Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

"You're that bad off?" Genuine concern colors Cass's expression, and I immediately regret saying anything. I hate the idea of the whole world knowing the width and breadth of my problems.

"It's fine," I lie. "Really. Things are just tight right now, and I'm looking for another job to add to the mix."

"Hmm. Well, I can't afford to bring anyone on full time right now, but I could hire you for a couple of weeks. Answer phones. Clean. Help me organize all the paperwork."

"Could you? That would be--"

"Really nice," Joy puts in. "But probably not necessary."

I turn to gape at her. "Um, yeah. Necessary."

"You're awesome, Cass," she says, completely ignoring me. "But let's put a pin in it. I just thought of something that's a perfect fit for Laine. And the pay's stellar, too."

"Yeah?" Cass looks between the two of us. "Well, if it doesn't work out, the offer stands."

"What?" I demand. "What's perfect?"

"Let's go get that drink, and I'll tell you." She aims puppy dog eyes at Cass. "Just this one time. Laine needs me."

Cass shakes her head in mock exasperation. "Go. I'll close up. But you open tomorrow," she says.

"Deal. We'll go to Blacklist," she adds, turning her attention back to me. She winks. "Since you work there, maybe they'll give us drinks for free."

I grimace. "I'd rather David let me pick up a shift."

Like my house, Totally Tattoo is located on some prime real estate. The street runs perpendicular to the beach, just a few blocks from the boardwalk. As soon as we step out the door, we turn right, so we're walking away from the Pacific. The sun is low over the ocean behind us, and our shadows stretch out on the sidewalk, as if racing us to the bar.

Blacklist is just a few doors down, with glass and wood exterior walls that open like an accordion, so that patrons can sit at tables that are both in the bar and also on the sidewalk. It's a Venice Beach icon that's been around since the Thirties, though it's now considerably more upscale than the dive it used to be.

A couple is just leaving, and as we snag their table, Joy waves at Nessie, who hurries over with two glasses of water.

"Hey, Joy. Hey, Laine. You're not working today?"

I shake my head. "David said the schedule was full." I make a face. "Too bad. I could use the bucks."

"I hear you there. I'm dying for this insane pair of Christian Louboutins I saw last week. And with tips and the allowance my dad sends me, I'll have enough to get them. I mean, I would seriously die if I had to wait another week."

"I know exactly what you mean," I say, as Joy looks at the tabletop, obviously trying not to laugh.

I order wine for both of us, and when Nessie is gone, Joy finally looks up. "Ya gotta love her cluelessness."

I shrug. "Home foreclosure, fancy shoes. It's all about perspective." And, yeah, there are times when I wish that my perspective included a dad who bought me a convertible, set me up in a beach condo, and sent me a weekly allowance. But it is what it is, and I learned a long time ago that the only thing that matters is doing. As far as I'm concerned, wishing is for birthday candles, and that's about it.

"What is it you want to tell me?" I ask. "What perfect scheme are you concocting that's going to keep the bank from ripping my house out from under me?"

"Wait for the wine." Her forehead scrunches up as if in thought. "Actually, we'll wait until you're onto the second glass of wine."

I lean back and cross my arms. "This isn't some multi-level marketing thing, is it? Because, no."

"Oh, please. You know me better than that. No, this is solid--and lucrative. But you need an open mind."

I add narrowed eyes to my already crossed arms. "Is it legal?"

"Yes, of course. Technically, it's totally legal."

"Technically? What does that mean?"

She's saved from answering by Nessie's return with two glasses of Cabernet.