Confident I have Braydon’s worry honing in on another target, I snatch up my house key before hightailing it to the door.
“We’ll talk about this more tomorrow,” Estelle shouts through our rapidly closing front door.
By ‘this,’ she means me plopping her in the deep end without a life raft. It was deplorable for me to do, but what can I say? If an opportunity presents to shift the focus away from me, I’m happy to take it.
* * *
“The agreed price was forty-dollars.” I thrust my iPhone toward the Uber driver’s side of his car to show him our agreement. “We’re still miles from Hopeton.”
He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal he’s asking me to exit his car three miles out of town while wearing heels. It’s chilly, and since his heating is as shitty as his personality, my toes are on the verge of snapping off.
“I didn’t anticipate the traffic in Ravenshoe to be so thick.”
“How is that my fault?” I argue back, beyond annoyed.
I didn’t factor in traffic either since I’ve never driven through the town that was nothing but cornfields when I was a child. If I had, I would have scheduled for him to arrive an hour earlier. Not only am I late for my interview, if I’m forced to walk, the business I’m being interviewed at will be closed by the time I get there. The sun is already setting.
I fan the bangs I had cut specifically to hide the horrid scare on my forehead before issuing one final plea. “Please, Mr. Kind Driver Man. I’ll do anything you want if you’ll take me to my requested destination. I’ve got a few nickels in the bottom of my purse.” I yank out the Starbucks voucher I got for my birthday last year. “This gift card still has eight dollars on it. That’ll get you’re a super frothy mocha latte. And…” I search my almost empty purse for something more appetizing than year-old mints and lint balls. When I fail to find anything, I say, “We could grab that latte together? If you want?”
I instantly regret my decision when lust flares through the stranger’s dark eyes. I don’t know where he grew up—which I’m guessing took place over five decades ago with how gray his ear hairs are—but inviting someone for coffee means you’reonlyinviting them for coffee. This isn’t Vegas.
While throwing open his back passenger door with a grunt, I snarl, “Say goodbye to your five-star rating, Mister. I’m going to one star your ass all the way to Uber headquarters.”
I don’t know what he replies. I can barely hear anything over the skid of his tires when his foot gets friendly with the gas pedal not even two seconds after I stepped out onto the road surface.
“And to think I was going to share my nanna’s mints with you!”
I add a handful of expletives to my squeal before I commence my trek to Hopeton. I’ll never make it in time for my interview, but Hopeton’s bus station is closer than Ravenshoe’s. My nickels might not have been on the Uber driver’s radar, but I don’t see a bus driver being as fussy. If he’s lucky, I might even arrive on the scene with a super frothy latte for him.
* * *
Three painstaking miles later, I’m on the verge of deliriousness. My legs are quaking like theyneverhave under any of my college boyfriends, and my mouth is bone-dry, but I’ve made it to my destination. Shockingly, the establishment my interview was to be conducted at is still open. It probably helps that it’s an Italian restaurant bursting at the seams with clientele eager to get something more than overcooked turkey in their bellies, and it has the same last name as the man seeking a personal assistant.Perfect!
After twisting the Celtic ring on my thumb, so it faces the front, I throw open the door of Petretti’s Italian Restaurant and make a beeline for the dining hostess. “Hi, my name is Roxanne Grace, and I’m here to see—”
“Booth or regular seating?”
I stray my eyes over the blonde’s teeny tiny uniform and popping blue eyes before replying, “Excuse me?”
“Booth or regular seating?” she says again while dragging her eyes down my body in the same manner I just did hers. “Even if you’re eating alone, I’d still suggest the booth. It’ll save the clientele getting depressed when they see you eating by yourself on Thanksgiving weekend.”
Ouch.
“I’m not here to eat.”
She cocks a faultless brow. “Then why are you here? This is a restaurant.”
Her pitied glare doubles my annoyance. “I’m aware it’s a restaurant. I can read.”Unlike you. “I’m here for an interview.” I dig out the piece of paper I jotted my interview details on this morning before thrusting it the blonde’s way. “I’m supposed to ask for Dimitri.”
“You’re here for Dimitri?” When I nod, her humored gaze extends to her collagen-filled lips. “Trust me, honey, excluding your hair coloring, you’re not his type. One sideways glance, and he’ll kick you to the curb. Save the bruise, leave now.” She ushers me away from her podium with a wave of her hand like I’m worthless.
I’m not backing down this time. It’s been a hard and long twelve months for me, and this blonde is about to be hit with the brunt of my annoyance. “I don’t care if I’m not Dimitri’s type.” I air quote my last word an inch from her face, issuing her the samesnap-snapdismissal her nails did when she waved me off. “I’m here to be interviewed for a position on his team, so I’m not leaving until Dimitri himself tells me to leave.”
I fold my arms in front of my chest to hide the shake of my hands when the blonde says, “Okay.” I hadn’t expected her to give in so easily. “Dimitri’s office is at the back of the restaurant. You need to go down the side alley and take the third door on the left.”
“Side alley, third door on the left?” I repeat like I’m suddenly stupid.
When she purses her lips with an agreeing nod, I say, “Okay. Thank you.”
