Taken by the Major: An Age Gap Valentine’s Day Romance (Alpha Billionaire)
Taken by the Major: Chapter 30

“You’re going to regret that, girl!” Mac bellowed and arched off the plastic bench.

The only thing I regretted was not dumping a cold drink over him earlier.

Will rushed out to see what the screaming was about because Mac didn’t just yell in shock. He went on a tirade.

I stopped Will with a hand to his chest.

“Repeat after me,” I said. I couldn’t believe how calm I was. I was laughing. “You’re fired.”

“Kenzie, what did you do?” he demanded. “Wait in my office.”

“No, just fire me already. I’m leaving.” I took off the baseball cap that was part of the uniform and my name tag and put them in his hands. I pushed through to the employee only area to grab my things. I pulled off the nasty uniform shirt and tossed it on Will’s desk. I zipped my coat up and left, only stopping to give Latisha a hug.

“I really enjoyed working with you. If you want, I’d like to do something with you sometime. I don’t have nearly enough friends.”

“You know it, girl. What’s your number?” She pulled out the phone she wasn’t supposed to have and handed it to me. “What kind of number is that?” she asked when I handed it back.

The area code was different. “It’s a pay as you go phone. I can’t afford something fancier. I don’t have minutes right now, but I’m gonna buy some on my way home. I’m going to need them to replace a new job.”

“Hold up, Kenzie. You get SNAP, right?”

I pursed my lips. “Yeah.” It wasn’t something I went around telling people. But Latisha worked here too. She knew how much we didn’t make. She was probably on assistance too.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you, you qualify for a free phone from the same people? You don’t have to use that burner phone.”

I blinked at her. My jaw hung open. I had no idea. “I… thanks, I had no idea. I guess I’m headed over to the county services office after I go home and put a shirt on.”

“What happened to your shirt?”

“I threw it on Will’s desk. Look, I need to go. I’ll see you later, right?” I could hear Will and Mac yelling.

She grabbed my arm and pushed me toward the back. “Go out the back. You don’t need to let them see you.”

She was right. I ran. I jumped in my car and sped out of the parking lot. I felt amazing, free. The look on Mac’s face had been worth it.

Halfway home, I changed my mind. What the hell had I done? That had been the most irresponsible thing I could have done. I was never going to get another job. Will would make sure to let every fast-food place between here and Redding know that I was a liability.

Panic flooded my system. I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t wearing a shirt! I pulled over into the closest parking lot to try and catch my breath. I couldn’t focus on what I needed to do. I sat there and panted, trying to get my breathing evened out.

Holy crap, I quit my job. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. Or both, hysterically.

I needed a new job. I needed a shirt.

My mind was scattered and flailing around. I had nothing that would anchor me to the ground, keep me in place.

I wanted to see Tate. But would he even be willing to talk to me after whatever that was that happened?

I closed my eyes and rested my head back against the seat. I could text him. I didn’t have any minutes. I needed minutes. Latisha said I should qualify for a free phone. I should go ask about that. I needed to apply for unemployment. Could I do that in the same office?

I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes and groaned. There was too much going on. I needed my head emptied so I could focus on one thing at a time.

Step one, I needed to go home and shower off the stink of Burger Jeff and put some clothes on. I focused on that. Home, shower. Home, shower. I didn’t want to add anything else into the mix or I would melt from the overwhelm.

I parked and got out of the car at the apartment. Damn it, I should have stopped to get phone minutes.

“No, Kenzie, stop,” I said. Great, I was talking aloud to myself. One thing at a time. You drove home, check that off the list. Go upstairs, take a shower, get dressed. The second I started to link about what I needed to do next, I froze up and I could feel the panic grow in my chest.

“Upstairs,” I commanded myself.

I trudged up all three flights, made myself take a shower, and changed my clothes. After a hot bowl of ramen, I felt somewhat better. The panic was there, but it had been downgraded to a low buzz and was no longer an overwhelming warning bell. And then it surged up my throat. I ran to the bathroom to throw up. I guess my stomach was more nervous than the rest of me felt.

I needed to get all the thoughts out onto paper. Maybe if they weren’t crashing into each other in my head, I could sort them all out. Every single thought and concern I had I write down. Tate… phone… job… Oh, crap, I had a dress that was due back at the bridal shop this afternoon.

Fortunately, it was just a hem. Just a hem, I reminded myself as I was still stitching an hour later. The skirt of the dress had several layers, and it was a wide, bell-shaped skirt. I really should have worked on it the night before. If I thought my mind was in crazy shape today, I had been worse yesterday. So much worse.

I zipped through the last few layers of skirt hemming on my little sewing machine. After clipping all the random threads, I wrangled the dress back into its garment bag and hauled it downstairs.

“Oh, good timing. I was hoping you’d be early with this one. They have been calling every hour asking about it,” Connie said as I carried the dress into the bridal shop.

“But I’m not late,” I said.

“No, you’re on time, they’re just freaking out,” Connie said.

A client started to complain from one of the fitting rooms. “I don’t like that one anymore. I need something different.”

There was a muttering, and someone said, “Keep your voice down.”

Both Connie and I stopped for a second before returning to our conversation.

“You don’t happen to have any openings, do you? You know I can work in fitting, or even sales,” I asked. I hated to beg, but every few months, I had to ask. I would have much rather worked for Connie than almost any other job I could think of.

“I don’t have any part-time openings right now,” she said.

“Don’t make it tighter!” the yelling client screeched.

I turned as if I would be able to see her, but she was in a dressing room. Nothing to see. When I turned back to Connie, her attention was also on the door to the dressing room.

“Excuse me, I should probably check on them. I’m sorry, Kenzie, I just don’t have anything for you right now. Check back next week. I’m sure I’ll have more dresses to hem as people start shopping early for prom.” She walked around the counter and made her way to the dressing room. She knocked softly and cracked the door open before stepping in.

We were months away from prom season.

Suddenly, the dressing room door burst open and a young woman in a wedding dress, held on with clamps up the back, ran out. She looked panicked with her hand tight over the lower half of her mouth. She frantically looked around before dashing toward a trash can, where she promptly threw up.

My stomach lurched, and I struggled to hold a sympathetic puke down. I swallowed hard, but I didn’t leave. I was too pulled into the drama that was unfolding.

An older woman chased out after her. “Mackenzie, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

We had similar names, so somehow, that meant I was obligated to replace out what was going on. Connie and the salesclerk who were in the fitting room peered out, eyes wide.

“I’m fine,” the bride growled. “The dress is too tight.”

“You can lose a few pounds. We can put you in those Spanks, tighten everything up,” the woman I thought might be her mother said.

“Gods, no! Don’t make anything tighter. It’s already so uncomfortable,” Bride Makenzie cried.

“Everything is so loose on you right now, dear. It’s going to fall off.”

The bride ran her hands over her rather thin belly. “We only did it one time. I didn’t think I would get pregnant the first time.”

“You’re pregnant?” her mother yelled.

“Why do you think I keep throwing up? Everything feels too tight, I can’t keep sucking it in anymore.” With a heavy sigh, she dropped whatever control over her stomach muscles she had been using. The tiniest of baby bumps popped forward. She looked more like she had eaten a big lunch.

The drama was about to go from interesting gossip to something ugly. I took my leave of the shop.

Once outside, I had the urge to heave up my lunch, except I had already thrown that up.

Everything sucked right now, but at least I wasn’t pregnant. Right? I wasn’t pregnant… or was I?