There are a couple of old plastic chairs by the window, so I sit, rummaging through my backpack for a pen. I’m not even sure I have one.Shit.
A pen appears in my field of vision.
“You might need this,” he says. I reach for it, nodding my thanks.
“Name’s Tiernan.” He says, holding out his massive hand, his colorful tattooed sleeves even more striking in person. I try not to stare, but damn, that is some serious arm porn.
“Thanks.” I hesitate before grabbing his hand. It’s warm and solid. He shakes mine with firmness but not pressure. I hate guys who try to crush my hand. They always turn out to be bullies.
“Arlo. Nice to meet you, sir.”
His mouth thins and his jaw clenches slightly.
“Just call me Tiernan. I don’t need that “sir” crap.”
I nod my agreement. Not sure how to respond, so I just let the awkward silence hang.
“Take your time.” He gives me a long, measured look before disappearing back through the side door. The scent of sandalwood and soap lingers.
I fiddle with the pen while I stare down at the application, finally writing the shelter’s address. It’s all I’ve got at this point. I’ll tell him I’m moving so he doesn’t actually use it.
I move on to my work history. Well shit. The last job I had was two years ago at a fast-food joint. They probably don’t even remember me. I certainly don’t remember them. Or their address and phone number.
It’s not like I can use rent boy as an actual occupation. Nope. Better to go with nothing. Fuck! Maybe Derek was right. There’s no way anyone will hire me.
Derek is not right, and you weren’t a rent boy.
Fuck, I might as well have been. He didn’t keep me around for my ability to clean house.
I fill out what I can, leaving the rest blank. There’s nothing I can do to fix it now.
I tug at my shirt, wishing I could have ironed it. The plain green t-shirt is clean but wrinkled. Too late now. I set the partially completed application on the chair next to me. My leg jiggles with nervous energy. I want to get up and pace, but that’s not a good look.
Tiernan shows up a few minutes later, making my wait time mercifully short.
“You done? Come on in the office with me.”
I hand him the paper, and he gestures for me to follow him.
There’s an old brown couch lining the back wall. It’s a bit worn but looks comfy. A black IKEA desk dominates the center of the room, and behind that is a framed picture of what looks like a family crest. I glance around his office while he reads my application.
A large black filing cabinet stands against the right wall, next to a bookcase that looks as if it matches the desk. Books take up two shelves, although I can’t read their titles from here. There are some framed photos on another shelf, and the top shelf looks like it has a big golden belt. The kind they give you when you win a fight. This guy must have been pretty damn good if he’s got one of those.
His desk is neat and clean. Not a lot of clutter. Just a few essentials—a bunch of colored pens in a coffee cup that says “Fight me, I’m Irish,” a black Swingline stapler, and a small container of multicolored paperclips.
So Irish, not Scottish. Good to know.
“Let’s talk about your work experience.”
Well, shit.
Chapter 2
Tiernan
“Iknow I don’t have a lot of work experience but I promise you, I’m a fast learner.” Arlo says, meeting my gaze for a moment before he looks away. Skittish.
“No references?”
