Page 2 of His for Christmas
I shivered.
“You lost?” said a thready voice.
An older man was watching me with a concerned expression on his lined face, his dark skin a contrast to the white fluff that lined his red suit. This particular Santa manned the donation bucket right in front of the door I needed.
“Not lost,” I admitted. “A little nervous.”
“Ahh.” He turned back to look up at the building. “You going to work for the Big Bad?”
I wasn’t exactly current with the rich and famous. There were TVs in prison and the occasional magazine, but I preferred to keep my head down. But even I knew what the Big Bad meant. Gage Thompson was the owner of Thompson Industries. The press had dubbed him the Big Bad Billionaire after a particularly dirty takeover of a competitor.
Then there had been that unfortunate quote that had aired again and again. He’d been on an interview with some finance show as part of a “Billionaires Under Forty” feature, looking cool and crisp in a custom-tailored suit.
I don’t make the rules, he’d said. I just win the game.
Apprehension twisted my stomach. But it was just a silly nickname, right? The newscasters said it with an ironic twist of their lips—and a wary light in their eyes.
I tried to laugh. “He’s not really that bad, is he? I figured that was just, you know, for show.”
The man lifted one shoulder clad in red felt. “I hear a lot of conversations coming in and out of the building. Sounds like the man lives up to his reputation.”
A knot formed in my throat. “Oh.”
I shouldn’t be afraid of anyone after where I’d been. No matter how big or bad he was, he was unlikely to shank me while I took a shower. The worst he could do was fire me. Although if he found out I’d lied on my application, he might report me to my parole officer. The slightest offense could get me thrown back inside. I’d heard enough stories from people who’d made it out for a few months only to get arrested for some small offense. The courts weren’t kind to repeat offenders.
Lying had been stupid and desperate—and necessary.
The man smiled. “Well, you won’t have to see him up close, right? Young thing like you probably start at some desk far away from him.”
Or not that far. From what the lady on the phone had said, I would be temping for Mr. Thompson’s personal secretary. The pay would cover all the money I owed for rent, plus extra for food.
So much freaking luck I felt sick with it.
I forced a smile. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
The man smiled. “That’s the spirit.”
I dug a dollar out of my pocket. There weren’t many more where that came from, but if there was one thing I’d learned on the inside, it was that someone always had it worse than I did. Maybe by acknowledging that person and helping them, however little, I’d feel less alone.
Less lonely.
“Merry Christmas,” I told the man, dropping my dollar into the slot.
“Merry Christmas to you. By the way—” he called to me, and I turned to face him. His eyes crinkled. “Mr. Thompson puts money in the bucket every day. Always nods hello to me too. You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat people in passing.”
Some of my worry cleared. Mr. Thompson couldn’t be all bad. I smiled a little. “Thanks, mister.”
He tipped his Santa hat. “Take care now.”
* * *
Have you ever been convicted of an offense or violation of the law anywhere?
I stared at the black letters on white paper as my heart beat a million times a minute. I’d known there’d be paperwork to fill out my first day, and with my luck, I’d known they would ask about a criminal record. Just my mumbled answer on the phone with the HR person wouldn’t be enough. I’d have to put my lie down on paper, for the record.
I’d just hoped the question would be vague, maybe only asking about felony acts committed in the New York state limits while over the age of eighteen. Because then I could have truthfully answered no. My crimes had been misdemeanors in the backwoods of upstate New York, where paperwork seemed optional and rule-following even more so. And I had been a minor. Which maybe explained how they’d found no record of it when they’d run the preliminary background check the HR person had mentioned.
My hand trembled as I checked the box that said No.
The security guy had a sour look on his face. He spent a long time looking over my form. He even left me in the front office while he made some calls, and I squirmed in the plastic bucket seat. God, what if they found out? I’d only been released four weeks ago. Not even long enough to get used to regular food and regular clothes and regular outside. It seemed like he wanted to refuse me, but in the end, he handed me a freshly printed name badge and sent me to an elevator around the corner.
