by Kristie Cook
As soon as the words were out, I wanted to suck them back in. Or change them. Or do anything because they suddenly sounded all wrong and awkward, and probably only to me, but still …
“Nice,” he said appreciatively as he held his arm out in a welcoming gesture. Or shooing me in, I wasn’t sure.
Once the door closed and blocked out the bright sunlight, my eyes adjusted to the sunny grand foyer with its tile floors, sweeping staircases to each side, and multiple archways to other rooms. Brock’s mother—my potential future boss—stood in the middle with her arm extended to me. She wore a loose top and miniskirt on a body that defied her age more than her face did.
“Hope Verdor,” she said when I took her hand for a quick shake. As if I didn’t know, and not just because she’d told me on the phone. “Romance author—” she waved a hand in Brock’s direction “—mother to Brock and—”
The baby took that moment to introduce itself with a loud cry. She hurried over and tried to scoop it out of Brock’s arms.
“Let me have my little sweet ’ums,” she said.
“Mom, you have a meeting. I’m pretty sure I can take care of him for more than a few minutes,” Brock said, turning away from his mother. I couldn’t help but notice his nicely shaped butt and how his back muscles pulled as he walked off.
Mrs. Verdor put her hands on her hips and pouted as she watched them disappear into an adjacent room, and then she let out a sigh.
“That was baby Connor. Truly unexpected, both of them, but my pride and joy nonetheless.” She turned toward me, and I had to clench my jaw to keep it from hanging open. I couldn’t believe she’d just said that about her own children. I’m sure it was weird to have kids so far apart in age, although I didn’t know if she had any more in between, but to just blurt that out to a stranger floored me. She went on as if such comments were normal. I instantly felt a little bad for her children. “So tell me about yourself, Asia.”
She began walking down a corridor, and I followed as I gave her a brief overview of myself, trying not to be distracted by the row of windows on our left that looked out onto a courtyard with colorful plants and a fountain in the center. Was I really in Hope Verdor’s home? I wasn’t the squealing type anymore, but I’d almost reverted to it. Romance wasn’t exactly my favorite genre, but since scheduling the interview three days ago, I’d been devouring as many of her books as possible, and her characters had converted me—at least to paranormal romance.
“I just moved to the area from up north,” I started, and then it all poured out in one long gush. “I hope to enroll in classes again for the spring semester, but first, I really need a job and a place to live. I love reading and writing, and I’m good with computers and social media, and very organized to the point of being a little OCD, so when I saw your ad for a personal assistant, I had to call.”
We stopped in front of a door, and she waved at me to go inside. We entered what was obviously her office, with an entire wall of bookshelves crammed full, a desk piled with teetering stacks of notebooks and more books, a sitting area with two salmon colored, velvet-upholstered armchairs and a table in between them, and pictures all over the walls of her with other people, some of them famous authors and celebrities I recognized.
“This is where the magic happens?” I asked, trying and failing to keep the awe out of my voice.
She snickered. “Not exactly. This is where I do the business stuff. I can’t stand to write in here. It kills my creativity. Have a seat.”
I sat on the edge of one of the chairs and she sank into the other, tucking her legs under her.
“So tell me about yourself.”
I stared at her while clasping my hands together tightly in my lap. I thought I did that already?
One side of her mouth pulled up in a half-smile. “You didn’t tell me anything really. I think I know five things about you and nothing personal.”
“There’s not much else to tell.” Not anything she needed to know anyway.
“Oh, please. We’re all characters with backstories, motivations, and goals. I don’t need your biography, but at least tell me about your goals and why they’re important to you. If you want, you can share your hobbies. A personal assistant is personal. We have to like each other at least somewhat.”
I sucked my lips in, not sure if I was offended by her directness or appreciated it. I thought a little of both.
“Mrs. Verdor, I’m being totally honest,” I said. “My current goals are to get a job and a place to live, because I can’t do anything else until I accomplish those. I’d love to tell you that I still want to complete my degree, land my perfect job, and have my dream life, but I’ve learned that the world doesn’t work that way. Life happens and priorities change. I can only focus on what’s right before me and what I can control, and right now, that’s being able to support myself. I’m sure you’ve had a lot of applicants, but I can promise you no one will work as hard as I will.”
“Please call me Hope,” she said as her only reply for several long moments. She leaned her elbow on the chair’s arm, rested her chin onto her fist, and stared at me, her eyes tightening with each beat of my heart. Then a smile spread across her face. “I like that! You have a good head on your shoulders, I can tell. I looked over the résumé you emailed me—by the way, you’re the only person who sent one—and it’s kind of sparse, but that’s okay. I’d rather teach you my ways than have to unteach you someone else’s first.”
She listed out the main job duties, and for each one, I told her about my experience doing it, or how I might approach it, emphasizing that I’d always do it her preferred way, whatever “it” was. She appreciated my answers, and I seemed to be acing this interview. I tried to suppress my hopes, but if nobody else had applied, I surely had this job.
“The OCD thing is exactly what I need, because I’m pretty much a mess,” she said as she waved a hand toward her chaotic desk that had me twitching inside every time I looked at it. “I need someone who can keep up my calendar and make sure I’m where I need to be with everything I need to have for whatever I’m doing. There will be travel—I do a lot of events and signings—and that may include Connor, too, although I haven’t figured that out yet.”
She paused and let out a long sigh.
“But that’s the problem right there,” she said, and again I couldn’t believe she’d said that about her own child. “Oh, no, not Connor. He’s not a problem. Not really. Anyway, the problem is, as you said, life happened and priorities have changed. I’ve had to clear my calendar from travel and deadlines until I can work some things out. With Brock showing up like he did when he’s supposed to be up north at college, and the baby, and everything that’s going on … everything’s changed. I don’t even have the private living quarters available now. I need a PA more than ever, but I’m afraid throwing another person into the disarray is also the last thing I need. I just can’t see how I can make it all work at this time.”
Shit. My hopes had already risen, but my interview and the promise of a job and home were on a sinking ship before I’d even arrived, and it was going down fast.
“I promise I’m a fast learner,” I said, spewing out words, trying to save any possibility of changing her mind. “I can help you get control over whatever you have going on and take a lot off of your plate. I’m excellent at juggling and multi-tasking, and will do anything you need me to do. I can even—” I paused, not believing I was about to say this, but I really needed this job “—I can even help with Connor, if that’s what you need. Please, Mrs. Verdor, I like you, and you seem to like me. We can help each other out here.”
She gave me a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and then she stood up and walked for the door. I bit my bottom lip to keep from frowning as I stood, too, and followed her back through the house to the foyer.
“I’ll have to give it a l
ot of consideration, Asia,” she said when we reached the front door. “I wish I could make it work, and if I can, I’ll call you. Family’s first, though, and I have to remember that.”
I nodded and held my hand out to shake hers. “I understand. You have my number.”
My thoughts and emotions were all over the place as I slid into my car and drove back to the motel I called home. She wasn’t going to hire me, I knew already, and I couldn’t decide if I was disappointed or relieved. In a way, the job would have been perfect for me, and I couldn’t imagine not loving it. I liked Hope, even if she was unexpectedly direct, but I could get used to that. I wasn’t so sure about Brock. Although nice eye candy, I felt uncomfortable around him, and it wasn’t his looks or build that intimidated me. It was all that he represented. And then there was baby Connor.
My chest tightened at the thought of the sweet little face scrunching up and letting out a howl, his tiny fists waving in the air and bare little feet kicking. Part of me had wanted to sweep him into my arms as much as Hope had, press him against my shoulder, and soothe him back to sleep. But a much bigger part of me had panicked inside and wanted to bolt.
Which was what convinced me, as I slid my key card in and out of the slot and opened the door to my room, that the job wasn’t meant to be mine.
After I dropped my purse on the table and pulled off my heels with a sigh, I changed into shorts and my favorite Batman t-shirt, grabbed my laptop, and sat on the bed. Back to square one and more job hunting. If my luck didn’t change soon, though, I’d have to take drastic measures.
* * *
As Christmas approached two months later, the time for drastic measures had come. Well, actually, the time came a couple of weeks ago when I’d started sleeping in my car. It wasn’t so bad really—I’d park at the beach, roll the windows halfway down for the breeze coming off the ocean, and let the sound of the waves lull me to sleep. There were public bathrooms with showers nearby, too. I even had company in the form of a white cat that hopped into my car every night and curled up in the back window until morning, when it would disappear as if knowing I couldn’t feed it. Safety was an issue, but I picked the beaches near the upscale neighborhoods, kept my weapons handy, and never took off my steel-toed ass-kickers. The real problem was during the day. My pale skin didn’t equip me for life as a beach bum, although it wasn’t as pale as it had been when I moved down here.
I’d been able to catch an odd job here and there, enough to make food money. Just not enough to keep a roof over my head. I did land a job as an “appointment setter,” which, turned out, meant I was cold-calling people and trying to convince them to schedule an appointment to have their air conditioning system inspected and maintained. That lasted a week. This girl could only take so many times of being hung up on or cussed out, especially since my income was based on how many people made—and kept—an appointment. That definitely wasn’t the job for me. Then I’d started training to be one of those girls who went around to restaurants and bars, selling roses to men to give to their ladies. Except after a couple of weeks of that, the boss-woman said my youth and my body would be perfect for the night clubs, and when she showed me the skimpy costume I’d have to wear, I was out of there. I’d never be that desperate.
Completely out of money, I’d had to move out of the weekly motel room then and into my car. I’d been putting off the decision forever because I didn’t want to admit that my life had come to this, but it was time to decide whether to give in and go home to the obnoxiously sized estate up north where I had an entire wing to myself … or to sell my car. The decision wasn’t really that hard to make. Following through on it was a different story.
But when my phone rang and I recognized the number, I couldn’t prolong the decision any longer.
“This is the girl I talked to yesterday?” the guy on the other end asked. I wondered if he looked as sexy as he sounded, but quickly shut off that thought. “About the car?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, hearing the dejection in my own voice.
“My friend’s definitely interested if you still have it. Can we meet somewhere so we can take a look?”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat.
I loved my canary yellow Camaro. I’d wanted one since I was twelve, but my parents had given me a boring BMW for my Sweet Sixteen instead. Mom thought it would be safer for me. Exactly why it was boring. I mean, I was grateful to have anything with wheels, of course, but my heart had longed for the sports car. They bought the Camaro for me not too long ago. A make-up gift of sorts. The only one I’d actually accepted. And then I left them in it, not planning to see them ever again. The car still held a lot of value, which meant I could buy myself an old beater and have enough money remaining to survive another several months. Surely by then I’d have found a real job.
“Yeah, sure,” I finally said, and with a sinking heart, I told him where to meet me.
As much as I hated giving her up, this plan was definitely better than going home.
A few hours later, I sat in my car in a busy public parking lot, wondering if it was the last time I’d be doing so. I stroked her black dashboard and leather seats as if she were a puppy I was about to give away and not an inanimate object whose main purpose was to get me from Point A to Point B. She’d been more than that for me, though—the only thing I could depend on for months. An Audi, not unlike the BMW I’d had before but black and a little sportier looking, pulled up next to me. If that was any indication, then the caller likely had the finances to buy my girl. My heart sank further—I’d kind of been hoping he was only window-shopping—but then it did a strange little skip when the two guys climbed out.
The dark-haired, more muscular one who’d emerged from the driver’s side looked at me and smiled with the same familiarity I felt.
“Asia, right?” he asked. Shit. He remembered my name? That was impressive. Especially since I couldn’t remember his. He must have realized this. “Brock Verdor. Hope Verdor’s son?”
Oh, geez, how did I forget that?
“That’s right,” I said, grinning and nodding like an idiot.
“This is Brandon,” Brock said, nodding at his friend with the shaggy, strawberry-blond hair who was already circling my car.
“Hey,” he muttered distractedly. “This car is sick.”
Brock walked around the back of his Audi to stand next to me and shoved his hands into his khaki shorts pockets. “I can’t believe you’re selling it.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have a choice,” I said, but I suddenly couldn’t bring myself to say I needed the money. My brain spun for a reason that wasn’t as embarrassing. Well, not so much embarrassing as an admission of defeat. I guess I didn’t want him thinking that his mom and the job she’d never offered had anything to do with my situation. “I need something that gets better gas mileage.”
“Can I get in?” Brandon asked as he stood at the driver’s side, his hand already on the handle.
“Of course,” I said with a nod. “Go ahead and move the seat back, if you can. I kind of have a lot of stuff back there.”
Brandon chuckled when he inspected the back seat. “Yeah, you do. There aren’t any holes in the leather back there, are there?”
I scowled. “No! She’s practically brand new, and I take excellent care of her! If you want to take everything out to see for yourself, feel free.”
Brock had walked closer to the car, leaned his arms on the roof, and hung his head over the window while his friend made himself comfortable in my seat. I mean, in the driver’s seat.
“Damn,” Brock said, “you lucky son of a bitch. You know this is what I wanted.”
Brandon grinned as he gripped the steering wheel, and he looked over his right shoulder. “There’s plenty of room back there. You could have done it. But you snooze, you lose. This one’s mine.”
&n
bsp; “The keys are in the ignition. Feel free to turn her over,” I said, my voice thick through my tight throat. He was already claiming my girl.
Brock’s head ducked down as he seemed to inspect the interior closer. A V formed between his eyebrows as his gaze traveled to the back seat where pretty much everything I owned was piled. The rest was in the trunk, which I popped open when Brandon got out and circled the car again.
“It’s pretty roomy,” I said, motioning my hand toward the trunk.
Brandon nodded appreciatively, but Brock’s dark brows pushed together again. He turned his head toward me, and his chocolate eyes narrowed. Something about his gaze caused a shiver up my spine.
“Um … do you want to take her for a test drive?” I asked as I looked back at Brandon. The thought made me nervous, getting into the car with a strange guy, but I didn’t have much choice unless I let him take it on his own, along with my life’s possessions.
“Definitely,” he said eagerly. I almost rolled my eyes. The dude obviously wasn’t used to negotiating—I could already tell I’d get my asking price from him. That probably came from growing up as a spoiled brat. I was surprised he was even looking at a used car in the first place, even if she was souped up with top-of-the-line bells and whistles and had fewer than ten thousand miles on her.
“Hold on a second,” Brock said, lifting his hand toward Brandon while his narrowed gaze remained focused on me.
The same hand moved toward me, and I flinched. When his fingers wrapped around my upper arm in a gentle but firm hold, my own hand fisted, ready to punch him in the stomach if necessary. Except I’d lost all control over my body at his touch. An odd sensation tumbled through me, and my bones felt as though they were melting into liquid within my flesh. My mind blocked out everything except the feeling of his skin against mine. As he pulled me a few feet away from Brandon and the car, something tugged at my subconscious, as if trying to pull it through the surface of a memory. But the sensation fled as soon as he let go of me. It had all been so quick, I was sure I’d imagined everything.