Page 32 of Vetted for Vengeance
These aren’t the sounds of my girls. The air smells different, too. Not the stale urine I've learned to block out, but a fresher, antiseptic smell. It's brighter, and everyone is so nice.
I can learn new routines, I can learn where everything is kept. And I want to train in everything else. I'll do it.
I'll train to become a veterinary nurse.
I head to the office, knock, and step inside when called.
“Ah, Noah, you're here about the new trainee job.” Martha grins at me as if she’s been waiting this whole time.
“New?”
“The role didn't exist until you hauled your exhausted ass in here and filled us with puppies.”
“Sorry about that. I couldn't leave them where they were.”
“Oh, don't worry, I watched the first broadcast on TV. I'm finding it hard to resist taking one home.”
“If you want me to tell you about anyone, personality, where they like to be tickled…”
Her raised eyebrows cause my words to die on my lips. “Sorry. No sales pitch.”
“Save that for the camera. I hear the national news show wants a daily adoption section for the old girls.”
I give a weak nod and slide into the chair by the desk.
Old girls! They are mine. Now I have to let them all go.
I don't really hear much about the job; a job is a job. Pay is food.
But the numbers are interesting. Minimum wage during training, a bump once qualified. And a nice rate for the TV appearances. It’s more money than the brothers ever paid me. But the brothers paid for the room. And the food.
Minimum wage suddenly has to stretch across rent, electricity, groceries… deposits.
Bills I’ve never had to think about before. Numbers I don’t know how to survive.
My brain does the math and I hate how tight the numbers feel.
Here I have to do that myself. If I can make the numbers work for a house and food. Once qualified, I could afford new clothes, some nice luxuries, maybe. I'm good at doing things, feeding puppies when they don't meet parameters, but working out if a minimum wage job covers a rented room and meals isn't something I can imagine.
But others do it.
People who understand how the world works. Maybe Rhys will help or tell me who to ask. Or just… expect me to figure it out.
But this isn't a dead-end, minimum-wage job. It's a career. And the film role is a nice bonus, which could open doors for myfuture. Good pay for a short-term gig. A down payment on my own place one day.
A shot at a proper life.
I sign the contracts with shaky hands. My name looks wrong on the official form.
Like I’ve stolen someone else’s future.
Rhys did this for me. He created the job; he's planning the barn renovations to make a role for me. He was watching my ass when I changed.
These aren't the actions of a man worried about exposure or trying to silence a witness. Unless this is how he keeps me close. This is a man who treats me. He's going out of his way to make me feel secure here.
Safe.
These are the actions of a man building something.
