Married to the Royal_An Accidental Marriage Romance

by Ashlee Price

  I felt the weight shift again, and I could see from the corner of my eye that he was scooting closer to me. What was he doing?

  “Hi,” he said, now only a foot or so away.

  “Hello,” I answered without looking at him. I pretended intense fascination with my paper.

  “The name’s Phil,” he told me, as though I might be interested in the information.

  I opted to say nothing, so he tried again. “I can’t help but notice you’re reading the job classifieds.”

  I was afraid if I didn’t say something, he might move closer, thinking I couldn’t hear him. I opted to nod slowly but still said nothing.

  “What do you do?” he prompted me.

  I decided I might as well get it over with. “Psychology.”

  “You a shrink?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Long story.” I folded the paper, ready to leave, when his next sentence stopped me.

  “I happen to know of an opening that would suit you.”

  His words were like those ripe, red berries you’d come across in the forest. They looked good, but for all you knew they were poison, and you hesitated, deciding how hungry you were. “What sort of job?”

  He knew he had me, so he sat back, putting one arm over the back of the bench, his fingertips nearly caressing my shoulder. I should have known then, but hey, I was from Ann Arbor.

  “Executive assistant.” He threw the title out there to impress me, and God help me, I couldn’t let it go.

  “Doing what?”

  He leaned closer, as though what he was about to impart was top secret. “All kinds of things. I’ve got this little book, you see. It’s filled with pictures, but I need a woman like you to act them out with me.” His finger motioned toward me, and this was followed by a wink.

  “What does the job pay?” I asked him calmly.

  His eyebrows shot up, surprised that I was interested. He rubbed his thigh over and over, as though considering what to offer, but I could see that he’d gotten hard and was trying to pet himself.

  “Well… let’s see… what would you say to free room and board and two hundred a week for pocket money?”

  I spotted the spittle in the corner of his mouth. He was drooling.

  “Hmmm…” I paused as though giving it serious thought. “I’ll have to go ask my boyfriend first. Naturally, he’ll be moving in with me. You’ll like him. He’s on leave from the Chicago PD, but he’s done with therapy and they say they might let him go back to a desk job. Then there are my pets. You don’t mind boa constrictors, do you? Mine are pregnant. Did you know they rarely breed in captivity? I might get as many as a hundred babies, and I can sell them for a couple hundred bucks apiece. Of course, that’s a lot of feeding; they eat live mice and rats, you know. I buy them in bulk from a laboratory. Oh, don’t worry, I only buy a few hundred at a time.”

  I felt the weight shift again, and this time, he was gone. I had to smile. Maybe psychology would do me more good in Chicago than I’d realized.

  Turning back to the paper, I used my cell phone to take a picture of each ad that caught my attention. The bench was far too public to conduct conversations. I wanted somewhere more isolated, but it wasn’t going to be at Tiff’s apartment. She’d be all over me, making snide comments.

  I found a spot down by the water where the sand was natural, filled with stones, dead fish and plastic debris that had washed ashore. It sickened me to be there; my environmental sensibilities were being attacked. That said, no one else wanted to sit there either, so it was ideal.

  The first ad was for a therapist’s receptionist. I thought that might provide a good environment and perhaps some future connections once I got my master’s. I called and explained I was interested in the advertised job.

  “Do you have any experience?” asked the woman.

  “I have a degree in psychology from U of M.”

  “We’re not hiring therapists,” she said rudely and hung up the phone.

  The next was a daycare. I really wasn’t great with kids, but I knew that I’d have some as patients when I eventually went into practice.

  “Have you worked daycare before?”

  “I have a degree in psychology.”

  “Does that mean yes or no?”

  “Well, technically, no, but my education should come in handy in childcare.”

  “Let me ask you something. Have you ever changed a dirty diaper?”

  I shook my head even though the interviewer couldn’t see me. “No, but it can’t be that hard.”

  “Well, Miss Psychology Degree, until you’ve diapered three babies at the same time, I suggest you look elsewhere.” The phone went dead.

  People here are so rude. I went through three waitressing positions; two with restaurants and one with a questionable corner bar in a distant part of town. I was getting very disillusioned. I couldn’t believe there was a shortage of jobs in a town that huge, and especially with a fresh U of M degree in my hand.

  I made up my mind to try one more. It read: WANTED: Yoga Instructor. No experience required. Must be female, attractive and willing to learn.

  It sounded just like the other come-on jobs I’d been weeding through. I was out of options, though, and almost out of money. Tiff was giving me the boot signal, and as homesick as I was, I didn’t want to go back to Ann Arbor as a failure. That just wasn’t in me.

  There was no number to call, just an address. I walked back to the apartment before Tiff came home and put on more suitable clothes. I chose a sporty outfit that I’d never worn, gave the taxi driver the address, and settled back against the seat to watch the scenery.

  See how the rest of the story unfolds

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  © Copyright 2018 by Ashlee Price - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

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