Day "0" - (Sept. 7th, Wednesday)

Lynette

"Shoot, I used the wrong spell!" 

I ran wide circles around the Banshee to avoid its wails while frantically scrolling through my spell list to find the right one. "Wait, please!" I whimpered quietly.

The sudden "livin' la vida loca" ring startled me out of my game. I swiftly paused it and fumbled to answer my phone.

I answered, "Hey, what's up, Charletta?" I adverted my eyes from my coworkers giggling about my ringtone.

Her cheer echoed through the receiver. "Lyn, are you off today?"

I pinched my phone between my ear and neck to resume my game.

"Nope, Tuesday and Thursday are my days off, so I can think about starting school." My enthusiasm waned. Can I handle going back to school? I don't want to fail again.

"I should have called yesterday. Sorry, Lyn!"

"You're fine," I said. "I'm on break for at least another five minutes. We can chat."

"A truly privileged rarity." The guilt-ridden impact of her sarcastic joke made me sink deeper into the plastic seat. I should have called more. 

"I'm sorry, I had tons of homework over the summer for my GED, and I've been working double shifts at this job."

"It wasn't a knock at you," she huffed, "Wicks has kept me up to date with your diligent work." She sympathetically sighed. "I'm glad to hear your voice, at least." Her tone dipped in evident dissatisfaction. "I worry for you guys. You and Wicks have a knack for finding trouble." 

"Don't I know it." I chuckled, partly because of what I said and partly because I beat the Banshee. I heard another sigh. "We'll be okay, I promise."

"You better be. My wedding is two months away!"

I jumped in my seat, "right." I paused and put the console into sleep mode. "I gotta request that day off."

"DAY!" She exclaimed. "You're the maid of honor. You need to be here for at least 4 days. If not the whole week!" 

I brace myself for a lecture. 

"You know work won't let me do that." I looked around at the few people in the small breakroom. Everyone was nose-deep in their phone or eating lunch. "I was already out for a week with food poisoning." I glanced at the T.V. playing a fast food-related jingle to mock me. I smirked, intentionally about to joke with Charletta, "I mean, how was I supposed to know eating out of a dumpster would be a bad idea?"

"Are you crazy?!" She exclaimed, followed by a fast fluster of incomprehensible Spanish. Although I learned a lot from Madre and the others, I was unable to understand it when spoken so quickly.

"I'm kidding, Charletta. It was that small restaurant called "Ducky's Dining". I'm sure Wicks told you." I grumbled under my breath, "My aches were so bad I slept most of that week."

I waited for a response. She was quiet.

"Hello? Charletta?"

"Still here!"

Did I say something wrong?

She continued on, "you're going to have to convince your work. You have to be here for the rehearsal and the bachelorette party, and you have to meet my fiancé and his family, and Mom and Dad really want to see you-" She cut herself off. "Basically, you'll have to be here, maid of honor rules."

I smiled, shrugged, and moved the phone to face me as if we were on a video call. "Wicks could pull off the maid of honor position for me."

She laughed, "Lyn, I can't have him looking better in that dress than I do in mine!"

I laughed too. "Okay, fine. I'll ask and see what they tell me."

Her ecstatic chirps returned, "if you can only get the day…I guess I can go over rehearsal with you, but I expect you to materialize as soon as the clock strikes 12:00 a.m. that Friday!"

I talked with my sister a little longer before I said goodbye. I figured work would make me jump through hoops to go since it had been two months since I called off that week.

I put away my console, adjusted my uniform, and put on the best smile I could. As long as I work hard, it'll be fine.

…

Alexander

He dreaded the store—its populated space overtook his focus.

He rarely went out unless he had to, all made possible by his recent birthday present. A young cat chewed through his cables while he was in the shower, including his HDMI cable that he needed to keep himself and his guests entertained tonight. She's lucky I unplug electronics when I'm done with them.

Upon entering, the influx of pleasant smells tempted him to pursue them. I'm so glad I ate earlier, he thought. He considered himself lucky; otherwise, his instincts would be impossible to ignore.

Dismissing the few tempting people he passed, he went to the electronic section.

"I have a party soon. Can't you be quieter?" He grumbled audibly at his body. I'm not caving.

He held his breath in defiance.

Not that it mattered because his stomach immediately tightened. It was a painful twist, something he was used to but not this fast. Alexander's hunger pains never struck this fast. 

His gaze intensified, narrowing its focus on the red-headed worker. His slower stride moved toward her. Sneaking up, as he was used to, only being interrupted by the laughing older customer she was helping.

He yanked his body to the next aisle, trembling as he crouched to stay below the short aisle separator.

Stunned, Alexander pressed his hand into his growling abdomen. What the hell is going on?!!

Through shaky breaths, he reluctantly inhaled her sweet scent. It's so potent.

He closed his eyes to calm down, and it worsened his problem.

Alexander reopened them and strove to focus on the headphones locked behind the glass panels. He even pushed up his black-rim glasses to read the labels better. Ignore her, damn it.

Though, his ears were keenly attuned to her friendly chatter with the older gentlemen in the next aisle. 

Ignoring his begging stomach didn't soothe it—he was grateful the persistent cries were quiet enough that only he could hear them.

Despite knowing better, he waited until the customer left, stood up, then walked into the aisle. He also expected her to leave, yet her rolling cart was stopped in the section he needed to go, and she was stocking at the HDMI cables.

He maintained a small distance between her and himself and stooped down.

He searched the cords she stocked, about to ask her for one, but his eyes slowly drifted to her body.

He didn't take in any of her delicate features—his mind solely fixated on her size. She's so tiny.

He swallowed hard.

Her obnoxious and vexing aroma told his body that she'd end his hunger, an assurance that didn't feel tangible until this very moment.

"Do you need this?" Her voice snapped him back to reality.

Shit. He flinched and sprang up.

She followed his rise and stood up too. She held out the cheapest HDMI cable to him. He gulped back his temptation to grab and consume her.

Don't do it.

He adjusted his glasses nervously and spoke. "Yeah. I didn't want to interrupt your flow."

He reached out to get the cable, and his fingers lightly touched hers.

"You're fine, sir. I'm stocking them anyway," she flashed a cheery smile, and he ignored it. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Uh..." His thoughts only contained the urge to satisfy his craving, so he couldn't coherently answer her.

FUCK.

He fought to jerk his stare away.

I'm not doing this now. Alexander was busy—no matter how much his body commanded him. 

Standing there silently, he struggled and caught the logo on her uniform. It reminded him of a particular clause at his workplace. I don't need that.

His body said otherwise in its desperation. It compelled him to speak to ensure he'd see the redhead again. "Do you like your job?"

Her eagerness for his response melted into confusion. It baffled her long enough for Alexander to regain his composure as he towered over the girl barely approaching his sternum.

"It's work," she said, gathering more thoughts. "Most of the employees are friendly, there are good and bad days like anywhere else, and though more pay would be nice, I can't complain." Her smile was restored. "Were you asking because you wanted to work here too?"

Alexander dug into his front pants pocket and got his wallet. "No." He picked through it to find the company card he received years ago. What should I say? He internally griped. What does that flirty bastard tell them? "My work would benefit from having someone cheerful and friendly to help run the registers," he offered her the partially creased card. "It's a pizzeria not that far from here."

She smirked at the cartoon pizza slice that had a speech bubble that said, "The Happy Pizzeria" on it. He was glad the writing was still legible. If you're doing this, keep going.

He looked over her head to temporarily control his domineering thoughts. "It pays $100 an hour, offers medical the day you're hired, plenty of va-"

"$100 AN HOUR!" Her voice squeaked. She tilted back to the card, embarrassingly, "S-Sorry. Continue."

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The two of them fiddled with their respective objects, her with the card and him with the HDMI cable. 

"Plenty of vacation time, dental, and vision." He finished.

She looked up. "They'd pay me that much to run a register. Why?"

"The owner's a retired multi-millionaire who one day decided his passion was making pizza." Alexander muttered, "He doesn't care much about money anymore."

"And there are spots open?"

"He only accepts interviews from employee recommendations."

In awe, she pointed to herself, "And you're recommending me?"

I am, aren't I? His eyes fell back on her, and he lurched slightly. Stupidly, "yes."

She kept looking up at him and the card, "I'll look into it. Thank you!"

Alexander ran his hand through his short, still relatively damp, blonde hair, to keep his hand from reaching out. "y-yeah. Call the number on the card later this afternoon. I'll put in a recommendation for, um......"

"Lynette," she responded.

He nodded. "Got it." His legs heavy and reluctant, refusing to take a step unless he was toward her. He sheepishly chuckled, "I'm Alexander." He haplessly put out a hand to shake. Don't pull her in.

Her soft, small one met his larger one. His nearly encompassed hers. I have the party in an hour, body please.

He quickly shook her hand, successfully pulled back, and turned around. "Hope to see you hired soon, Lynette."

He clutched the HDMI cord to his chest and got as far as he could. His painfully aching body harshly reminded him of how unbearable it was to be so close to humans. 

It was the longest and most arduous conversation he had with one by himself in years. He talked to customers at the pizzeria, but that didn't require thinking.

And, for some reason, among all the humans he had ever met, she was by far the worst for him to be around.

...

Lynette

Once I got home, I studied the card. That was such a weird interaction. Lynette threw herself back on her couch. What are the odds that some stranger invited me to join a job like that as soon as I'm struggling to start school? I got out my laptop and checked the site. It looked legit, with a 4.7-star rating from thousands of reviews. Those pizzas look so good! 

I looked over the number on the card, then pulled out my phone. My finger hovered over the number pad. I'll get Wicks's opinion first. I hoped he'd answer while away on his business trip.

He did with a few huffs. "What's up?"

"Is it a bad time?"

"NO, no—they had me getting everyone coffee, so I was running around doing that."

He wouldn't lie to me. I disregarded his exasperated breaths and harsh construction-like noises in the background.

"Okay. Well, when I was at work today, I was offered a better job at a pizzeria. The pay the guy was telling me about seems outrageous! It's-"

There was another bang from his side of the phone. "Wicks, are you sure this isn't a bad time? Where are you?"

"Don't worry, just-." His voice strained. "Trying to carry some boxes!"

I pursed my lips. This time, I unmistakably recognized the dishonesty.

Let him work. I spoke fast, "Never mind, I'll tell you later. I LOVE YOU. PLEASE BE SAFE!"

"LENTILS!"

I hung up the phone to let him deal with his business.

I clutched it with one hand and typed in the number. This could be my perfect opportunity; don't squander it, Lynette. 

I called, feeling imaginary anxiety vultures picking at my fears. 

Someone finally answered. "Hello, this is Sandra with the Happy Pizzeria office line. How can I help you?"

"Hi, my name is Lynette Wayland. I'm calling because I talked to one of your employees earlier today, Alexander-" I don't know his last name.

She interjected, "Ah, yes. When we spoke about your possible call, Alexander didn't have your last name either." She cleared her throat. "We're currently hiring for a cashier position. Have you worked at a pizzeria or any fast food establishment before?"

"I'm currently working in the electronics area at a store, which requires me to occasionally work the register…." I corrected my fumble. "Food experience, no." I didn't think to mention my month working at Mickey D's in high school.

"Any cashiering experience is better than none. Plus, you'll learn everything else you need on the job. And sorry if I go silent, I'm writing down your information for our owner."

I gave her my date of birth, spelled out my name, and a few other things, not my address or social security. It was quicker than expected.

"So, how soon can you be here?"

"Huh?"

"Apologies if you're not busy; Mr. Clemente is still in, and he can see you for a face-to-face interview."

I looked down at my dirty work clothes and patted my curly hair in need of a quick wash.

"Miss Wayland?"

"Yes, I can come in for an interview in the next hour!" I hope I don't sound too desperate.

"Great!" She said, "I hope to see you soon. Have a pleasant drive here!" She hung up.

I hurried to the shower, brushed my teeth, and texted Wicks about the interview. Awesome, it's a twenty-minute drive from our apartment.

Driving for some time, I soon recognized it, a giant, hard-to-miss smiling pizza icon inviting people in. 

I'm surprised Wicks has never recommended this place. He loves the weird ones.

I parked in the lively section of the parking lot. It was one of the biggest pizzerias or restaurants I had ever seen. It's like a two-story grocery store. I wonder if it has an arcade.

As I opened one of the double doors, a wave of delightful smells enveloped me in a tantalizing combination of melted cheese and sizzling meat. If I get this job, I'll go home smelling like pizza.

The further inside I went, the hungrier I got. Whether I get the job or not, I should get one of their pizzas.

The main area was a warm, inviting mixture of wood and stone, with benches and tables offering cozy nooks and crannies to sit and chat. It was cleaner than I expected. Each place to rest looked as inviting as the next.

My vision drifted to the walls while I waited in line. They were adorned with vibrant paintings and photographs of ingredients, as well as pizza-themed landscapes. Above, a soft jazz played on the speakers. This is such a nice place. I swayed back and forth. I have to get this job.

I juggled the possible interview questions in my head and looked down at my empty, resume-free hands. How could I forget that!

"Ma'am?" The cashier's voice called. 

I perked up, "Oh gosh, sorry. I'm Lynette here for an interview?"

He adjusted his glasses, eyeing me, and slowly nodded, "Yes. Right back here." He gestured to the slide behind the counter. He pointed down the hall through the kitchen. "Down that way, the hallway on your left after you leave the kitchen. At the end, there is an office marked "Mr. Clemente.""

"Thank you."

"Good luck." He said to me as I passed. The kitchen looked as clean as the front and was HUGE. Do giants work here? I sighed. Then again, who isn't a giant to me.

I briefly saw another person my age rushing back with an older woman in the kitchen. 

I got to the hall he mentioned and walked down toward the office. I passed two doors on the way. They stood directly across from one another. The first door was adorned with a small plaque with the pizza mascot wearing a bandaid, and below it was a sign that read, "Infirmary."

It's good for them to have an infirmary. 

Facing it was the second door, marked with a sign that read "Record Keeping." This door appeared more utilitarian, its steel frame contrasting with the soft colors surrounding it. That looks secure.

I walked further and stopped by the sturdy, slightly weathered wooden door.

I exhaled outside the door to the office. This whole place is so great. But he could have been lying about the pay. It's probably ten an hour or something.

I foolishly hoped not.

I lifted my hand and knocked. A male voice beckoned me inside.

Opening it, I expected a giant grand office to match the expensive-looking Pizzeria interior.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, some neatly arranged while others were stacked haphazardly as if they were just read. A wooden desk with a cozy, sleek, black ergonomic chair stood at the center of the room. A computer sat on the desk, among a few papers and a framed picture facing him.

"Lynette Wayland?" He stood up and walked over to meet me.

He looks wealthy... His complexion was remarkably flawless, drawing attention to his well-defined features. And so young. Every aspect of his attire was meticulously arranged; his clothes were tucked. He donned a sleek, all-black business suit that was freshly pressed. A vibrant red cloth peeked out from his suit pocket, and white gloves adorned his hands. I shook the hand he offered me. He's about the same height as Wicks and looks around Charletta's age? He's really a multi-millionaire who decided to just "retire." I'd likely do the same with that much wealth. 

"It's nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Wayland. My name is Edgar Clemente. I own the Happy Pizzeria, and I want to confirm that what was told about our rates is true." A firm handshake followed.

Looking up at him, I smiled. OH MY GOSH!! I cried joyfully in my head, catching his eyes—they momentarily distracted me. Up close, they looked redder than a normal brown hue. Almost with a tint of purple. "Is something the matter?"

I shook my head and moved to the seat he offered across his desk, "you have nice eyes." I hope he doesn't take that the wrong way.

"Thank you, they're a gift from my parents." He leaned back comfortably in his plush chair and warmly chuckled. He took it well. "Before I start the classic interview questions, Miss Wayland, I must ask you one important question." He rested his hand on a paper he had beside him. I couldn't quite read it from my angle. "How do you feel about pizza?"

"Pizza? It's good?" Do some people here hate it?

He touched his chest, "I started this place as a passion project. I don't know why, but the impulse to make pizza was too great to ignore. There's something I find so relaxing when I make them." His grin made it hard to tell whether or not he was joking, "and it's kind of become a ritual of passage for me to ask those interested in being hired what it means for them." He folded his hands one over the other. His expression shifted dramatically. A look of seriousness replaced the previous lightness. With a focused stare, he tipped in slightly and asked, "So, how do you feel about pizza?" The intensity suggested that there was more to that simple question.

What do I do? Should I lie? I asked myself. I could say, "I've always had a passion for pizza, too!" My mouth wouldn't let me. This is a crazy first question, and if I lie and somehow get this job, I have to keep it up. I shouldn't do that.

"Honestly, sir, I don't have a passion for making pizza. I heard what you pay employees, and it sounded exciting. I'd love to save as much money as possible to pursue another passion of mine. That way, I don't have to worry about not being successful in it." I said and lowered my head after. "I'm sure that's not the answer you wanted..."

Chin up. I nudged myself and adjusted my posture in my seat. Don't mope about being honest. You're not out yet. "However," I brought my eyes to his. "If I'm hired, I will work to the best of my ability to bring the cheer your customers need when they come inside this pizzeria."

I maintained my eye contact, intimidated by his silence. He moved his gloved hand to his mouth to hide the smile I saw perking up on his lips.

"Most people tell me what I want to hear. A time when pizza sparked their "hearts."" He placed air quotes over the word. "I'm glad you don't look ashamed that you answered sincerely. I'd be after the money in your position too." He sat back, "though, unlike you, I would have lied."

He bent over, opened a drawer at his desk, and placed down a packet of papers labeled "Happy Pizzeria Contract." 

"As you are in it for the money, Miss Wayland, I have a proposition to offer you." He flipped to the second page and wrote on the bottom of it. He turned it back to me. "The pay is 100 an hour, you're allowed up to a month of vacation paid after your first week, and as a bonus, if you stay here for six months, you'll receive $500,000."

My eyes widened in disbelief, the words catching in my throat. "Wh-what...?" I stammered, my mind raced as I struggled to process this surprise.

He raised a pointer finger, "If you stay loyal to this pizzeria for a year, working hard, following our rules, I'll offer you another bonus of four million dollars."

I fell back in my chair, the smooth cushion cool against me, and I placed my hand over my chest. The rhythmic pounding beneath my palm was powerful and erratic, a reminder of the beat I thought it skipped.

He bent over his desk, and his lips parted with worry. "Are you alright, Miss Wayland?"

“Y-yeah,…four million…” I uttered to myself. "A year? That's it."

"If you stay, yes. And I'm sure that'd help with your money problems? On top of your $100 an hour." He handed me a pen, "Oh, and we offer some of the best medical coverage around, as well as dental and vision once you start."

I pulled myself up and skimmed over the contract, "am I selling my soul?"

He snickered and gave a shake of his head, "No, I simply have more than enough money for my family, not including how much my wife makes."

I took the pen he held out to me. "How many hours would I average a day??"

"Forty. Five days on and two days off, given that your recommendation was Alexander, he'll be training you. Thus, you'd have Tuesday and Wednesday off." He held a finger up, "And if possible, you'll start tomorrow."

"That works great." I replied, "What about lunch break and-"

"You receive two paid fifteen-minute breaks and an unpaid hour lunch break. You'll be on the night shift. 2 p.m. to 11 p.m."

"Okay," I said. 

I couldn't find anything to disagree with. I looked over more of the contract. I was in too much shock to analyze every word.

He gave me a few more small questions, I signed it, and Edgar took it back. He walked me into the hall and to the infirmary for the rest. He left me inside while he got the nurse. 

The infirmary was a spacious room filled with beds of various sizes, some large enough to accommodate at least six people. Why do they have beds that big?

Finding a spot in the far corner, I settled in a simple wooden chair. It was quiet. My gaze drifted over the scattered books and papers on two desks at the wall next to the door.

A few minutes later, a woman walked in. She introduced herself as Sandra, the woman I spoke to earlier. 

She had a pale, beautiful complexion, and her ears were sharper than most people's. I guess that condition is not as rare as I thought. My older brother Wicks and his family had very slight points as well. I think Alexander had them with a small point, too?

She escorted me to a scale and checked my height. I can't have her telling people I'm shy of five feet. I hid that from my family, too, except Madre. She took it all down, gave me a small physical, questioned how I had been feeling lately, asked about my medical history, and informed me that she would contact my doctor.

She sounded very rehearsed throughout it as if she had done it at least a hundred times. 

She gave me a uniform from a cabinet stocked with them. It came with a hat, name badge, red shirt with black trim, and black jean pants. Sandra offered me a second pair and said they'd give me another after my first week. The fabric was stretchy, breathable, and softer than I imagined.

The pizza slice mascot was on the hat, next to the words "Happy Pizzeria." The mascot was also on the shirt's breast pocket.

I thanked her, went on my way, and returned to my apartment, teetering with excitement and unease. This is too good to be true.

I sank back on the couch, a cup of tea in hand, and watched a new indie game trailer with a cat as the protagonist.

"That's so cute." I suddenly jerked up with a gasp, "Wait, dang it!" I nearly spilled my herbal tea. "I didn't even buy one of their pizzas!"

…

Thank you for reading! :D Have a Gouda Day!