the city.
He and Lynn were over. For good. And no amount of reminiscing would change that. She was crazy. A drama queen with no throne.
Months ago he'd made himself delete her number from his cell phone, but he still remembered it.
His cell phone rang, surprising him.
Lynn.
Had he talked her up, or what?
He hesitated over whether to answer, then pushed the phone icon. “Byron Rivers.”
“You sound just as sexy as ever. Hello, handsome.”
Damn
.
She sounded like rain after a long drought. Her voice made him want to vacation in its sweetness for a hot minute. But this was Lynn. His ex for a reason. “What's up, Lynn?”
“Missing you. You been thinking about me?”
“Not really,” he lied.
“You weren't ever a good liar. That's why I was always glad to use you as an expert witness. Juries believe you. I've been thinking about us.”
“At two in the morning?” he asked. “Ten months after you walked out? Why would I be crossing your mind?”
“You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I blew it. I know I did. But the best part about making a mistake is forgiveness. You told me that once.”
Her sexy voice lured him but didn't make him forget. “You left me. I wasn't ambitious enough, remember? I'm still the same beat cop who only makes enough money to eat out once a week.”
He drove to the edge of his territory, then headed back in.
“Now who's holding a grudge? I'm a changed woman. You'll see. What time do you get off?”
“You know.” She was an attorney and had connections everywhere. “Just like you knew I was working.”
Her husky laugh took him back to some of their better days.
“Can I make your breakfast?”
“I don't—”
“A man has to eat. Bacon, waffles, grits, eggs,” she purred. “Coffee with cream. I haven't lost my touch. You'll be completely satisfied.”
The offer hung out there like a seller hawking tickets. Maybe he was being too close-minded. “All right. Breakfast and that's it.”
She laughed again. “See you at eight a.m. at your place. Be safe.”
As soon as the call disconnected, second thoughts ran through his mind. Lynn Summer, a defense attorney from Chicago, had a plan for her life that included a man who wasn't Byron. He didn't make six figures or more, nor did he see himself getting close to that in the foreseeable future.
Lynn, who loved the finer things in life, was the same woman who'd left with every designer bauble he'd ever bought her.
Except his broken heart. She hadn't placed much value on that. He tried to dial her back but didn't get even her voice mail. She was trouble. Just like Tia Amberson.
Byron slapped his forehead and stomped on the brakes. He had to register for the anger management class. He dug out the number, dialed, and paid, pissed.
Women were nothing but trouble.
He cruised past a parking lot, saw the same action, and stopped.
He amended his earlier thoughts about women.
People
were crazy.
He called in the public sex act and got out of his patrol car. The couple was too engaged to notice him.
He tapped the kneeling woman on the shoulder with his billy club. “Police. Stop what you're doing, and get up.”
The man reacted first. His eyes shot open. He jerked to the right. Unfortunately, he must have met teeth, because he started squealing and running in place.
The hooker turned around, unfazed. “Cain't you see we're busy?”
“Breaking the law. Get up. You're under arrest.”
“Really?” she said.
Damn
, Byron thought. This wasn't going to be easy.
Suddenly, dirt sprayed his face. Temporarily blinded, he grabbed hold of the freakishly strong woman. Luckily, she was still kneeling. They wrestled for a minute, with Byron grinding his teeth when her nails dug into his arm. Ten seconds later, he had her subdued, and within a minute, she was in the back of his patrol car.
Outside the car, he went through her bag while she cussed and kicked at the window.
“Hey,” Byron hollered at her. “You better not mess up my car.”
He just prayed she didn't defecate on the backseat. That was the worst.
Byron radioed the station. “Run a check on Strawberry Jones. Five-foot-ten female, 185 pounds.”
Several seconds passed. “It's a hit,” came back the dispatcher. “Wanted in three counties in Georgia, and in Alabama for solicitation. The other charges range from assault with deadly, assault on a police officer, threatening a witness, and jaywalking. She's a badass.”
Byron looked at the thrashing hooker and gathered her stuff off the hood. His arms were bleeding, and the threat of impending doom seemed to have come to rest on his shoulders.
The john had gotten away. But, Byron reasoned, hopefully, this bust would help get him off the night shift and get his career back on track. Byron wasn't normally morbid, but somehow he didn't think so.
BOOK: What a Fool Believes
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