I groan, tossing my head back and blowing air against my brown bangs that could use a trim. “Which old lady do I need to help across the street this time?”
“First of all, helping others isnota punishment.”
“Of course not, Boy Scout,” I mutter.
He cuts me a glare that has me sitting up a little straighter. “Secondly, it won’t be anything like that. You’re getting a job.”
“But I’m on sabbatical. I’m here for—”
He raises one brow, and it’s enough to shut me up. “I know why you’re here, and I appreciate you coming to stay with me, but your problems began when you quit your job out of nowhere. Given what happened today, it’s clear you’re bored and need something to keep you out of trouble.”
He’s wrong. I’m not bored. And I didn’t quit my job out of nowhere. I quit it because I could feel the joy slipping away day by day and I didn’t want to end up hating the thing that once brought so much light into my life.
But I’m not exactly in a position to argue, so I don’t. “I understand. I’ll start looking around town, maybe stop by the library to see if they need help. I—”
“There’s no need.”
I tip my head to the side, confused. “No need? But I thought you said I had to get a job.”
“You do. I already found you one.”
My jaw slackens. “Wait, what? I don’t even get to pick my job?”
“No.”
He stands, opening the door to the small room with the two-way mirror. He motions for ... well, I’m not sure what, but whatever it is, I’m assuming it’s coming into the room, because he steps aside.
Suddenly someone is there, taking up every inch of the doorway, towering over my father, who isn’t a small man at six foot one.
A simple gray button-up stretches over the newcomer’s chest, and a pair of slacks that seem to have been tailored specifically for him hug his thick thighs. He’s scowling yet somehow looks like he’s ready to teach me math or something.
But that’s not what draws my attention.
No, it’s the slight limp in his step as he makes his way into the room.
I avert my eyes, trying not to notice, and the man doesn’t miss it. I swear I see annoyance flash in his gaze.
“Mr. Rawlings,” my father says, closing the door behind him as he steps into the room, which suddenly feels smaller. “I appreciate you coming in today. I’m sure you have better things to be doing on your Saturday.”
“No problem, Sheriff Turner,” Mr. Rawlings says, his voice deeper than I thought it would be. “Not like I had a choice, did I?”
Dad laughs. “With the very real possibility of a court taking your license away, no, I suppose not.”
Interesting. This guy is a delinquent too.
Dad gestures toward me. “This is my daughter, Summer.”
The man doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me with hard, green eyes that remind me of a Granny Smith apple.
“She’s your newest employee.”
A single dark eyebrow is raised. “She is?”
“Yep. I’ve decided that, as your punishment for speeding down Harborview Boulevard yet again, you’ll select my daughter’s name from that stack of résumés I’m sure is sitting on your desk since putting that help wanted sign in the window.”
Mr. Rawlings’s jaw tics as he continues to stare at me, and I refuse to look away, even though I want to crawl under the table in response to the blatant nepotism my father is blackmailing this guy into.
“With all due respect, sir, she hasn’t filled out an application.”
