The F King: A Bad Boy Romance(69)

I’d been working there for over a year, and had only come face to face with Austin once. Even that was only due to special circumstances that I had to agree to, so he could be avoided. That, in turn, would help me avoid those voices in my head, some of which sounded a lot like my dad.

You know what kind of girls run around with boys? Whores. The stupider and uglier they are, the cheaper they are, too. If I ever catch you… girl, I’ll know you’re the cheapest one of them all, and I swear you won’t sit down for a week…

I’d heard it so much that I believed it. I may not have been a supermodel rocket scientist, but I could stay away from the boys at least. Anything for the hope of some peace at home. Anything to not hate myself.

Today there was a local Brazilian Jiu Jitsu tournament being held at the event center. After an interesting morning working with a kid who had refused to tap out to an omoplata submission, I was again relegated to the more common task of restocking the various supplies needed by the more experienced members of the team.

Then Gordon tracked me down and sent chills of fear down my spine.

“Hey Skylar, I just got a call from somebody in management, they wanna see you. Robbie Johnson, some new guy. Is there something I should know about?”

Oh, please no!

Somehow, somebody knew about what had happened in Austin’s room. They saw me go in, or worse, what if there were security cameras or something in the rooms, and they saw me just about to put my hand on his erection?

Everything I’d been working towards was about to go down the toilet.

My heart, especially mobile lately, settled down in the pit of my stomach and started the task of being digested. I felt heavy as I rose to my feet in front of the supplies cupboard.

“Um… not that I can think of,” I said.

“Right. Well, let me know afterwards. I don’t want to be kept in the dark about what’s going on in my team. He’s on the third floor, by the Media Relations department. When you get up there, go ahead and ask somebody, they’ll be able to show you to his office.”

“Sure.”

If I’m still in your team.

I felt like I was digging my own grave when I finally found Mr. Johnson’s office and stood in his doorway. He was still in the process of setting up his area. With the open boxes everywhere and the pictures of comically dressed professional wrestlers on the walls, my feelings of dread almost seemed out of place.

“Mr. Johnson?”

“Ah, you must be Skylar? Skylar Cross?” he asked, sounding like some old New York gangster.

“Yes, sir.”

“Take a seat.” He gestured at the only option, in front of his desk.

Picking my way around boxes and sporting memorabilia, I sat down and concentrated on holding back tears as I awaited my fate. Mr. Johnson sat opposite me and shuffled through some of the papers on his desk.

“Here we are. Skylar Cross, in the Tier-2 Sports Therapy team, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I was looking through your resume over here, and comparing it against the others in that team, as well as some of the torrent of applications we’ve had lately. And I couldn’t help but notice yours looked a little… short.”

He handed over a few pieces of paper, which I recognized as the token application I’d completed when Uncle Malcolm got me the job here. Included was my resume, detailing my excellent work as a grocery store checkout operator and my ability to be a high school student.

“Is there perhaps a page or two missing?”

“No, sir. My uncle helped me get a job here,” I said. “But I’m studying at UNA to get all the right qualifications.” I rushed to add.

Mr. Johnson laced his fingers together on top of his desk. “But you don’t have said qualifications as of right now?”

“No.”

“Hmmm. It’s an unfortunate situation we’re in, Skylar. There are a lot of really bright kids out there that would give their right arm to work with NHBFC, you know. Fresh out of college, crushing student debt. Fully qualified and licensed. You can see how it’s not fair for them, if we were to keep you on and leave a better qualified candidate out in the cold, right?”

Every breath I took started to hitch as I fought off the onset of sobbing like a baby. I was going to lose the battle against the tears. I was going to lose this battle with life. After an all too brief escape, I could already picture going back home to Brookmere and my dad. It would be years before I could save up enough money to continue my studies. Before I could think about being happy.

“But… but please! I w-work really hard, everybody says so! A-ask G-Gordon, I pick things up really fast, I’m never late, never s-sick. I need this… I… I can work for a little less pay, I-”