Filthy rich werewolves by Taylor Caine

Chapter 92

GRACE

It’s been a really long time since I got two days off in a row. And on a weekend, no less. Normally, I will

work overtime and take whichever shifts I’m assigned. But lately, my schedule has been improving.

More day shifts, fewer night.

I think perhaps the Director is worried over the fallout from Farah. The woman had attempted to strike

me, and Gus filed a formal complaint with HR. I would not have done that and I’m thankful that he did.

If nothing else, there is documentation from another worker that I was actually being harassed.

It’s probably the threat of a harassment lawsuit that has the Director giving me a better schedule. Once

the cat was out of the bag with my prison sentence, it would’ve been clear to anyone who heard the

gossip or who bothered to google me, that I am—was—an attorney.

Since I finally got some rare time off, Lina wanted to take me shopping.

We haven’t had a girls’ day out or a shopping trip in a long time. Me because I lack the time and the Nôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

money, and Lina because my erratic schedule makes planning a shopping trip almost impossible.

As we stroll around the mall, I feel as if I’ve momentarily returned to the past when, before the accident,

I was young and carefree.

I’d taken so many things for granted.

Money, time. Friendships. Her freedom.

Ava.

Gosh, I miss you, girl.

I feel something.

It’s like the slightest tickle of current running through my fingertips and along my spine. It’s a sensation

—though much much stronger—that comes over me right before I would shift.

“Ava?”

“What’s wrong?” Lina asks.

“Just missing Ava.”

Lina hugs me to her. “It’s still early days. You were imprisoned and silver-poisoned for years.

Exactly.

Which means my wolf may not ever return to me.

I want to cry but I refuse to.

I’m going to appreciate each moment.

My life might not be so beautiful or easy or glamorous anymore, but it’s my life. And I’m not going to

waste it on regrets or negativity.

Lina elbows my side. “All right, this has been going on for months now. Spill. What’s the deal with Jay?

How much do you know about him now?”

Lina nudges me again.

“Where is he from, where’s his hometown? What kind of people are in his family? You know a lot of

people can seem nice before they swindle someone.”

Right.

“Lina, if Jay was looking for someone to scam, he could find someone who actually had something to

take. I’m poor. I have a dead-end job. I’ve neither money nor much going on with my career.”

Lina waves that away. “Tell me about his family.”

Jay doesn’t like to talk about his family. “I only know that his father has already passed away, and his

mother seems to have left him. He didn't tell me anything else, and I didn't ask.”

"Are you dumb? That’s all you know? You should at least know what he used to do!" Lina says.

I disagree. "Why would I need to find out what he used to do? In the past, I thought I knew everything

about Sean – everything from his family background to the schools he attended. I even remember his

license plate and ID numbers very clearly. But in the end, what did it matter? I still couldn't see him for

who he really was."

“Fair.” Lina bites her lip. "Sorry."

"What's there to be sorry about?" I laugh. "I know you're worried about me, but I really don't care about

any of that anymore. Besides, if he doesn't want to tell me and I persist in asking, he may just make up

some stories to conceal the truth, and I wouldn't be able to tell, so what's the point of asking?”

And that’s the one truth that sits in my stomach like concrete.

I might put forth a good front for Lina, and even for Jay.

But I don’t like that he has secrets.

I lie awake at night sometimes, thinking about how he had a whole life before I entered it.

Does it hurt that he doesn’t want to share things with me? Of course, it does. But I understand him, and

I recognize a kindred soul that is suffering.

Who am I to force him to share his pain?

"Let's not talk about this. Come, let's go and get some new clothes.”

I don’t actually intend to buy anything, but it seems a good enough excuse to get Lina to change the

subject.

“The boss of our design research institute has asked me to wear formal clothes when I meet clients,"

Lina complains as she pulls me into a big designer store.

I paused. I can’t afford the clothes in here and I don’t want Lina to try and purchase something for me.

“Oh, just relax already. I won’t force you to buy anything. And I promise not to buy it for you if you’re

going to have a freakout.”

I huff. “I do not freak out.”

“You do.” Lina points at me. “Your face is doing it right now.” Lina laughs. “I know that look!”

Her laughter makes me smile and I give in. I’m going to be happy and mindful and just stay in this

moment. If Lina wants to try on some clothes. Sure, I can do that. It doesn’t cost anything to try some

clothes on. I can play dress up and pretend and then claim they don’t fit and put them back on the

racks.

Lina makes a beeline for the formal section, and I hang back by the entryway.

I can feel that the lady in the store is looking at me. The cheap clothes I’m wearing are completely out

of place inside this shop.

That familiar sense of shame comes back.

It’s an insidious feeling and once it takes hold, it’s hard to shake.

Shame is one of the worst feelings. Worse than guilt or even disappointment, because it’s like a bad

memory that comes back even years later.

To this day, I still relive my sentencing and conviction. My father giving me up for his new family. The

first time someone looked at me and called me ‘convict.’ The pitiful stares of everyone at the reunion

and at my workplace. Being rejected formally and being declared a rogue. And so many other

embarrassing moments.

“Do you need assistance?” the salesperson asks as she eyes me up and down.

“Just browsing for now. Thanks.”

I’ve done nothing wrong, I remind myself. I have every right to look around a store and ‘shop’ as

anyone else.

"Hey, look who it is! Why would someone like you come here? It's simply lowering the grade of this

entire establishment!” A voice sounds from the inside of the store.

I turn toward the voices and freeze.

Lily Atkinson.

And the other person… it’s Zoe Stevens, Sean’s little sister.

The two women wear expensive luxury brand clothes and carry famous high-end handbags. There’s no

mistaking their looks of contempt.

In particular, Zoe’s nose goes up in the air and her lips curl in an ugly snarl. This is the same girl I took

under my wing and helped with Chemistry homework. The same girl I would run with int he woods

behind Sean’s house.

Our wolves got along great.

From the way she glares at me now, I think her wolf, Leesa, would like nothing more than to tear my

throat out.

When the staff at the counter see Zoe and Lily, they immediately greet them enthusiastically. "Miss

Atkinson, Miss Stevens, a new batch of clothes has recently arrived! Come, let us bring next season’s

lines out for you.” The manager, a man in his thirties, snaps his fingers. “Champagne for the ladies!

Please take a look to see if there are any clothes that you like. Some of them came straight from the

Milan Fashion Show."

"Sure, why not," Zoe says before smiling at Grace with malice. She accepts a flute of Champagne.

“Grace, do you want to try on clothes as well? Oh, wait, I think with your current salary, even if you

were to save up for a year, you wouldn't be able to afford the things here. How could a mere sanitation

worker possibly?"

When the other staff members heard the words “sanitation” and “worker,” they all look at me with

varying degrees of shock and contempt.

My face heats with shame.

I shouldn’t be embarrassed.

I have a job. I do honest work.

"What's wrong with sanitation workers?" Lina asks. She had been checking out the clothes on the

shelves at the other end of the store, but with her heightened hearing she must have heard Zoe and

she’s come over to my defense. "Which law states that sanitation workers are not allowed to enter

certain shops to look at clothes?”

Lina looks at me. “Did you see that sign on the door? I didn’t.”

"But can she even afford them?" Zoe says disdainfully. “Grace is no better than the trash she scrapes

off the sidewalks everyday.” She pauses. “Or maybe she’s come here to steal something. She is an ex-

convict…”

Zoe smiles maliciously as the salespersons surround me.

“Is that what’s happening here?” The manager says. He nods to another attendant, who immediately

picks up the phone.

I’m pretty sure he just instructed her to call the police…