About ten minutes later, Bryant ran down the stairs and stopped momentarily at the entryway. He locked eyes with me. “What a psycho. I didn’t want the stupid job anyway.” He looked me up and down. “You won’t last ten minutes with him. Might as well leave now before your feelings get hurt.”
He didn’t wait for me to respond, but instead, rushed out the door like a whirlwind.
Psycho?
Hurt feelings?
That didn’t bode well.
I stood and pressed my clammy hands together, eyeing my car through the front window. The temptation to ditch the interview and go back to the drawing board was almost overpowering. I took a step towards the entryway and halted. Images of Mom working double shifts and Dad earning minimum wage filled my thoughts and my throat ran dry. I needed to see this through. They could barely pay the bills and I didn’t want to ask for help unless I had to.
What was the worst that could happen? I wouldn’t get the job? I’d dealt with a lot worse than this interview.
Besides, Mr. Jeffries seemed like a nice man. Whatever went wrong just now probably wasn’t his fault. The Bryant guy seemed way too cocky and Mr. Jeffries must have put him in his place. Though naïve at times, I was a good judge of character. First impressions were often wrong but my gut told me Mr. Jeffries was solid and Bryant was the problem.
Still, something about this whole situation made me feel uneasy.
Mr. Jeffries appeared at the top of the stairs with a grim expression, gesturing for me to meet him on the second floor. I took the steps slowly, trying not to shrink under his scrutiny. When I reached the top, he attempted a smile. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, Miss Wolfe. Sometimes weeding out unlikely candidates is a quick process.” He lowered his voice into a whisper. “I can assure you this job won’t require a lot and you will be paid well for your time.”
I ignored the anxious clenching in my gut and forced my lips to curve upward. “Yes, of course.”
He led me down a long hallway, and we came to a large red-framed photograph of a pond, surrounded by tall trees with autumn leaves. The scene was beautiful and I wanted to stop and examine the photo further, but Mr. Jeffries took large steps as if on a mission and it was vitally important he reached his destination. It took me twice as many steps to keep up with him. Whoever said Senior Citizens weren’t fit? He seemed able-bodied enough. What did he possibly need my help with?
As we rounded the corner, I smacked into a large man wearing a black sweatshirt with a hood, standing in a doorway, shadows falling around him like a villain from a horror movie. Without thinking, I screamed and stumbled backward, losing my balance. The man reached forward and grabbed my shoulders, steadying me.
My hand covered my pounding heart, and I was torn between feeling embarrassed at my outburst and overwhelmed by the dark figure in front of me, menacing and tall and built like a wrestler. I had to tilt my head back to look up at him. “You scared me,” I said, panting. “It’s like you came out of nowhere.”
I glanced at Mr. Jeffries for reassurance, and he gave me a supportive smile. He seemed unconcerned, which gave me a small measure of relief.
The other man glared, eyes piercing through me as if he sensed my fear. “It’s my house. You’re the one who came out of nowhere,” he said, voice rumbling, deep and gravelly.
Wait, this house didn’t belong to Mr. Jeffries?
The man before me appeared young, couldn’t be much older than myself. He stood, arms crossed at his chest, expression gruff.
He had an imposing presence with broad shoulders and large muscles that flexed underneath his sweatshirt. Dark blue jeans hung low over his hips and when I glanced down to see black combat boots, my eyes widened. They looked like they’d come straight out of a Goth military magazine. Taking a closer look, a chill ran through me. Those boots were the real deal—steel-toed and probably able to do serious damage.
The house and the man didn’t fit together. One displayed upper-class southern charm while the other rebelled against the image of anything nice.
Heat rushed to my face at the realization that I’d been staring at his boots far longer than what was considered polite. I forced my head up, only to find honey brown eyes flecked with gold staring back at me. They were angry like I’d offended him in some way, yet striking in the same way a Tiger’s eyes might capture your attention—dangerous and beautiful at the same time.
The force of his stare sent a shiver down my spine. He didn’t take his eyes off me and for a moment, I thought I saw recognition flicker across his face. I took a step back. Could this be the guy I’d seen in the balcony at church? The black hoodie looked similar. But Sammie said that guy was the church janitor. And church janitors didn’t live in houses like this.
Mr. Jeffries motioned for me to come closer. “Ivy, this is Mr. Drake, the man you’ll be working with, that is, if everyone is in agreement you’re a good fit for the position.”
“What exactly is the position?” I asked, glancing at Mr. Jeffries, still confused. This was no caregiver job, that was for certain. “I’m sorry. I had the impression I’d be working with you.”
“Just because I’m not wearing a suit,” Mr. Drake said, voice full of disdain, “doesn’t mean I’m not the one in charge.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Drake. I must have misunderstood.” I hadn’t meant to insult him, but now it seemed I had a strike against me. Not good since I really needed this job.
Mr. Jeffries’ expression softened. “No need to apologize. I work for Mr. Drake. I’m his . . .” He paused. “I oversee the business side of things for Mr. Drake and will be helping him with the interview today.”
Mr. Drake scowled, obviously irritated by the misunderstanding. His head snapped to Mr. Jeffries. “Hayden, I’m done for the day.”
He stepped into the room and with one swift move, slammed the door in my face.
I jumped back, and for a moment all I could do was stare at the closed door in disbelief. Did that really just happen? Coming to my senses, I inched backward.
Mr. Jeffries winced and held up a hand. “Don’t leave yet. Give me a minute. I promise this won’t take long.” He sounded almost desperate, and the concern on his face made me hesitate.
He opened the door a few inches and scooted inside as though he didn’t want me to see the train wreck inside that room. The increased pounding of my heart pulsed underneath my hand, still resting on my chest. This was a mistake and I should leave . . . now. Arguing and muffled words filtered through the door.
And then glass shattered as something hit the wall.
Sawyer
I leaned against the closed door and rested my forehead in the crook of my elbow, my heart thundering. That girl—I’d seen her at church on Sunday. Watched her longer than I probably should have. She shouldn’t be here. It would be better if she left right now.
What did Hayden say her name was? Ivy. There’d been a distinct sadness behind her smile as she walked into church, and because I understood suffering, I wanted to know what pained her. Before the accident, I might have befriended her. But now? I was no longer Sawyer Drake, hotshot point guard of my high school basketball team. Popular. Sought after by the female population. Captain of the debate team. Now, I was Sawyer Drake, lonely hermit, confined to my self-imposed prison.
Ivy caught me staring that day, and if she made the connection and remembered, she might think I was some kind of creep. I turned to Hayden. “Get rid of her.”
He glanced back at me, perplexed. “Why?”
“I. Said. Get. Rid. Of. Her.” My jaw tightened as I met his gaze.
“I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”
My hand instinctively went to the damaged side of my face. “The woman screamed the moment she saw me. This isn’t going to work.”
His expression softened. “Sawyer, she never saw your scars—your hood covered them. She was startled, that’s all. This house is a little dark, and she didn’t see you until we were right at
the doorway. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“The only thing I saw was a scared girl who looked way too timid to be my assistant. I don’t like her.”
“You don’t know her.”
“I know enough.”
“What could you possibly know?”
Large green eyes, impossibly smooth skin, brown hair almost down to her waist. Not slender, not especially tall, and NOT polite, since she’d taken one look at me and freaked out. Still, she was pretty enough to make me aware of my scars, make me itch to run out the back door to the woods and abandon this charade.
“I have a good feeling about her,” Hayden said.
“If you like her so much then you hire her. I’m sure there’s an internship position at the office that will suit her just fine.”
He ignored me while he used two pieces of paper to sweep up the glass particles where the vase landed. That vase had cost a fortune. Should’ve held back my temper. I shrugged it off.
What’s one more thing lost to me? Story of my life.
I gripped his shoulder. “Let me do that.” I took over and turned my back to him as we talked.
“Give her a chance.” His voice rose a notch. “Interview her and get to know her.” He sighed in frustration. “We met with at least twenty people last week. I did what you asked and called a temp agency. I specified you wanted someone older. And where did that get us?”
I snickered. “You brought in an elderly man with gastrointestinal issues.”
“You wanted old. That’s what I gave you.”
“He wasn’t right for the position.”
“You had a reason why you hated every candidate we met with.”
“My reasons were valid.”
Hayden pursed his lips together. “But you’ve systematically eliminated everyone. Ivy’s our last candidate.” He sighed. “I’m sure I can bring in more people for interviews, but my time is important.”
“What happened? I specifically told you not to bring in someone young.”
“We ran out of options.”
I shook my head. “This entire plan is doomed.”
“It is not doomed. Pull it together Sawyer. I made it clear how I feel about this. If you want to give up, you know the alternative.”
I blew out a harsh breath and bent over, letting the glass shards fall into the trash. Hayden would never give up. He was kind and gentle but stubborn like an ox. Once he got his mind set on something, he was relentless. Which is why I needed him running the business.
“Fine, let’s get this over with. I’ll meet with her, but you can’t force me to hire someone I don’t want.”
“Give her a fair chance. That’s all I ask.”
I turned away so he wouldn’t see the dismay on my face. Fair chance? Like life was fair.
Chapter 4
Ivy
No wonder Bryant and the blonde left. I should have followed their lead. Having the door slammed in my face right before an interview was a first. I mean, who did that?
I was already retreating down the hall when Mr. Jeffries caught up with me.
“You’re not leaving, are you? Please don’t go.”
I twisted around to find him breathing hard, face flushed.
“Mr. Drake was upset, but I assure you, that’s all been straightened out. He’s ready to meet with you now.”
“I didn’t get the feeling he wanted to interview me.”
Actually, I didn’t want to be in an interview with Mr. Drake now that I’d caught a glimpse of the type of man he was.
“There was a misunderstanding, but he’s agreed to see you.” He motioned for me to follow him with a little too much enthusiasm as if afraid I’d change my mind and skip out of there.
Hesitating, I glanced at the staircase, my only exit out of this place. “I’m not so sure I’m a good fit for the job.” I had no idea what the job entailed, but it didn’t matter at this point.
Mr. Jeffries winced and sadness filled his eyes. “I’m sorry, Ivy. I know how this must look, but I promise, you’re completely safe, and I personally guarantee this position pays well.” His voice softened. “Just come for the interview, and we can discuss any concerns you have.”
He had a gentle, calming manner about him that put me at ease, and I sensed he was trustworthy. It was one of those gut feelings I had on occasion. I could walk out like the others—probably should. But then again, I really needed a paycheck. What other employer would pay equal to the salary offered in the ad? I hesitated, but nodded my assent and followed him, hoping I hadn’t just made a huge mistake.
My feet felt like dead weights, dragging against the carpet. My body didn’t want to move forward, but I pushed myself to place one foot after the next, the promise of being paid well still on my mind.
Motioning to a doorway, he gestured for me to enter. “We call this room the upstairs parlor.”
My heart thumped as I entered a dimly lit room. A small corner lamp was the only light in the vicinity. The space was as large as the living room downstairs, but everything was in shadows, though I was able to make out a television and entertainment center in one corner, across from two dark gray couches with a coffee table in between.
A desk and chair sat between two windows covered with black velvet curtains. Mr. Drake sat with one arm extended over the back of a couch, head held out of the light. The way he dressed—especially that hoodie—made him appear like some kind of shady character out of a comic book. I couldn’t help thinking about the guy in the balcony at church. Was there a remote possibility this was the same man?
My eyes landed on his boots again and I forced myself to look away.
His lips curved into a dry smile. “Don’t be afraid, Miss Wolfe. Have a seat.” He gestured to the other couch. “I promise I won’t bite.” He had a deep, rumbling voice.
Awkward silence elapsed as I settled onto the couch, not sure where to put my hands. Did I fold them in my lap? Rest them on my thighs? I folded my arms across my chest. Afraid that would make me appear closed-off, I let my arms rest at my sides instead. It was only an interview, but the entire situation made me second guess myself.
Mr. Jeffries gave me an encouraging nod from the doorway. I hoped he would stay for the whole interview because Mr. Drake’s manner unnerved me a little. The idea of being alone with him made my stomach drop like a ride in an unsteady elevator crashing to the ground floor. If only the room wasn’t so dark and I could see him better.
As if reading my thoughts, he turned the lamp to a brighter setting and leaned towards the light, pulling down the hood of his sweatshirt. He didn’t face forward but held one side of his head at an angle. Full lips formed into a mocking smile.
His chestnut hair fell to the bottom of his neck and it had a wind-blown look as if he’d been running outdoors recently. His large caramel-colored eyes stared back at me, assessing and evaluating. “Ivy,” he said, rolling my name off his tongue as if testing it out. “May I call you by your first name?”
“Yes.” My voice sounded timid, uncertain. Not a great first start.
“You don’t have a southern accent. Since this is a college town, I’m assuming you moved here to go to the university?”
“Yes, and I’m from California,” I said, forcing more assertiveness into my tone. Why did he continue to hold his face to the side like that? “You don’t have a southern accent either. You’re not originally from here?”
“Moved from Colorado four years ago.” He rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward, scrutinizing me further. “Let me be frank. I’m not entirely sure I want to hire you.”
My eyes widened. “Oh?”
“For one, you’re from California—the land of fruits and nuts.”
Tell me he didn’t just say that. “You think Californians are nutty?”
He chuckled, but it lacked humor. “So I hear.” He leaned forward even further. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been to Hollywood and even liked it, but there are a lot of—” His fin
ger did a circular motion at his head, indicating he’d come across a fair share of crazies.
“There are strange people everywhere. I’m sure Alabama has a few.”
He glossed over that. “But more importantly, you have the most unsettling green eyes. I can’t have those green eyes watching me day in, day out.” He said it so casually, as if it was a completely valid explanation for not hiring someone.
My mouth dropped open. I’d never been told my eyes were—what did he say? Unsettling.
He waited for my response, completely unbothered by the silence stretching between us. I sat forward, glancing towards the door. “Should I leave?”
He fell back against the couch and grinned like he was enjoying this and the joke was on me. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t hire you. Just that I’m not sure I want to.”
“Um . . . okay. Why should I work for someone who doesn’t want to hire me?” That was a valid question.
“I pay well.” He grew serious as he took in my expression, which must have appeared solemn. “I have a dry sense of humor. You know how to laugh, don’t you?”
“Sure, when someone says something funny.”
“Now, I like that.” He turned to Mr. Jeffries. “A point for Miss Wolfe.”
He must have noticed my unease because he said, “Ignore the comment about your eyes. They’re quite lovely.” He picked up a pen off the coffee table and bit down on it, considering. “Although it still remains to be seen whether or not you’re okay upstairs.”
I should have been outraged by the comment, but for some reason, it struck me as funny—probably my defense mechanism kicking in. This guy was all over the place with his comments. Holding back a smile, I said nothing. This was not the traditional interview I’d initially expected, and it was quickly spirally out of control.
“Let’s move on,” Mr. Jeffries said from the back of the room. “Ivy, do you have any questions for Mr. Drake?”
I couldn’t stop wondering if he was the same man in the balcony at church. “Actually, I do. Didn’t I see you at Landmark Baptist on Sunday, Mr. Drake?”
The Unwanted Assistant Page 3