Paying Her Debt

Evernight
Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright©
2011 Emma Shortt

 ISBN:
978-1-926950-65-5

Cover Artist: LF Designs

Editor: Dana Horbach

ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted
work is illegal.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically
or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are
fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

For Anne,
she of the love beads, Dr. Martens, and flares. This one’s for you, babe.

PAYING HER DEBT

Emma
Shortt

Copyright
© 2011

Chapter
One

Andy placed her hand against the small of her back and slowly, so
it was almost unnoticeable, stretched it out. She swore she could feel the
muscles pop like the hips of a cheap stripper, probably protesting that they were
long since overdue for a break. She rotated her spine, before bending over to
pick up another box. Damn, they were heavy. The weighty jars of expensive
caviar strained her arms, the edges of the box cutting into the delicate skin
below the crook of her bicep.

She shifted and pulled the top of the box open. The cardboard
sprung up, almost smacking her in the face. She bent it down, cursed under her
breath, and started to remove them, the ache in her arm becoming more
pronounced by the second. Sure, she could keep the box on the floor and unpack
the caviar that way, but her back wasn’t up to another hour of constant up and
down. This, though painful, was the quickest way to get the job done.

She sighed, her mind skipping to her lumpy bed at home. It was as
uncomfortable as hell but she’d give just about anything to be able to crawl
into it right now.  Darn, she’d take a ratty old chair at this point and be
grateful for it. Anything to ease the ache in her muscles.
Keep dreaming,
Andy baby.

Her gaze strayed to the clock above the store entrance, and she
was slightly shocked to see the hour. Just after three, another two hours of
her shift to go—she’d kind of hoped it would be at least four by now. Andy
grabbed another jar of caviar and frowned. This would make what? Another
fifteen hour day? Yes, she’d started work at the hotel before two this morning,
finished at eight, and made her way to the store for nine. She needed that hour
in-between the two jobs, time to change from her hideously unflattering maid’s
getup into the immaculate uniform Finest Foods expected of all their staff,
which, though slightly more tailored, was about as comfortable as a first date.
Andy wondered if the senior management ever tried shelf stacking in a starched
white shirt and a perfectly pressed knee length black skirt. She doubted it. Likely
there would be a swift change of uniform if they did.

She swallowed down a yawn and looked around guiltily, hoping no
one had noticed. She was just so fucking tired, not sure how many more fifteen
hour days she could take. Still, she was grateful to have both of her jobs—especially
in the current economic climate—and shouldn’t complain. Not vocally at least. The
store in particular paid some of the highest wages around, and the money was
going someway towards clearing her debts.
Those never ending, stomach
churning debts….

A customer approached. Her gaze on a spot just past Andy’s nose. Andy
quickly lowered her eyes and plastered a false smile on her face. “Can I help
you?”

“One jar,” the woman said.
Yeah, don’t bother adding a please.

Andy handed the customer the caviar, not expecting and certainly
not getting a thank you. The customers of Finest Foods were some of the
wealthiest and snootiest people in the area and expected deference from the staff
who served them. Even the men expected her to reach the goods on the top
shelves, even though Andy barely made it past five three. It went against the
grain for Andy to act subservient but that was the gig, and her paycheck was
enough to quiet any qualms. Well, almost enough.

“How are you getting on there?”

Andy turned to see Rick, the assistant manager, appraising her
aisle and her, for that matter. He’d been trying to get in her panties from the
moment they’d met but even in her lowest points Andy hadn’t considered it. Nice
as he was, Rick, with his spiky hair and strangely sallow skin, did nothing to
inspire her lust. Not that any man had since Pete.

 “Fine thanks,” she replied, though her aching arms screamed like
a lobster in the pot. “Nearly done with the caviar. I’ll start on the olives
next.” A familiar pang hit right dead centre as she said those words, and Andy
had to bite down hard on her lip to contain the feeling. Who’d have thought
that she, Andy Jones, straight A student, would end up stacking shelves? Just
over a year ago she’d had her own business, a flourishing little concern. Of
course, that was before everything had gone down shit creek, leaving her with a
broken paddle. No, not a broken one, a fucking fractured barely held together
one.

I’d planned to open a second shop by now.
She shivered and
ignored the thought. She, more than anyone, knew how quickly plans could
unravel. One drunk driver, one slippery road, one cheating bastard of a fiancé….

It was painful to consider, to remember, so she brushed the
thought aside, wondering instead how to arrange the olives today.
Black or
green to the front? Wow, it’s certainly an intellectual challenge, something to
keep those neurons of yours ticking over.

Rick shifted slightly, his highly polished boots glinting in the
light, and pointed towards the back of the store—unaware of Andy’s internal
monologue. “When you’re done with the caviar, why don’t sort out the cardboard
for recycling in the storeroom? Leave the olives for the moment.”

Andy frowned and followed his hand. “But that’s not my spot. I’ve
never sorted through the boxes.” It sounded stupid but Finest Foods were very
strict in terms of who did what. They expected each part of the store to be
manned by someone who was knowledgeable about the produce. Luckily for Andy,
she’d known enough to get through the interview—it helped that Rick had clearly
fancied her—and had studied up on capers and sub-brushed tomatoes and olives
and such once she’d been offered the job. Her canned goods, sorry, jars of
finest produce, aisle was one of the most popular, of course that meant she
didn’t get to rest on her laurels. If only. Her day was spent stacking shelves,
picking out best-sellers, and advising people who spent more money in an hour
more than she earned in a week.
And isn’t that just the life you always
dreamed of, serving others with a Finest Foods bloody simper plastered to your
face.

Rick moved a little closer, waiting to speak until a customer
passed by. “I know that Andy, but look, can I be honest?” He paused for a
moment, as if screwing up his courage. Rick wasn’t best known for his firmness.
His managerial style was friendliness and support, which suited Andy just fine.
Plus he was always unfailingly nice to her. Probably still hoping for some
action. “You don’t look too good. I can see you’re tired, probably worn out from
your shift at the hotel.” He held his hands up as Andy began to speak. “No,
don’t worry. No one else knows about that. I’ve kept it quiet just like I said
I would. My point is I can’t have a tired looking member of staff on one of the
most prominent aisles, not for the next couple of hours at least. You know the
Finest Foods motto, ‘Happy to help, pleased to be here.’”

Andy was too exhausted to give the eyeroll she so desperately
wanted to. “I’m fine Rick,” she insisted, but he shook his head.

“Look, I’ve only just heard myself, dropped on me out of the
blue, but we’ve got Mr. Iannou coming today.” He shuddered slightly, the
tightness of his face showed just how much that thought worried him. “And you know
what that means. Everything has to be as perfect as it can possibly be. It will
be his first visit since we opened, and you know what they say about him.”

Andy certainly did. They all knew of Alexander Iannou’s
reputation. He was the guiding force behind the Finest Foods brand. One store
turned into twenty, then fifty—and now there were shops all over the globe. And
stores weren’t the only thing in his portfolio. He owned an airline, a shipping
line, and a number of commercial properties, a multi-millionaire already and
not even thirty-five.

Andy frowned. Iannou was said to be fierce beyond belief, a
perfectionist in every single thing he did, and—she’d heard—a real bastard. He
expected the store to operate to peak performance, and woe betide them if it didn’t.

“Why weren’t we given any warning?” Andy asked. “A visit from the
boss man? Surely senior management should have told us?” She eyed her aisle,
suddenly worried. As much as Andy hated working at Finest Foods, she needed her
job, really needed it, like crack addict needs a fix stylee. Her paycheck was
the only thing standing between her and destitution. The meager amount she
earned from the hotel wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to live off, that small
amount, and some money from the store, went towards paying the debts.

Rick shrugged, trying and failing epically, Andy suspected, to
look nonchalant. “He likes to surprise his staff apparently. He doesn’t visit
all of his stores. How the heck could he? There’s hundreds. But I heard, and
this might just be a rumor, that he’s planning to settle here. Start some new
business project, so of course he’d want his local store to be as perfect as
possible.”

“I see. So you want me in the back where I can’t embarrass anyone
with the bags under my eyes?”

Rick stuttered and held his hands out. “Andy, of course not, you
look fantastic, you always do! I just thought, well, you’re probably pretty
done in. It’ll give you a break to be out back. The pace is much slower.”

Sighing, Andy placed her now empty box on the floor. Her back
screamed as she straightened and for one awful moment dizziness hit her.
Shit,
shit, shit.
She took a deep breath and felt Rick’s words hit home. Maybe it
would be better to hide out back? After all, she didn’t want to draw any
attention from Iannou and his entourage. She was beyond the point of exhaustion,
and it would be just her luck to swoon or something in front of him. The
thought, were she less tired, would have produced a giggle. Andy was not the
sort to swoon delicately, more likely she’d fall like a log and injure him, and
herself, in the process.