The Other Side of Greed by Lily Zante

Chapter Twelve

BRANDON

Ifollow Simona to the storeroom, anger seeping out of my pores at the thought of the menial task before me.

“This is where we keep everything. My goodness,” Simona’s hand flies to her chest. “This is all very neat and tidy. It will make your task much easier.”

“I helped her with that,” I point out. “Last night. We were here until late.”

“That’s Kyra for you. She has no life outside of work.”

I snort. I can tell. As CEO of this business, Lewis needs to work on the business, not waste her time cleaning up storerooms and doing the inventory.

“You don’t look happy,” Simona comments.

I’m not used to doing menial tasks. I have people to do that for me. But I’m also not impressed by the menial jobs that Kyra does. “She’s wasting her time cleaning out the storeroom and rearranging the shelves. She should be focused on more important things.”

“She works too hard, that girl. Fredrich does a lot, but she still puts in all the hours. Kyra has no airs and graces. If she sees that something needs doing, she’ll do it.”

“You can’t beat commitment like that,” I say, “But she could still make better use of her time.” I gaze around the room, seeing it properly this time and not wanting to get my clothes dirty, but I have no option. I’ve put myself into this disgusting situation, and now I have to see it through. Which means I have to check the inventory against the items that are here. It is craziness of the highest order.

“Is this important?” I jerk my head at the shelves. “Feeding the homeless? Why does she do that when it has nothing to do with the core business. That’s where she should be spending all her time and effort.”

“Kyra wants to do her part in getting rid of poverty and homelessness.”

“Why? Was she homeless?”

“She wasn’t homeless, but she’s known hard times. Her mother, bless her dear soul, encouraged her daughters from an early age to help out in soup kitchens. Kyra tells me how she and her sister, Penny, used to help out on Christmas day.”

“Help out?” My eyes widen as I choke it back, keeping it suppressed, the past that threatens to rise up from my belly and into my throat. “On Christmas day?”

“That’s what she told me.”

I wonder if she and I have more in common than not.

“Here’s the list of things we need for the food nights.” Simona hands me a notebook. “Just note down how many of each item we have.” I take the notepad and pen and force a smile. Simona turns to leave. “We’re grateful that you’ve joined us.”

“You might be. I’m not so sure about Kyra.”

“She might not seem very warm, and you might think she’s not grateful, but she needs the help. She has grand plans.”

“Grand plans?” My ears prick up. My smile widens as I slide my hand into my pocket. “I’m sure she does, a smart and resourceful woman like her. What is she hoping to do?”

“Build out. For a start, expand the size of this factory. Our demand is fast outstripping our supply. News about what we do here seems to have caught the mood, and word is spreading fast. We’re also seeing an uptick in people wanting to work here, and soon we’re going to run out of room. She doesn’t like to turn people away.”

“She turned me away.”

“You’re not a vulnerable person, someone coming off the streets and striving to make a better life.”

“Is that the bar for entry?” What a goddamn low bar.

“We also take on women fleeing from domestic abuse.”

What a great line-up of people. I can’t imagine what their resumes look like. I also can’t get my head around hiring losers. I only hire the best. “She sounds like a saint.”

“She’s not, nor does she see herself in that vein. She, like everyone here at Redhill, wants to provide an environment where people who have been knocked down have a helping hand. We don’t give benefits or welfare checks. We give them hope and a strategy.”

“I guess you do.” A tiny part of me understands what she’s trying to do. Simona examines my face carefully.

“If Kyra isn’t being as gracious as she could, it’s because you don’t strike her as someone who needs that type of help.”

“I’m not interested in working on the factory floor. I’m interested in doing my bit and helping her with the business. I had assumed she’d be grateful for my help.”

“She will be, she is. Just give her some time to warm up to you.”

“Thanks for showing me the ropes, Simona. This place will look transformed when you next see it.”

I work methodically, taking note of the supplies. If Emma could see me now, she’d be roaring with laughter. She would think I deserved it.

Kyra walks in sometime later. “Haven’t you finished yet?”

“I was double checking everything.”

She looks around the room. “Still, it shouldn’t have taken you all morning. I had put some time aside to go through some of our marketing ideas.”

I rub my hands together, recoiling in disgust at the idea of the filth that has seeped through my pores. “We can do that now.”

“There’s more. Follow me.” She walks away, leaving me no choice but to follow her. She shows me to another larger storeroom off the hallway. I am starving. I need my lunch. Suddenly I’m craving a pastrami sandwich.

“If you could clean up in here. With Fredrich away, I’m not going to get a chance to sort this out until the weekend. This is where we store the deliveries for our product line.”

“You want…” I choke internally. My stomach goes into lockdown at the thought of no food. “You want me to clean this now?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

I do. I’m about to die of hunger. “No.”

“Good, because we have a delivery of supplies coming in this afternoon. We get it every few weeks and I’m going to need your help bringing things in here.”

“I was about to have my lunch,” I announce, my brain furiously looking for ways to get out of doing this. “Do you suffer from OCD?” I lean against the doorframe and rub my hands together as if I’m getting rid of the imaginary dust.

“My mom was convinced I was.”

“And now? Does she think you’re over it?”

She moves her lips but no words come out, then. “She died a while ago …”

Oh, shit.

She walks over to a shelf and lines up a box that is already neatly lined up. I follow her.

“I’m sorry.” I place a hand on her shoulder but she shrugs it away. That’s when I notice it; a small tattoo on the rounded part of her shoulder. It’s in the shape of a sun, and I’m suddenly curious about it. But before I can comment on it, she hurls an order at me.

“This room is messy. If you can manage to hold off your hunger, do you think you could tidy this before the deliveries arrive?”

“Sure. I mean, I was going to go to lunch but, whatever.”

She hangs her head as if she’s having problems coming to terms with what I’ve said. “You need to eat. Of course you do. Go ahead.”

She turns her back to me again and starts to move things around on the shelf. The urge to walk away and get the hell out of this place is strong, but I have a reason I’ve put myself through this. I can’t wimp out now.

“I’ll do it. You don’t have to. I’m hungry, that’s all.” She’s doing this to test me. I’m sure she would allow Fredrich to have a break, or god forbid, eat, if he was about to die from starvation. Kyra Lewis doesn’t bring out the best in me; I turn into a monster when I haven’t eaten for a while.

“I’ve got this, Hartley. You go and eat something before you faint.”

Two strikes. She says my name as if it’s snake poison, deadly and vitriolic.

If she only knew who I am. What I have. What I own.

“There’s no need to get so riled up.” I start moving things around. “Do you want everything lined up neatly along the walls?”

“Yes, and make room there,” she points to another wall, “for the delivery that’s coming this afternoon.” She slaps her hands along her slacks. “Can you handle it?”

“I can handle it, Lewis. Don’t you worry about a thing.” Satisfaction warms my insides to see the hard set of her jaw. She’s the boss, but I don’t treat her like one, and she hates me for it.

That’s what I call a result.