Blood Trial Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #1) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,13
She threw Misery a third look.
He didn’t budge.
“And he’s out,” my friend said, wrinkling her nose.
I held back a snicker as I typed a quick reply to the receptionist who’d signed off the previous email with the name Angelica.
Brr. Her name was as cold as her eyes.
Hitting Send, I’d hovered a finger over my grandmother’s email for barely a minute before a reply from Live Right came through.
“Angie doesn’t muck around,” I said, impressed by the sadness of her life. It was 8:00 p.m. Woman had to be a workaholic.
I read aloud. “Miss Basi, welcome to the team. We are glad to have you aboard.” I scanned the rest of the email. “She said that we’ll go through details on Wednesday. What details?”
My friend slurped back the minty dregs of her drink. “Bank account number, tax number, address. That kind of stuff.”
As she spoke, my face slackened. “What?” I croaked. “I don’t have any of those things.”
Tommy answered between slurps. “Of course you do.” She took one look at my face and stopped slurping. “You don’t know your bank details and tax number?”
Mutely, I shook my head. “I have credit cards that draw on the estate. I’ve never had a real job before.” Hysteria entered my voice. I gripped the table. “What if I don’t have a tax number? How long do they take to get? Where do I get one?”
“Basi. Basi.”
Tommy rounded the table again and clicked her fingers in front of my face. When I fixed on her chestnut eyes, she threw money down on the table and shouldered my pack.
“Come on, lovely,” she said, dragging me off the stool.
I trailed after her, panic holding me tight. I’d spent all day being shat on by people and now I miraculously had a job and might have to turn it down.
“You have an address,” she said as we walked. “Just use mine. We can go to the bank tomorrow morning and open an account for you.”
There was just one problem. “Can I use a fake name?”
“Nah, that’s illegal. Pretty sure.”
I sighed. “What if there’s not a single bank owner in Bluff City that I’m not on first-name basis with? They’ll recognise my name.”
Tommy swore. “Ah, crap. Sir Olytheiu. I forgot about him. Dang.”
He owned the largest bank here, yes. Not the only one.
I straightened suddenly. “I could use your bank details for the job.”
She shot me an amused look.
“No, seriously. Your middle name is Beatrice. What if I use your last name? Then I’ll use the initial B? Would the bank process that and put the money in your account?”
Her expression turned contemplative.
“It would probably work,” she said. “I’ll have to check if using my tax number will mess with my tax bracket because your salary coming in will be classed as a second job. I used to work two jobs, but the total only made up what I earn now. And my second job was taxed at a higher rate than the first.”
A pain stabbed over my left eye.
“How much of that did you not understand?” Tommy asked after a beat.
“From tax number to higher rate,” I confessed. Rich people had teams for all this fiddly shit.
She cracked a grin, but her eyes were serious. “I’ll look into it tonight. We’ll check how long the tax number application takes. In the meantime, you can call the tax office and see if you already have one. That would make everything easier. I don’t mind lending you my bank number, but I’d rather not do the same with my tax number unless we have to.”
I was putting her in a tricky situation. I didn’t know just how, but clearly I was. “Sorry, Tom. I didn’t consider it might drag you into trouble. I’ll figure something out. Truly. I’d hate to mess with your… bracket.”
She threw her head back, laughing. “Y S I S, bitch. That was a bad one.”
Yep. I really had no idea what any of that stuff meant.
“Plus, I said we, didn’t I?” Her expression was ferocious. “We’ve got a whole day to figure it out. It’ll be okay, Basil. Promise.”
I appreciated that big time considering I felt about as emboldened as a sober karaoke singer right now.
“I love you,” I told her, sighing heavily.
“Loves ya, too, babe,” she answered, flashing a carefree smile.
Was this how the poor lived? How did they just keep going when the entire world was against them? How did they have any fight or laughter left?