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CHAPTER TEN
AMBER
He asked me out again. Sweet.
Life is good, and then I remember the reason he wants to go out with me—to get his mom off his back. Why am I not feeling like a winner?
Noah didn’t come inside when he walked me to the door. I didn’t let him. Didn’t want him to see my bland, tiny apartment. It is clean, though. Clean as one can make it, anyway. When I moved in, I scrubbed for three days to make things sparkle. Didn’t change a thing.
I wish it were morning, so I could call Manning Advertisement and speak with Tom’s secretary. This is a tremendous opportunity for me. A chance to get my foot in the door, and that’s all I can ask.
Before hopping into bed, I receive a text.Had a good time. Talk to you tomorrow. Good night.
I smile. It’s from Noah. I don’t know why, but I don’t text back. I set the phone on my nightstand and hook up the charger. Crawl under the covers and go to sleep. Dream of Noah. He’s the first date I’ve had since moving here. And I had a terrific time.
* * *
My alarm shrieks at seven a.m. I spring from the bed, jazzed, and kill it. Haven’t looked forward to a day like this in a while.
I’m prepared to tell them, “You’re damn right,” if, when I call, they ask if I can be there in an hour. Have to be ready first, so I race to the shower and clean up. Blow-dry my hair and apply makeup. Go through my closet for something to wear. Decide on a floral-print midi-dress. It’s cheerful and comfortable. I like it.
Seven forty-three arrives, and I’m ready to go. My foot is tapping wildly as I stare at the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. I was going to call at eight—that’s when I assume their workday starts—but I can’t wait any longer. I’m on a high. Too much adrenalin.
I dial the number Noah gave me.
“Manning Advertisement.”
“Hi, I’m Amber Allen. Noah Dalton gave me your number and told me to call?”
“Yes, I’ve already spoken with him, and the only time we can fit you in for an interview today would be nine-thirty.”
“That’ll work.”
“I’ll let the front desk know to expect you.”
Chills form from head to toe. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I sit there for five minutes—glowing, I imagine—before calling the temp agency and telling them I won’t be accepting any jobs today.
“We have one lined up for you already.” Her tone is sharp. They don’t like it when you turn down jobs.
“Sorry.”
“Yeah. Well…” Click.
I decide on a quick breakfast of toast. Check and re-check the address for Manning Advertisement. Do the dishes (wash the knife). Go to the bathroom for a final once-over. Hair is fine, makeup is fine, dress is fine—no sign of toast crumbs anywhere. Guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
I grab my resume and take off.
Showtime.
Let’s go get ‘em.
* * *
The agency’s on the third floor. The receptionist there asks me to wait.
