“Then what does it matter?” he asked, chewing on the toothpick in his mouth.
“It matters.”
He sighed, leaning back in his worn chair. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Your Philip Edson’s daughter, ain’t ya? You’ve also been kicked out of my bar twice this year alone. Why do you need a job? I’m not in the business of hiring lazy people who don’t need a job.”
“Sounds like you haven’t hired anyone.”
Wick glared at me, and then the corners of his mouth turned up. “I need you to file, keep my calendar, run errands, help Jojo on occasion, schedule ads, and vet any calls I receive. Jojo is tired of hearing from every journalist in the state and everyone who owns a camera thinking they’re a photographer. I need someone firm. I need someone organized. Is that you?”
“I can be firm when you need me to, but I can’t promise I’m organized.”
Wick pointed at me. “But you’re honest.”
“I guess.”
“Thirty-six hours a week, one week of vacation … unpaid, no benefits, this ain’t a charity.”
I shrugged. “I don’t need it anyway. My parents keep my insurance. Or, they did. I need to ask them about that.”
“You haven’t said why you’re here. Everyone knows your sister works for your dad. Why aren’t you? Has there been a family uprising, or are you some kind of spy from the paper?”
I couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “A spy? No. If you’ll notice,” I said, reaching over to point at the paper on his desk, “that’s not on my résumé. It’s also none of your business.”
Wick grinned, his crooked, yellowing teeth making me never want to pick up another cigarette again.
“Do you smoke?” he asked.
“Yes?” I said, sitting up and feeling a bit creeped out that he’d mentioned the very thing I was thinking about.
“You’re hired. Nine hundred a week. You’ll start tomorrow. Let’s go have a smoke in the back.”
“Oh. Uh … okay, then.”
I followed Wick out of his office, down a hallway lined with boxes, and then out a back door. My boots crunched in the snow, and I looked up, letting the flakes fall and melt on my face.
Wick pulled a cigarette from a soft pack in his shirt pocket and a lighter from the back pocket of his Wranglers and hunched over. He cupped his hand around the flame and puffed, then held out his lighter for me to do the same. I leaned in, took a drag, and then startled when two men came around the corner.
“Wick!” Tyler said, slowing mid-step the moment he recognized me.
“Tyler! Zeke! You’re late! Where the hell is the other one?”
“Colorado Springs. Again,” Zeke said. He pulled two cigarettes from his pack and handed one to Tyler. I recoiled. Menthols were disgusting. That must have been Zeke’s preference. Tyler smoked from a black pack.
“Hi, Ellie,” Zeke said.
“You know her?” Wick said, pleasantly surprised.
“Yeah,” Zeke said with a smirk. “We met at a party.”
“She’s my new assistant,” Wick said.
“Assistant?” Tyler asked. “What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “We’ll figure it out as we go, I guess.”
Wick nodded, seeming proud, and then a deep line formed between his brows. “Make sure you don’t get her into any trouble, Maddox.”
Tyler spoke with his cigarette between his lips, squinting his eyes from the smoke. “You’ve got it backward, Wick.”
Wick pointed at him. “If you get kicked out of my bar again, I’m not letting you back in this time. I mean it.”
“You always say that.”
“And I’m not going to let you be friends with my new assistant, either,” Wick said.
Tyler frowned. “Now you’re fighting dirty.”
“I’m right here,” I said. “And I can hang out with whoever the hell I want.” I stabbed my cigarette in the sand of the butt canister and patted Wick on the shoulder. “Thanks for the job. I’ll see you in the morning. Nine?” I asked, hopeful.
“Sure. Don’t be late. I’m a fucking bastard in the morning.”
“He is,” Zeke said with a single wave goodbye.
I walked around the smaller building to the front, relieved to see that José was early. I slid into the back and let my head fall back against the cushion.
“Did you get the job, Miss Ellison?”
“I got the job.”
“Congratulations,” José said, smiling at me from the rearview mirror.
“Don’t congratulate me yet.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“This,” Jojo said, placing her hand on top of a five-foot-tall metal cabinet, “is our backup database. The hard copies—when we have them—go here. On the back desk by the wall is the scanner and printer—I’ll