“ You’re fired.”
My eyes narrowed on the prematurely balding man sitting across from me.
“You’re shitting me, right?”
Martie scoffed, pushing himself back from his desk and folding his arms over his ever-growing stomach. His wife, Gretta, did not know how to cook for less than six people, and it showed in each pants size good ol’ Mart went up. “Kat, language.” The familiar annoyance in his hiss tensed the muscles in my neck. That hadn’t been the first time he’d scolded me about my mouth, and we both knew it wouldn’t be the last. I could have said my parents raised me better, but my parents barely raised me at all, so that excuse flew right out the broken window.
نظرات کاربران