BAD ENOUGH addresses difficult themes; included is a content warning for suicide, mental illness, death, racism, and physical, substance and (non-graphic) sexual abuse.
Chapter One
If Indira Nowak hadn’t committed to bullying the bullies, she’d still be stuck in the claustrophobic childhood house where she’d left her mother and the bad memories. Life required litigating everything from the truth to room on the road and Indira was a hypervigilant warrior. A partially snow-covered black SUV was stopped ahead of her, like an orca, blocking the street. Indira tapped her horn, which earned her the finger, but that Shamu still rounded the corner in retreat.
“I hear that horn.” Her boss’s saccharine chuckle oozed into the car. “You shouldn’t lie about working late, sugar.” Hands-free talking was a curse, but necessary to bend him to her will.Plus, it was safer than being in the Milwaukee office, which wasn’t hands-free when Ron was around.
“I’m meeting clients, remember?” Rabid rage foamed in her mouth, but she swallowed it down. One more week of him thinking he was in charge. If the poker tables had been unkind to him, he’d punch down and be unkind to her. Indira took his call to know for sure.
“Hold on. I’m parking,” she added. The tangerine sunset’s glare erased the road ahead. She slapped the visor down and squinted the Rogers Park neighborhood into focus. Two rows of salmon-colored bungalows framed the street. Her sedan crunched over frozen slush, seesawing into the only parking spot devoid of a lawn chair holding dibs—a common wintertime practice in Chicago.Indira knew the city well and cutting through its neighborhoods toward Lakeshore Drive had been leisurely until Ron’s call. Her client list was vast and dotted across the city’s perimeter and deep into neighboring suburbs. Indira helped them make better tasting food.
There were only a handful of companies making custom ingredient blends in the country, and Milwaukee Flavors was one of them. Blending dry spices with functional ingredients was their niche. They made barbecue chips taste like barbecue and honey mustard pretzels taste like honey and mustard. Hated by mommy bloggers, they used MSG and the hard-to-pronounce ingredients on nutritional panels and killed at it. You’d never know it looking at their branding, but she had a plan to fix that.
“I’m having a lucky week.” Ron droned about his winning bets while she parked. “You should be with me here in Milwaukee, darling. I can’t mentor you from afar.”
Afailed New Yorker transplanted to Wisconsin; he spoke with a generic Southern accent to sugarcoat his nasty affect. Where he’d picked it up, nobody knew. His drive west had no reason to dip into the deep south. Maybe he’d lost himself along the way or was just a liar. Nothing about Mister Handsy Pants rang true, but he was her boss for another week and then they’d be colleagues. She’d be the newly minted Director of Marketing.
“Sounds like you’re too busy winning to have time for me.” She coughed over a laugh. Still, Ron in a good mood was easier to take down.
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BAD ENOUGH addresses difficult themes; included is a content warning for suicide, mental illness, death, racism, and physical, substance and (non-graphic) sexual abuse.
Chapter One
If Indira Nowak hadn’t committed to bullying the bullies, she’d still be stuck in the claustrophobic childhood house where she’d left her mother and the bad memories. Life required litigating everything from the truth to room on the road and Indira was a hypervigilant warrior. A partially snow-covered black SUV was stopped ahead of her, like an orca, blocking the street. Indira tapped her horn, which earned her the finger, but that Shamu still rounded the corner in retreat.
“I hear that horn.” Her boss’s saccharine chuckle oozed into the car. “You shouldn’t lie about working late, sugar.” Hands-free talking was a curse, but necessary to bend him to her will. Plus, it was safer than being in the Milwaukee office, which wasn’t hands-free when Ron was around.
“I’m meeting clients, remember?” Rabid rage foamed in her mouth, but she swallowed it down. One more week of him thinking he was in charge. If the poker tables had been unkind to him, he’d punch down and be unkind to her. Indira took his call to know for sure.
“Hold on. I’m parking,” she added. The tangerine sunset’s glare erased the road ahead. She slapped the visor down and squinted the Rogers Park neighborhood into focus. Two rows of salmon-colored bungalows framed the street. Her sedan crunched over frozen slush, seesawing into the only parking spot devoid of a lawn chair holding dibs—a common wintertime practice in Chicago. Indira knew the city well and cutting through its neighborhoods toward Lakeshore Drive had been leisurely until Ron’s call. Her client list was vast and dotted across the city’s perimeter and deep into neighboring suburbs. Indira helped them make better tasting food.
There were only a handful of companies making custom ingredient blends in the country, and Milwaukee Flavors was one of them. Blending dry spices with functional ingredients was their niche. They made barbecue chips taste like barbecue and honey mustard pretzels taste like honey and mustard. Hated by mommy bloggers, they used MSG and the hard-to-pronounce ingredients on nutritional panels and killed at it. You’d never know it looking at their branding, but she had a plan to fix that.
“I’m having a lucky week.” Ron droned about his winning bets while she parked. “You should be with me here in Milwaukee, darling. I can’t mentor you from afar.”
A failed New Yorker transplanted to Wisconsin; he spoke with a generic Southern accent to sugarcoat his nasty affect. Where he’d picked it up, nobody knew. His drive west had no reason to dip into the deep south. Maybe he’d lost himself along the way or was just a liar. Nothing about Mister Handsy Pants rang true, but he was her boss for another week and then they’d be colleagues. She’d be the newly minted Director of Marketing.
“Sounds like you’re too busy winning to have time for me.” She coughed over a laugh. Still, Ron in a good mood was easier to take down.