Friday Morning's Curse: Goddamn it, Abigail

Chapter 1 (1)

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Chapter 1

It was the exasperated "Goddamn it, Abigail," that caused me to crack open an eyelid. But it was the deep, rumbling voice behind it that compelled me to direct my gaze towards the man who stood about ten feet away. Hands on his hips, a frown etched on his face, he was clearly displeased with me.

If I had to guess why I was the unfortunate recipient of his disapproval, it was probably because I had closed my eyes for the past twenty minutes. Glancing at my trusty old G-Shock watch, I confirmed the time. I couldn't deny that my prolonged state of rest had likely earned me this scolding.

This morning, when I first laid eyes on him, bent over the hood of a vintage 1950s GMC truck, a glimpse of a white compression shirt peeking out from beneath his coveralls, I could tell he was already in a foul mood. Not that anyone could be expected to be chipper on a Friday morning, but this man always seemed particularly grumpy whenever he wore white. It was a peculiar observation I had made over time.

To make matters worse, when I brought him his morning coffee, he had asked me, "Have you made up your mind?" And, like every other time he had posed that question, I had responded with the same answer I always gave, "Ah, no."

One would think that after approximately seven hundred times of asking and receiving the same reply, he would anticipate my response. Yet, it continued to irk him, even after all this time.

While it wasn't entirely out of character for him—my boss, or rather, one of my two bosses—to utter "Goddamn it, Abigail," it wasn't a regular occurrence either. I despised getting into trouble. My friends had often remarked that I had an aversion to disappointing or angering people. It was a curse I couldn't seem to shake, no matter how many times it worked against me.

Unable to resist, I offered the man with his hands on his hips and an unyielding frown a smile. I briefly considered winking at him, knowing how much it bothered him, but decided against it. Today was a white shirt day, and I had to conserve my energy for the remaining eight hours before I could finally go home for the weekend.

"Yes?" I replied to his exclamation of "Goddamn it, Abigail," rather than asking what I had done wrong. After all, I hadn't committed any offense by closing my eyes for a few minutes.

...technically.

Danielley narrowed his eyes, directing his gaze solely at me, disregarding the other seven employees seated around the break room where we held our weekly meetings every Friday. At nine in the morning, two hours later than my usual clock-in time, every employee at Hill's Collision and Customs trudged in to listen to our bosses discuss upcoming projects, ongoing assignments, status updates, issues, and even disputes over excessive air freshener usage in the bathroom...

It wasn't exactly an enjoyable experience, and it was no secret that we endured these meetings solely because we were compensated for our time. Staying awake on any given morning during the workweek was a challenge, but on a Friday, with the weekend tantalizingly close, and the stifling heat of so many bodies gathered in one room? It was nearly impossible not to succumb to drowsiness.

Of course, staying up past midnight to watch a horror movie with Athena hadn't helped matters either. Yet, when she had asked, I couldn't bring myself to refuse. Our time together was limited, and I knew I would regret not seizing every opportunity we had to hang out. I had learned that lesson from my other two sisters.

However, I was quite certain that the man glaring at me in that moment knew nothing of my personal circumstances, nor did he care. His next words confirmed this.

"Didn't we discuss your habit of dozing off during our meetings?" Danielley drawled the question, his tone far from cordial.

Not that it ever was.

I maintained eye contact with him, remaining in the same slouched position I had assumed when he called me out—elbow planted on the table, chin propped up by my open hand. Only one eye remained open, while the other stayed shut. I continued to wear a smile as I provided him with the answer we both knew all too well. "Yes, we did talk about it." Just in case he had forgotten the exact words he had used, I reminded him, "You explicitly told me not to."

Because he had. "Abigail, you have to stop falling asleep during these damn meetings. If you want to take a nap, wait until you get home after eight long hours, got it?" We had that conversation behind closed doors, in the presence of Mr. Hill—the man who had hired me, my original boss and owner, and as of three years ago, the co-owner of Hill's Collision and Customs.

I had received his message loud and clear, and I respected it.

My boss, or rather, the one scowling at me, didn't react outwardly to my reply. He didn't even blink as he confirmed what we both already knew, "Yeah, that's exactly what I said."

Beside him, Mr. Hill coughed but refrained from uttering a word. I didn't take it personally. I had overheard enough of their disagreements to know that it had taken them quite some time to reach this point in their working relationship—disagreeing without arguing in front of us. I was fairly certain I wasn't the only one relieved to have moved past that phase at CCC. For a while, we had all perfected the art of remaining still and staring at the wall, pretending to be somewhere else.

I had earned my Ph.D. in that field a long time ago.

"And no one gets paid to take naps during our meetings," Daniel concluded matter-of-factly, hands still firmly planted on his hips. The stern expression etched onto his rugged face seemed to silently add, "Not even you," as if he expected special treatment.

But I didn't, and I never had, regardless of what he may think when he's in a foul mood. It wasn't about me receiving any preferential treatment. It was simply a matter of... well, just me. The employee who arrived earlier than everyone else, stayed later than everyone else, and had taken only a handful of sick days in the past nine years. The person who never turned down extra hours.

Chapter 1 (2)

But it was and always had been my choice to do all those things, and I knew it. That’s why I kept my mouth closed. I could have said no when they asked. It had been my decision to stay late and come in on the weekends each time I did.
But it had always been my decision to engage in those actions, and I was well aware of that. That's why I chose to remain silent. I could have declined when they asked me to participate. It was my own choice to work late and come in on weekends whenever I did.

You don't leap off a bridge, break your legs, and then blame the friend who dared you for your hospitalization.

Assuming responsibility for my actions and refraining from blaming others for the consequences I brought upon myself was one of the few valuable lessons I had learned from my family, even if it wasn't intentionally taught.

I quickly halted that train of thought. Some things and people were so toxic that merely thinking about them could be destructive. I decided to choose happiness, which meant not dwelling on past negativity. Today would be a good day, as would tomorrow, and the day after that, and so on.

With that in mind, I maintained a smile on my face and allowed it to linger as I locked eyes with the man staring at me. It would take far more than Daniel in a crisp white shirt to make me frown or hurt my feelings. Even thinking about certain individuals for a split second wouldn't have that effect.

The point was: I was exhausted. I had closed my eyes momentarily, and he called me out on it. There was no reason to get upset.

"Abigail," Daniel uttered my name in that ridiculously deep voice that had caught me completely off guard the first time I heard it. "Do we understand each other? No napping during the meeting. It's not that difficult to comprehend, is it?"

Someone snorted a few chairs away, but I recognized the sound and didn't waste my time looking in that direction or allowing their amusement at my predicament to bother me.

Still, I kept the corners of my mouth upturned as I nodded once at my boss. I comprehended his message loud and clear. And I also understood the glance Mr. Hill was giving him from his position on Danielley's left. Cursing at me, or any of us in the shop, was not acceptable. That was something the two owners of one of Houston, Texas' most successful auto body shops had discussed extensively in the office, unaware that I was eavesdropping...

Which I did all the time.

Not that they were aware of it.

At least, I hoped they weren't, but they weren't exactly subtle or discreet about it either.

* * *

It all began three years ago.

Hill's Collision and Customs had been a family-owned business established by Mr. Hill's father in the 1940s. By the time I joined almost six years prior to that fateful day, the shop had thrived for a lifetime. Every employee at CCC received fair pay every other week, and Mr. Hill had always been—and still was—one of the best bosses in the world. In my opinion, he was one of the finest individuals overall, and I doubted anyone I worked with would dispute that.

One day, everything was normal. We had one boss. There were ten of us. Everything was fine. And the next day, as I arrived at work, disregarding the classic Ford pickup parked in the small customer lot upfront, I overheard Mr. Hill's familiar voice along with a much deeper one in the office at seven in the morning. They were discussing profit division and relocating the business.

It had shocked me immensely. Then again, I couldn't fathom how it wouldn't. Splitting profits? Moving a business that had resided in the same location for the past eighty-ish years? The shop had always been bustling. Everything seemed fine.

Honestly, even now, I still didn't understand why Mr. Hill had decided to bring someone else on board to manage his business.

I listened to their conversation for as long as I could before pretending as if nothing had happened, although part of me was internally panicking at the implications of their discussion. It wasn't until a couple of months later, during which I kept my mouth shut in case I had misinterpreted what I overheard, that Mr. Hill dropped the bomb on all of us during a Friday morning meeting.

"I have some significant news," the angelic man informed us all. I was probably the only person who noticed his trembling hands because nobody else mentioned it afterward. "We're relocating the shop."

Everyone started talking at once, but Mr. Hill disregarded them and continued speaking.

"We've needed more space for years now. We're too cramped. You're all aware of that. We're moving to a forty-thousand-square-foot facility..." He said some other things that slipped my mind as he sat there, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn jeans. Then, and only then, did he take a deep breath and reveal the true bombshell to everyone—everyone except me, at least. "That's not the only thing expanding. With more space, we can handle more business."

At that point, everyone fell silent, and I sat there with my hands gripping my thighs, pressing my lips together as my stomach churned with the realization that I hadn't imagined that conversation months ago.

"Daniel Danielley will be joining the team," Mr. Hill, a man we all adored, exhaled, almost as if he himself wasn't entirely certain about the news. Or perhaps I imagined it. "He'll be a co-owner of Hill's and will oversee the growth and restoration aspects of the business from now on." He swallowed hard, crossed his arms over his chest, and asked, "Any questions?"

Fortunately for me, everyone was too preoccupied with the news of the shop relocating, expanding, and the arrival of a new owner to notice that I didn't ask a single question.

None of us wondered who Daniel Danielley was or why he was joining the business.

And the next day, when I arrived at work and found a vaguely familiar truck parked right next to Mr. Hill's beautifully restored Mustang, I immediately deduced who the vehicle belonged to. Because in all the years I had worked for Mr. Hill, no one else but him and I arrived so early.

Chapter 1 (3)

No one.
As I entered the building and passed by the office on my way to the area where I spent most of my time painting, doing bodywork, or detailing, I wasn't completely surprised to find Mr. Hill conversing with a man on the other side of his desk.

The man was enormous, wearing a long-sleeved shirt in the middle of July that clung to him like a second skin. It covered everything from his wrists up to his collarbone, revealing only a few inches of tattooed skin on his neck. Perhaps it was one of those shirts designed to keep a person cool.

As I paused by the doorway, I couldn't help but notice that even from the side, the man had the grumpiest, meanest face I had ever seen in my entire life. I couldn't quite explain it, but that's how it appeared. And yet, he was undeniably attractive.

I mean, incredibly masculine. Just oozing testosterone and every other aspect of manliness.

Every now and then, I would come across attractive men in the wild. I saw them even more frequently online. But this man, the one who I instinctively knew would be my new boss, the one sitting in the chair with shoulders and an upper body that belonged to a professional wrestler, surpassed most of those men I had encountered before. He didn't fit the mold of what my sisters would swoon over. He didn't resemble a model. His features were broad, his bone structure square, and his mouth wasn't exactly full. Yet, when combined, it was an unforgettable face.

A striking face.

And in that instant, I knew that his face, along with his biceps the size of thighs and forearms the size of calves, which were concealed beneath his tight long-sleeved shirt, would haunt me.

And that took me by surprise.

Then, for a brief moment, it irritated me as I thought about how I didn't want a new boss. Hot or not. I adored Mr. Hill, and I knew where I stood with him. He made me feel safe. This new man was a stranger, and I wasn't sure what to make of him. He wouldn't simply be someone I casually worked with.

Looking back, however, I had no way of knowing just how much Daniel Danielley would come to haunt me in the future. I had no idea, as I walked into that room to introduce myself, what he would ultimately owe me.

And I certainly didn't anticipate how much that debt would consume him day in and day out.

What I do remember is how I approached the doorway of the original Hill's Collision and Customs office and waved and smiled at the two men inside.

"Abigail," Mr. Hill greeted me immediately, his grin wide. If I hadn't known him so well, I might have missed the tension in his shoulders. "Good morning."

"Morning, Mr. Hill," I replied before shifting my attention to the giant man sitting on the other side of the desk.

The massive man glanced at me, then back at Mr. Hill, and finally returned his gaze in my direction. His face, which appeared intimidating due to the tightness along his jawline and the constant furrow between his eyebrows, remained unchanged. He didn't smile back at me or even attempt to appear friendly. He simply... looked.

In the blink of an eye, that look transformed into a glare.

And my heart responded the way it always did when faced with someone who seemed uninterested in liking me—it made me want this person to like me even more, this potential new boss of mine.

That was another burden I couldn't shake off, no matter how many years passed—the need to be liked. Logically, I knew I could survive if someone didn't become a fan of Abigail Allen, but... I always tried. If I allowed myself to dwell on it, I could attribute that need to Those People I Wasn't Going to Think About.

But I wouldn't.

"Hi," I said, taking a step forward and extending my hand between us. "I'm Abigail."

And Mr. Hill, being his usual self, introduced us by saying, "Danielley, this is Abigail Allen. She handles all our paintwork and assists with bodywork and detailing when needed. Abigail, this is Danielley, my... business partner."

I couldn't help but sense his hesitation in referring to the new man as his business partner, but I didn't dwell on it. Especially not when my new boss took his time lifting his hand from where it rested on his thigh and placed his long fingers and broad palm against mine, giving it a brief squeeze before releasing it just as quickly. His eyes narrowed slightly, and I noticed. It only fueled that need within me even more.

"It's nice to meet you," I told him, retracting my hand.

My newest boss observed me carefully; his eyes—a shade somewhere between an unreal blue and green—shifted back to Mr. Hill before returning to me.

I wasn't prepared for the question that escaped his mouth almost immediately. "You old enough to work here?" he asked, his voice rumbling in a way I had never heard in person before.

I couldn't help but glance at my longtime boss, only because he had asked me practically the same question before offering me a job when I was seventeen. So, when I redirected my attention to the man with dark tattoos that extended up to his jawline, I smiled even wider. "Yes."

Without missing a beat, and with those blue-green eyes, which seemed to pop beneath short but super curly black lashes, narrowing once again, he questioned, "How long have you worked here?"

I didn't miss a beat either. "Six years."

That earned me a blink before that deep, raspy voice inquired, "What do you know about paint?"

What did I know about paint?

I almost lost my smile then, but managed to hold on. He wasn't the first person to ask me such a question. I was one of the few females I had ever encountered who worked in auto body paint. As a child, I would have never imagined that painting cars and parts would become my livelihood—let alone something I grew to love and excel at, if I may say so myself—but life works in mysterious ways.

Chapter 1 (4)

So I told this man, who was making the same mistake just about everyone I had ever met had made too, the truth. “I know everything about paint.” And I’d smiled at him because I wasn’t being cocky. I was just telling him the truth, and I didn’t miss the way Mr. Hill smiled as I did it.
I confidently revealed the truth to the man, who seemed to be making the same mistake that almost everyone I had encountered made. "I possess extensive knowledge about paint," I informed him, a genuine smile gracing my face. It was not arrogance; it was simply a statement of fact. Mr. Hill, sitting across from us, couldn't help but smile in response.

The new man blinked, his voice dropping even lower as he raised his thick, dark brown eyebrows at me. "And what do you know about bodywork?" he questioned, referring to the art of fixing imperfections or damages on vehicles.

Still wearing my smile, I replied, "Almost as much." Little did he know, Mr. Hill had introduced me to bodywork before shifting me to paint several years ago. I had shown promise in that area as well.

Glancing briefly at Mr. Hill, my new boss focused his gaze back on me and in a tight voice that left me uncertain, he asked, "What about classic cars? What do you know?"

And, damn.

Even I stole a quick glance at Mr. Hill, but he was too engrossed in observing the other man to notice my need for attention and support. So, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Some. Not everything, but not nothing."

The man, who I had found attractive just moments before, pressed his lips together. Then, completely seriously and condescendingly—just as he would countless times in the following years—he said, "That will do."

And it did.

* * *

That had been years ago, and since then, I had discovered how to handle Daniel Danielley, or Daniel, as he had instructed us to call him back then.

So when he questioned me if I comprehended his policy on taking naps, I responded with the only answer available to me. "I get it," I replied, trying to infuse as much cheerfulness into my tone as possible, knowing that my response would only further irritate him.

Life was all about the little things, and provoking Daniel without completely angering him had become a game I enjoyed playing, perhaps more than I should have. Occasionally, under the right circumstances and when he donned his navy-colored compression shirt, I could elicit a smirk from him. And on rare occasions, I might even catch a fleeting half-smile that vanished in an instant.

If my heart fluttered at the sight of that mischievous smile or smirk, it was a secret I kept to myself.

And my siblings.

And my best friend.

But that was it.

I refused to dwell on the fact that I had managed to coax an expression other than a scowl, mild annoyance, or eye roll out of him. Nope.

But anyway.

It had taken him just two days of working at CCC to ask—with a grumpy sideways glance—if I always smiled so much. However, it was Mr. Hill who responded, informing him that I did. Because I did.

In that moment, in the break room, I opened my other eye and flashed a full-on smile at the man clad in a long-sleeved, almost turtleneck shirt that clung to his muscular frame. "But I wasn't sleeping. I heard everything you said," I clarified.

Unsurprisingly, the man who had only grown more attractive over the years, despite the deepening crease between his eyebrows and the more pronounced lines framing his mouth, shifted his nearly forty-one-year-old body closer to me. "Yeah? What did I say?" he challenged.

He could be such a pain in the butt sometimes, and he definitely deserved to be messed with. Someone had to do it.

Slightly to his side, Mr. Hill glanced up at the ceiling and I swear he began silently mouthing the beginning of an Our Father. Two of the guys sitting around the table started muttering under their breaths. I caught a hint of "micromanaging asshole" from one of them, and Daniel must have heard it too, as his eyes immediately scanned the room, searching for the culprit.

The last time he did that, two people got fired, and I had liked them.

"You were talking about lunch breaks taking too long," I blurted out. "Then you mentioned how the shop vac needs to be emptied after use because it's not your job."

Interrupting him seemed to make him forget what he was doing, as I only managed to get a few words in before I once again became the center of his mostly unwelcome attention. That was because he was wearing that white shirt, and I usually had about a 40 percent success rate of escaping conversations with him without being scolded on white days. Gray shirt days were around 70 percent. Navy shirt days were about eighty-five. On navy days, I knew I could slap him on the back without receiving even a sideways glance. Those days were my favorites.

Chapter 1 (5)

I made my smile widen and even raised my eyebrows at him, hoping for the best. “Is that good enough, or did you want me to try and give you a word-by-word replay of what you said? Because I probably can, boss.” He could suck on those facts.
I widened my smile and raised my eyebrows, hoping for a positive response from him. "Is that satisfactory, or would you prefer a word-for-word replay of what you said? Because I'm pretty sure I can do that, boss." He could digest those facts.

The face that I stole glances at more often than I should remained unchanged. He didn't even blink. Then again, he should have known I wasn't lying. To be fair, I didn't think Daniel trusted anyone at the shop. Not even Mr. Hill, if the arguments I overheard meant anything, and they had to mean something. The last time I witnessed people arguing that intensely, they genuinely despised each other.

I let my lips stretch into a forced smile, revealing my teeth as I turned to face him. Beside me, my coworker stifled a snicker.

My boss—this boss—still wasn't amused.

But at least he didn't say, "Goddamn it, Abigail," again, so I considered it a small victory.

"As I was saying," Daniel finally continued after merely two seconds of staring at me with his expressionless face, redirecting his attention to the center of the room and erasing me from his train of thought—he had mastered that skill, "just because we have a cleaning crew coming in doesn't give you the right to leave a mess. No one is here to clean up after someone else or babysit them."

I covered my mouth to hide a yawn and glanced at the coworker sitting to my right, staring blankly at the wall. The forty-five-year-old man was breathing heavily but steadily, his mouth slightly open indicating he had fallen asleep. To my left, my other coworker, a thirty-year-old who had been at the shop almost as long as I had, was fidgeting with his foot. When he noticed me looking his way, he smirked in Daniel's direction, shaking his head. Jesus, he mouthed.

In moments like these, I truly appreciated how fortunate I was to have this job, surrounded by colleagues who treated me well. At least now they did.

It had taken numerous employees being fired or quitting until CCC ended up with the current staff, but I couldn't be happier. When I was seventeen, this job had been one of my last options. I had almost given up hope. The advertisement for a position at what I assumed was a mechanic shop hadn't aligned with my aspirations. However, at that point in my life, when I met Mr. Hill, he presented me with two choices: work for him or... not.

I chose work because, at seventeen, with only two hundred dollars left and no idea what to do with my life, I knew I couldn't return to what I had before. When someone gives you a genuine chance—the first real chance you've ever received—you can't decline.

I owed Mr. Hill everything. Truly, I did. He had transformed my life more than anyone else ever could or would, and I expressed my gratitude daily for years. I'm sure he had no clue what to do with me back then, but he offered me a job, a home, and a fighting chance. Everything since then became history.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I discreetly retrieved it just as Danielley started talking about the importance of time efficiency. I kept an eye on him as he stood there, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, and placed the phone on my thigh. I couldn't afford to get caught with it out, especially after already irritating him early in the day. We still had a whole day ahead of us.

While keeping my gaze fixed on my boss, I unlocked the screen out of habit. Daniel continued speaking, his attention scanning the room as if ensuring none of us were dozing off. I glanced down and noticed a new text message from an unknown number. I had expected it to be one of my sisters, but it wasn't. I didn't allow myself to feel disappointed.

With one eye still on Daniel, I quickly read the message.

210-555-1230: THIS IS JULIUS THOMAS. I NEED TO SPEAK WITH YOU AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. PLEASE GIVE ME A CALL AT YOUR EARLIEST CONVENIENCE.

Julius Thomas? I didn't recognize that name. The same number had called me yesterday, but I ignored it along with the voicemail they left. It was a San Antonio number... but there shouldn't be anyone calling me from there.

I had paid all my bills. The only thing I forgot was my electricity bill, but it was only two days late. It was probably just a scammer, I bet. Losers.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket, focusing my attention solely on the man who was still talking with his back against the counter. I glanced over at Mr. Hill, who was present, listening to Daniel with an unusual expression on his face that I couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't frustration for once.

They hadn't been in the midst of an argument when I arrived at work that morning.

Just as I began pondering the meaning behind Mr. Hill's expression, a snore from my left prompted me to nudge my coworker, Miguel, with my foot. He jerked awake, muttering, "Son of a bitch," as he sat up straighter. "Thanks, Abigail."

I wouldn't let any of them get into trouble if I could help it, and they knew that. Even the coworker on the other side of the room, who found amusement in Daniel catching me with my eyes closed. I cherished this place. Regardless of Daniel Danielley occasionally teasing me, I loved this place and the people who worked here. I was loved, I had a home, I had a job, and it was Friday. There wasn't much else I truly needed.

And above all, today was going to be a great day. With so many blessings and wonderful individuals in my life, how could it not be?

"Before we conclude this morning's meeting," Mr. Hill's sudden voice brought me back to reality, realizing I had zoned out for the past few minutes. "There's one more announcement I need to make."

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