"How about dinner?"
Rose jumped, startled, as Byrd leaned down and whispered in her ear.
"W-what?"
"How about dinner?" Byrd’s eyes raked her figure as he pretended to fix something on her sewing machine.
Rose turned back to her work, moving the fabric quickly under the needle. The workload had been growing progressively heavier since she had been hired two weeks earlier, the hours longer and longer, and now the foreman was asking her to dinner—again.
"I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook," she answered lightly, trying to put him off. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that Byrd considered the women working on this floor to be his own personal playthings. More than one woman had cast angry glances Byrd’s way, infuriated that he would pursue them even when they had plainly told him that they were married, engaged, or simply not interested. A few had been angry because they had gone along with what he wanted—only to be cast aside when he got bored.
"I know a nice restaurant not far from here," he persisted, leaning even closer. "What do you say?"
Rose shook her head slightly, trying not to anger him. "I have to work," she told him, finishing one dress and starting on the next.
"We can go after you’re done here."
"I really can’t."
"Why? Do you have another man?"
"Yes," Rose lied, hoping that he would stop bothering her. Of course, more than one of her co-workers had complained about being pursued by him even after informing him that she was taken. Rose didn’t hold much hope that her ploy would work.
"He’ll never know," Byrd replied, putting one hand on her shoulder and moving it down her front. Rose shrugged him off.
"I’m here to work, not to play games." She finally turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "Find someone else to play with."
"All I’m doing is offering you a free meal."
"Yes," she replied, her eyes beginning to spark angrily, "but I would be the dessert."
"Don’t be crude, Miss Dawson. Is this really all you want out of life?"
"It’s better than what you’re offering me."
"A nice night on the town?"
"A night under you!" she snapped back, her temper beginning to fray. "Listen to me. I am not interested. Leave me alone."
"I think you misunderstand my intentions."
"No," Rose replied crisply. "I don’t."
"I can get you shorter hours, better pay sooner…"
"Forgive me if I doubt that."
"I can also make your life miserable."
Rose quaked inside, knowing that he was telling the truth, but she smiled widely, giving no sign of her trepidation.
"I doubt that, too." She gritted her teeth.
"Miss Dawson…"
"Look," she snapped, turning away and putting her machine back into gear. "I am here to work, to make dresses, not to be your plaything. Find someone else, because this woman isn’t interested!"
Her voice had risen with each word, and some of the women working nearby looked up, a few hiding smiles at the hated foreman’s expression.
He glowered at them, not looking away until they lowered their eyes and got back to work. "You’ve made your choice, Miss Dawson."
"Indeed I have."
"Your work is not of the quality we expect here, nor do you work fast enough. I think that Mr. Wiseman will agree that we’ve given you more than enough of a chance here."
Rose hated the thought of losing her job, but she wasn’t going to acquiesce to Byrd’s demands. She had more self-respect than that, and, beyond that, she felt that it would be a betrayal of Jack to have anything to do with the crude, overbearing foreman.
"I guess that is for Mr. Wiseman to decide," she told him, more calmly than she felt. "I know he doesn’t allow you to decide those things."
He glared at her, moving towards the exit. "Keep working, ladies! I’ll be back soon. If your machine jams, you’ll just have to wait until I return, thanks to one of your co-workers." He looked pointedly at Rose.
Only a few women looked up, and they soon went back to what they were doing. Byrd’s pursuit of Rose was no secret, and now, neither was her rejection of his advances.
*****
It wasn’t long before Byrd returned, Wiseman following quickly behind him, impatient and wanting to get back to his meeting. They stopped behind Rose, waiting a moment as she finished what she was doing and turned to them.
"Mr. Wiseman. How may I help you?" Rose asked, knowing why he was there but pretending ignorance.
"Mr. Byrd has informed me that the quality of your work is poor and that you are one of the slower workers on this floor." He gestured to the pile of finished dresses, raising an eyebrow when he saw how high it was. It certainly didn’t look as though she was a slow worker.
Taking a deep breath, Rose reached for one of the dresses and handed it to him, hoping that her workmanship was good enough. Having been clothed only in the best all her life, she knew what sort of quality fine ladies looked for in their clothing, and although these dresses weren’t of the sort that she had worn in her old life, she had done her best to stitch them as skillfully as if they would be purchased by the most discerning of high society women.
Wiseman examined the seams, turning to Byrd with a stormy look on his face.
"You pulled me out of my meeting to complain about this?" he asked disdainfully. "You’re right when you say that the quality is not what I expect. It’s better. I most certainly am not going to fire Miss Dawson because the quality of her work is superior!"
"But sir…" Byrd stammered, at a loss for words. He wasn’t used to having his wishes denied. "She…she talks constantly, she daydreams…I don’t think she’s suitable for this position."
"If I believed that, I would be losing a very valuable employee. And Mr. Byrd, don’t think that I don’t know what position you do think she’s suitable for…there have been complaints."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Wiseman sighed. "Very well, but I am not firing Miss Dawson. She’s making money for me."
Rose looked up hopefully. "Does that mean I can have a raise?" The money she made didn’t stretch far.
Wiseman turned to her, his face darkening. "No," he told her abruptly. "You’re not the only good worker here, and if I raised your wages, everyone would want a raise, and then where would I be?"
From the cut of his clothes and the girth of his belly, Rose didn’t think that it would hurt him much to pay everyone an extra dollar a week or so, but she had already won one battle—to keep her job—and didn’t think that now was the time to start another.
"Of course, sir. I understand." She sat back down, glancing up at Byrd once with a faint smirk as she resumed her work.
At least she would keep her job. That was something.