Broken Submission

Hitting the Streets

Derek breathed a sigh of relief as he closed her door. He set the big bag of groceries that Jack had scrounged up in the backseat and climbed in the driver side. He had a small car for a big guy. It was compact and fuel-efficient and actually had a nice amount of room in the trunk. There was no end to the hard time the guys gave him about it. Their trucks were useful, he admitted, once in a blue moon.

He glanced over at Amelia who was leaning against the door, eyes wide open and staring straight ahead. He pulled out of the parking lot. Driving at night was always a little strange to him. The atmosphere felt charged, everything was at once darker and brighter. He couldn't say that he was particularly fond of it. After a few minutes of silence—he rarely played anything other than the occasional podcast in the car—he looked over to see Amelia taking those very measured breaths and holding the seatbelt off her stomach.

"Are you okay? Do you need me to pull over?" he asked.

She waved him off with a flap of her hand. "No, no, I just get a little carsick. Don't worry, nothing happens, I just get nauseous."

He nodded, unable to truly get a read on her with his eyes on the road. He'd just have to take her at her word.

"Okay, well let me know if you need me to stop. We're coming up on your address anyway."

He'd been surprised when she had given him the address. He was familiar with the swanky complex, and it didn't seem to suit her impoverished state. But then, he didn't know the circumstances. He pulled into the lot.

The second he parked, she scrambled to get out of the car. Her demeanor now, as opposed to in the club, was more animated but also more nervous, even twitchy. He put a hand on her arm to stop her. She paused, and he tugged a stapled stack of papers from the top of the grocery bag. Tapping her chin to make her look at him, he showed her the papers. Her eyes darted from his to the stack in confusion.

"This is an application to tend bar at the club." It had been a last-minute flash of inspiration. "The position is $10 an hour, full time or part time, full benefits including," he paused, "membership benefits in the club."

Amelia stared at the papers. It was perfect. The pay was a full dollar over what she was making now, plus tips, plus adding on the cost of a club membership. There was also absolutely no way she could take it.

"That's an incredible offer," she said, palms stinging, eyes down. "But I can't take advantage of you like that. This economy is affecting you guys too. I checked your applications weeks ago—you aren't hiring. This... This is a really nice gesture, but there's no way I can accept."

Derek started doing some measured breathing of his own halfway through her little speech. In reality, she was right—they hadn't been hiring. But Tony and Tara had just told him, privately, that they were pregnant. A natural consequence was going to be a reduction and eventual elimination of Tara's hours. Still, this woman had refused every helping hand he had tried to extend, and it seemed highly unlikely that anything he said would change that. So, he just handed her the packet.

He grabbed her hand and squeezed. "Think about it, knowing that there is nothing I would do that would put the club in jeopardy. This is a legitimate offer."

She took the papers. "Thank you, sir."

"And," he pulled the bag of groceries into his lap, "these are for you. And I will not," he glared at her, "argue on this point."

She gulped, and he pretended the sound didn't go straight to his cock.

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

He grunted and stepped out of the car. He walked her as far as the lobby. He would've preferred to walk her to her door, but within a guarded community like this, he couldn't find a reason to argue with her. So, he left, glancing back once to see her talking with the desk clerk. A frown pulled at his lips as he drove home, finally allowing himself to ponder the enigma that was Amelia Scott.

The desk clerk was sympathetic when she told him that her date was dropping her off here because she didn't like giving strangers her address. But he also told her that doing so violated their policies, so she would have to leave and not come back. Which was unfortunate, but seeing as she had no intention of being in the situation again, not a huge concern.

Even though she had seen Derek drive away, she glanced around the parking lot furtively. If he knew that she was walking multiple blocks in the dark in a bad neighborhood... she shivered. It wouldn't be pretty.

Looking down at herself, she made sure to drape her long coat over every inch of her clubwear, leaving it loose to conceal the shape of her body. She put the bag on her left shoulder, leaving her dominant right hand free. She even dug a can out of the bag to use as a weapon. Thank God she went barefoot in the club instead of wearing mile-high heels like some subs. This meant that she was wearing the tennis shoes that she usually kicked off at the door.

She took a deep breath, mentally giving herself a kick in the pants to get moving. She was conscious of her walk—no sway of the hips, unassuming, unfeminine, nothing worth giving a second glance. By the time she made it to her door, she was a mess of nerves but unmolested.

Barely registering her depressing surroundings, she quickly threw the food in the fridge and crawled into bed. She turned off the flashlight on her phone and tumbled into a restless, cloying sleep.