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ally do something with his art, but inevitably doubt would creep in. The moment anyone found out who he was, everything would be tainted. The thought of people patronizing him because he was Senator Mark Diamond’s son made him want to puke.
He heaved a sigh as he pushed the rest of the stack of canvases back against the wall. This was nothing but a waste of time. He wasn’t even getting any stress-relief from being here today. At home, he could at least look for more places to send his resume to. Finding a job had reached a new level of critical.
Now that was one place he wouldn’t have minded the Diamond name opening a few doors, but as fate would have it, no such luck. Apparently, people hiring for his specific degree preferred experience. But how the fuck was a person supposed to get experience if no one would hire him?
Back at his house, he grabbed a beer and his laptop and shoved aside a stack of mail to sit at the kitchen island. He hadn’t looked through the mail yet, though he didn’t need to. Each day brought more bills. Bills for everything from his phone, to the water utilities, to his credit card with last month’s balance. Most of which he’d never seen before because for one, new house, and two, everything used to be taken care of by his trust fund.
There was absolutely no way he could pay any of them right now. Not until he got a damn job.
He twisted the top off his beer as he shifted his gaze toward the living room. As he tipped his bottle to his lips and swallowed half the contents, he lowered his arm, his gaze sweeping from one side of the massive room to the other in a strange realization.
Mae’s entire house could fit in just his living room. Including her garage. Her bedroom was smaller than his pantry, and he could fit three of her kitchens in his master bathroom with room to spare.
But for all that, her house was a home. Sure, it was cluttered and lived in and a little...worn, but it was clean and welcoming. Inviting even. She took pride in her home, defended it when she thought he’d inferred it was less than enough.
What did he have here? A house. An eight thousand, five hundred and fifty square foot showcase on one wooded acre that for all its beauty was nothing more than a cold, empty shell. Although he’d moved in months ago, other than his clothes in the bedroom and his Jag in the four-stall garage, there wasn’t a single thing a person could point to and say, “Yeah, Merit Diamond lives here.”
He had a service to cut the grass, and a housekeeper who came once a week to clean, do his laundry, and deliver groceries. All of which he was going to have to cancel. And the sooner the better since he didn’t have a dime to pay them.
Draining the remainder of his beer, he went to grab another bottle, thought better of it and grabbed two, then opened his laptop to start searching for potential employers.
Merit’s head pounded in protest when he rolled over and pushed up to sitting on the couch the next morning. At least he assumed it was the next morning judging by the light spilling through the living room windows. He kicked a bottle that rolled under the coffee table where his laptop still sat open, next to five more empty bottles. Burying his head in his hands, he groaned at his stupidity of drinking his dinner.
Habit had him fumbling his phone off the table. 8:49 a.m. Head tilted into one palm, he thumbed past more notifications from his siblings and did a cursory scan of his email. He was about to flip back to his home screen when he saw an email from Lumber and Leaves, Inc.
He sat up straighter, winced, and drew in a breath as he opened the email. Less than a minute later the heaviness in his stomach lightened in relief when he read the request for an interview—only to return in full force when he saw it was for that very morning at nine-thirty. That gave him forty minutes.
His heart lodged in his throat. Fuck. He couldn’t afford to blow the interview by being hung over and late.
Amidst more grimaces, he dashed upstairs while typing out a reply to accept the interview. Twice he had to fix misspellings before finally hitting send. Twenty minutes later, after a shower and a few ibuprofen, he swiped his suit coat off the end of the bed and headed out. He made it through their front doors with about two minutes to spare, and then sat on the couch the receptionist directed him to while she made a call.
His phone hummed in his pocket, and nervous energy had him checking the screen automatically.
Asher: Hope all goes well this morning.
What? He frowned at the screen in confusion. How the hell did he know about the interview?
“Merit Diamond?”
He jerked his attention up as a short, stocky blond man strode into the waiting area. “Yes.”
The man extended his hand. “James Monroe. Welcome to Lumber and Leaves.”
“Thank you,” he replied, shooting to his feet to accept the handshake. “I’m excited for the opportunity.”
“Good. Let’s get started, then. Follow me.”
Merit’s optimism bloomed at the man’s welcoming attitude. He had this in the bag.
Chapter 20
Mae’s pulse skipped as the outside door opened, but like the last three times, disappointment flooded in when it wasn’t Merit who walked into the waiting area of her doctor’s office. Her fingers tightened on the book she held in her lap, but she forced herself to relax her grip so she didn’t ruin the ribbon she’d tied into a bow around the gift. He had five minutes yet, and in her experience, doctors were often a good five or ten minutes late, so there was still time…
Damn it. She should’ve texted him a reminder.
Why? You’re not his mother. He’s the one who insisted on coming, it’s his responsibility to show up on time.
Or even show up at all.
