Read Online Changing Scenes (Changing Teams #2) by Jennifer Allis Provost - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Allis Provost
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returned to my menu. Opening my own place might just be worth it to get rid of Leela’s attitude.
Chapter Twelve
Astrid
I hurtled out of Al’s Place, filthy and sore and wishing some enterprising arsonist would develop a particular fascination with that address. Yet even though my feet screamed with blisters and my back ached, I had something on me that I hadn’t had before I took this job—lots of cold, hard cash.
Al’s son, Padraic, had warned me during my first shift not to expect this kind of money year round. Apparently the drunks started feeling generous around Thanksgiving, thus giving us bar workers our annual bump in pay. Then the New York expatriates started returning a few weeks before Christmas, all the college students and siblings and cousins going home for the holidays. A traveling drunk was a well-tipping drunk, or so Padraic claimed.
So I endured a day of dodging wayward hands and pretending my pen didn’t work when guys tried to give me their number, all in deference to this supposed rite of passage. When did mothers stop teaching their boys how to treat a lady? Still, when my shift ended on that cold, gray Monday, I had over two hundred dollars in hand. If this kept up I might get myself out of debt by 2026.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. When I checked the display, I saw that Kendra Saunders, my up-and-coming designer friend, was calling.
“Hey, girl,” I greeted. “What can I do for the best designer on the east coast?”
“For starters, you can tell everyone that,” Kendra replied. “Want to walk for me on Friday?”
“Walk for you?” I repeated. Fashion Week was long since over, and shows during the holidays were few and far between. “Where’s this show?”
“It’ll be in Soho,” she said. “You know that musician I met, Matt? He’s funding it.”
“Is he.” Oldest story in the world—pretty girl gets cute guy to pay for things, though in this case the guy was cute, loaded, and famous. “Does this need to go through my agency?”
“Not if you don’t want it to.”
I grinned, imagining John’s sour face when he found out I’d gotten decent work without him. And just think, he was the one who had dissuaded me from accepting the non-compete clause, all because he’d have to pay me a higher percentage. “I think we can spare them the paperwork. Email me the particulars and I’ll get back to you tonight.”
“Awesome. You rock, Astrid.”
“You too.”
Chapter Thirteen
Astrid
I endured two more shifts at Al’s, a lame photoshoot with a photographer that wouldn’t know vintage style if it bit him on the ass, and about a million calls and emails from my friends at Visa. When Thursday night rolled around, there was no way I was missing out on my midnight adventures with Donnie.
The market was the same as it had been the week before, and the week before that, which was just fine with me. My mood was suited toward escapism, not blazing new trails. We covered the stalls in record time, and before I knew it I was helping Donnie load the assorted sacks and crates into the van.
“You know what I love about you?” Donnie asked.
I glanced over my shoulder at Donnie, where he was arranging our purchases in the back of the van. “What’s that?”
“You always help me load up,” he said. “You’re a high-priced model, but you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”
I smiled, then I hefted the last crate into the van and slid it toward Donnie. “I wouldn’t say I’m high-priced,” I said, recalling my photoshoot from earlier that day. I’d made an entire five hundred dollars, far below my normal rate.
Donnie looked at me for a moment, then the corner of his mouth curled up. “Priceless is more like it.” He placed the crate among the others, and asked, “That everything?”
“That’s everything,” I replied. We’d just completed our third weekly
Chapter Twelve
Astrid
I hurtled out of Al’s Place, filthy and sore and wishing some enterprising arsonist would develop a particular fascination with that address. Yet even though my feet screamed with blisters and my back ached, I had something on me that I hadn’t had before I took this job—lots of cold, hard cash.
Al’s son, Padraic, had warned me during my first shift not to expect this kind of money year round. Apparently the drunks started feeling generous around Thanksgiving, thus giving us bar workers our annual bump in pay. Then the New York expatriates started returning a few weeks before Christmas, all the college students and siblings and cousins going home for the holidays. A traveling drunk was a well-tipping drunk, or so Padraic claimed.
So I endured a day of dodging wayward hands and pretending my pen didn’t work when guys tried to give me their number, all in deference to this supposed rite of passage. When did mothers stop teaching their boys how to treat a lady? Still, when my shift ended on that cold, gray Monday, I had over two hundred dollars in hand. If this kept up I might get myself out of debt by 2026.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. When I checked the display, I saw that Kendra Saunders, my up-and-coming designer friend, was calling.
“Hey, girl,” I greeted. “What can I do for the best designer on the east coast?”
“For starters, you can tell everyone that,” Kendra replied. “Want to walk for me on Friday?”
“Walk for you?” I repeated. Fashion Week was long since over, and shows during the holidays were few and far between. “Where’s this show?”
“It’ll be in Soho,” she said. “You know that musician I met, Matt? He’s funding it.”
“Is he.” Oldest story in the world—pretty girl gets cute guy to pay for things, though in this case the guy was cute, loaded, and famous. “Does this need to go through my agency?”
“Not if you don’t want it to.”
I grinned, imagining John’s sour face when he found out I’d gotten decent work without him. And just think, he was the one who had dissuaded me from accepting the non-compete clause, all because he’d have to pay me a higher percentage. “I think we can spare them the paperwork. Email me the particulars and I’ll get back to you tonight.”
“Awesome. You rock, Astrid.”
“You too.”
Chapter Thirteen
Astrid
I endured two more shifts at Al’s, a lame photoshoot with a photographer that wouldn’t know vintage style if it bit him on the ass, and about a million calls and emails from my friends at Visa. When Thursday night rolled around, there was no way I was missing out on my midnight adventures with Donnie.
The market was the same as it had been the week before, and the week before that, which was just fine with me. My mood was suited toward escapism, not blazing new trails. We covered the stalls in record time, and before I knew it I was helping Donnie load the assorted sacks and crates into the van.
“You know what I love about you?” Donnie asked.
I glanced over my shoulder at Donnie, where he was arranging our purchases in the back of the van. “What’s that?”
“You always help me load up,” he said. “You’re a high-priced model, but you don’t mind getting your hands dirty.”
I smiled, then I hefted the last crate into the van and slid it toward Donnie. “I wouldn’t say I’m high-priced,” I said, recalling my photoshoot from earlier that day. I’d made an entire five hundred dollars, far below my normal rate.
Donnie looked at me for a moment, then the corner of his mouth curled up. “Priceless is more like it.” He placed the crate among the others, and asked, “That everything?”
“That’s everything,” I replied. We’d just completed our third weekly
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