I'd felt so guilty the days before as I hooked up my laptop to Sonny's printer. I kept thinking about Slim and his friendliness, Blake and his patience, and Blue and her quiet nature.
But I'd be lying if I said the person I thought of the most wasn't Dex.
All I could think of was the version of Dex I'd encountered in the truck on the trip back and forth to Houston. The one who talked to me about installing cameras and putting in extra bills into the cash registers at Mayhem to find their thief. The man who had opened up to me about his own crap-ass dad.
That was the person I'd thought of as I waited for the printer to give me my notice.
And it was that man that had me shaking in my boots at just the idea that I had to tell him I was leaving.
To my surprise, only Blake and Blue were at the shop when I'd driven by on my first attempt to drop off my notice on Monday. When I'd shown up for work on Tuesday, it was Slim who opened with me.
Each moment longer I had to wait, the more nervous and guilty I felt.
So when Dex showed up about halfway through the evening at Pins on Tuesday, I had to double check to make sure my big girl panties were on and finally go break the news.
And still, I wanted to vomit out my nerves.
Only the problem was that he'd shown up in a mood. He'd tilted his head up at me and Slim as he walked passed us and disappeared into his office. And that was my sign that something was adrift in the world of Dex.
Shit.
By the time I made my way into his office, he was sitting behind his desk looking too intently at the computer screen on front of him. The rim of his cap was tugged low on his head. A cigarette peeped out from between his ear and hat.
"Dex?" I asked him in a small voice from the doorframe.
He didn't even bother looking up. "Sup, Ritz?"
"You have a minute?"
"Now's not the best time," he warned. "I'm tryin' to sort this shit out."
What shit he was trying to sort out...I had no clue. But time was a ticking.
"I really need to talk to you though," I insisted.
Dex blew out a raspberry from between his pink lips. "One minute, babe."
Sheesh.
"What’cha need?"
I couldn't summon the courage I needed to tell him verbally, so I shoved the paper across the desk.
Wordlessly, Dex picked up the paper, his smooth forehead was already lined with rows of frustration at whatever was bugging him. Those bright blue eyes moved in a line across the paper twice.
And then he balled it up and tossed it into the trash can, his expression unchanged.
Dex said one word and one word only. "No."
Umm...
"What?" I asked him in a squeaky voice.
His attention was already back on the computer screen he'd been glued to when I walked in. He simply lifted a single shoulder in a shrug and repeated himself. "No."
"No what?" What the hell?
Dex repeated the two letter word again.
"No...you don't want me to finish out my last two weeks? Or—"
He huffed, his eyes still locked on the monitor. "No, you ain't quittin' on us."
That was absolutely the last thing I expected him to say. I scratched my nose. "I mean, I can probably swing both jobs if it takes a little longer than two weeks to find someone else."
"Ritz, I don't have time for this shit right now," he huffed. "You ain't leavin' and that's that. You want more money or what?"
"No! Jesus, Dex. I'm not trying to play a mind game with you or something. You have no idea how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I figured you could find someone who fits in better than I do," I explained to him honestly. Well, as honest as I could get without admitting that I'd started looking for another job almost immediately after he hired me.
"You fit in fine."
"I don't have any tattoos. Half the time I think you don't really care for me either. You can find someone else that you like more."
The way he looked over at me was so slow it threw me off. Like he was thinking, or absorbing what I'd said. Dex tugged his signature black cap off his head and tossed it onto the edge of his desk, sighing loudly. "Babe, seriously, I don't have time for this. You aren't leavin'. I don't give a fuck anymore if you have ink on you or not, and if anybody else gives a shit, they can shut the fuck up. You're fine here. You're stayin' here."
His words felt like a punch to the gut. You know, if a punch to the gut could be a pleasant thing.
Because, I mean, The Dick wouldn't just instruct me that I wasn't leaving if he genuinely didn't feel that way. I knew it. I knew that. I should be outraged that he was telling I wasn't allowed to quit. Then again, I'd been having issues accepting the idea that I'd be leaving Pins behind to work at a daycare for nearly half the hourly pay.