Free The Nanny with the Skull Tattoos by Elizabeth Barone

there was no need for concern.
    “It means, folks,” Bill said, “that to save money and pay the store’s bills, we’re going to have to cut some hours.”
    Another gasp shot through the room, louder. Panic erupted.
    “Cutting hours?” Joe asked at the same time as a woman in her forties said, “I’ve got four kids at home.”
    Max swallowed hard.
    “Wait, wait,” Bill said. “I know a lot of you folks are concerned. You’re all hard workers, and making this decision was not easy for me. I tried to be as fair as possible, folks, but at the end of the day, we’ve gotta save a little money now so we can all keep our jobs. You understand?”
    The room quieted. Max’s shoulders remained tense, though. He shoved sweaty hands into the pockets of his jeans.
    “What I did here, folks, was look at who’s been here the longest. Those are the people I’ve given priority to.” He jerked a thumb toward a piece of paper taped to the wall that Max hadn’t noticed. “I’ve made some changes to the schedule, but those folks have at least ten hours this week.” Before he could say anything else, people rushed to the wall. Max trailed behind them, his heart slamming in his chest. He had been working at the music store since high school, for a total of four years. That had to count as seniority.
    Several people breathed sighs of relief while others cursed.
    “I have four hours next week?” the woman with the four children said. She stomped over to the owner of the store. “Bill, I’ve been here for six years!”
    Max’s heart sank. The area in front of the new schedule cleared enough for him to slip in. His eyes scanned the page, searching for his name. It wasn’t hard to find. Bill always listed the schedule in alphabetical order. In the row for Max Batista, all seven days of that week were blank—including the shift he was supposed to be working that morning.
    “I’m sorry, folks,” Bill was saying, “but I’m going to have to ask everyone who isn’t scheduled today to please head on home.”
    Heart thudding in his chest, Max continued to stare at the schedule.
    “Sweet,” a teenage girl next to him breathed. “I’ve got no hours this week.” She whooped. “I’m going back to sleep!”
    As the room emptied, Max felt his knees weaken. He looked at the schedule again, blinking hard. It couldn’t be.
    “I thought four hours was bad,” the mother of the four children said from beside him. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Guess I better count my blessings, right?” She squeezed his shoulder and moved away. Max listened as her footsteps grew more and more distant. The door to the sales floor squeaked open, and then he was the only person left in the break room.
    “Shit,” he said, still staring at the schedule.
    He drove home with Christmas carols he barely heard playing in the background, his mind whirling. At least he had paid his rent and other bills already, he surmised. If nothing else, there was a bright side. Still, his fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly, his heart slamming in his chest. He and Savannah had agreed on a monthly paycheck for her, making it easier for him. He had planned on paying her with his last check of the month and using what was left to buy Chloe’s Christmas presents.
    His foot slammed on the brake pedal, and the Taurus slid on the slippery street. The car stopped inches from the plastic bumper of a Hyundai. Max barely noticed. Tears sprang to his eyes. He blinked them away, his eyebrows furrowing.
    Without that last paycheck, Chloe wouldn’t get a Christmas at all.

Chapter 7
    Max squeezed his eyes shut against the cold grey morning light and yanked his pillow over his face. He should be sleeping in and enjoying his unexpected day off, but the last thing he wanted to do was get out of bed. He groaned, pressing the pillow harder against his face, as if not breathing would let him travel back in time. He should have saved more money, he surmised, or even signed