Dirty Secrets (Get Dirty 4)

“Time to go, asshole,” he says, grabbing Bayer by the collar and jerking him forward. “And if she says you’re out, you’re out. If she decides to not be so fucking graciously nice and says you’re dead, you won’t live to see another sunrise. So I’d suggest you get the fuck out before I start asking her for permission. Hell, another minute and I might even ask for forgiveness instead of permission.”

Bayer stumbles forward, looking desperately at me in some pathetic plea for help as Gavin half-drags him toward the door. I have no pity on him, though. It’s what he deserves for thinking that I would happily put on a private thank-you show for a skeevy, gross misogynist like him.

His assistant gulps down his fear and grabs the tool box, casting nervous glances at me as he scrambles out the door, almost bowing as he leaves.

“Thank you!”

I sort of feel bad for the kid. He didn’t do anything wrong today. In fact, he was almost Boy Scout polite the whole time.

A moment later, I hear applause from the reception area, and Gavin comes back in, his eyes ignoring the ruckus behind him as he checks on me. “You okay?”

I nod, realizing that it’s probably Donna cheering him on. “Don’t worry, guy was just a dick. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

Gavin shakes his head, rubbing at his neck. “Yeah, that part sucks about my job. My opinion, you girls shouldn’t have to deal with shit like that. Hey, uh . . . so you’re here for the rest of the day, right? Cleaning and prepping?”

“Yeah . . . why?” I ask suspiciously.

Gavin grins, shaking his head furiously. “Oh, no reason. Like you said . . . I was here until the crew left, then you’d be on your own until your go-home detail comes. That’s good, right? I mean, this place is busy enough and you’ll stay inside?”

He’s talking to me but taking baby steps toward the door and glancing behind him like he needs to go all of a sudden. I put my hands on my hips, trying to look intimidating, but I suspect that Gavin is a lot harder to scare than I’d first thought.

He is a big badass underneath his affable exterior, apparently, and I have a feeling about what he’s about to go do. He’s about to go teach Mr. Bayer a lesson.

“Go ahead and go. But do me a favor. If you have to do it, just scare him, maybe give him a little lesson in appropriate customer service. Make sure he knows the proper way to treat a lady next time. Can we stop it there though?”

He’s taken aback at first by my knowing what he’s up to, then he breaks out into a disarmingly boyish grin, and he flashes me a thumbs-up.

“Gotcha. Although I don’t know what you’re talking about, Allie. I just have some errands to run this afternoon. Nothing to be concerned about.”

With a wink, he’s out the door.

Donna’s already got her next class in warmups, so I avoid any ribbing from her as I retreat to my studio, locking the door and grinning to myself. Assholes like Bayer will always exist, but good guys like Gavin do too, and hopefully, the balance will always tip that way.

An hour flashes by as I do my last-chance cleaning. Slowly but surely, the space is coming together, I think with a smile. Warmth bubbles up inside me. It feels like . . . pride.

I’m doing something scary, something that takes some major courage, but I’m chasing those damn butterflies in my gut like they’re going to lead me someplace awesome. Because I think this whole setup really could change my life for the better in so many ways.

Actually, I feel like I’m on the precipice of a lot of changes. Professionally, personally, it’s like everything is right on the verge of falling into place. With just a little nudge here and a little hip bump there, I’ll be better than I ever would’ve thought possible just a few short years ago when everything seemed so bleak.

Excited at the prospect and at my excellent use of cleaning time, I decide to get started on polishing the chrome finish of the newly-installed poles. Each one will take me hours to get ready for class, removing the greasy ick of the factory and the installation, and especially Mr. Bayer’s bad juju vibes on them.

I head to the front, pausing for a moment to remember that I’m supposed to stay inside like Gavin said. But the special cleaner I need is in my car.

Screw it. I’m grown-ass woman who can sure as fuck walk across the parking lot without permission. It’s something I’ve done thousands of times. No biggie.

Feeling my sass, even at such a little thing, feels good, a tiny bit of wild rebellion, but a small piece of me realizes how crazy that sounds.