AllFreeNovel
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I take the stairs two at a time, startling Mr. Wiggins out of his dog bed as I galumph through the front door. There are upsides and downside to living over a barn. People always know where you are and you’re the first call if there’s a horse-related emergency, but it also means you’re home in seconds.
I jam the printer’s on button, praying it can’t sense the urgency. They have a reputation for being fickle for a reason. My lappie’s open on the living room table and it takes only seconds to find my resumé. I scan it, but there isn’t time for revisions. I need to be out that door faster than a raccoon on speed. The machines connect, purring at each other and I hit print, dashing to the mirror behind the door.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who’s the luckiest of them all?” Me. Me, me, me, me, me. I’ve got this. It’s not conventional, turning up at a man’s front door and asking for a job, but whatchagonnado?
Theroux for the win: ‘You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.’ Who says being an English major was a waste of time!
Okay. Decision made. I’m not changing. I’m going right now. This second. He can take me as I am or not at all. Besides, what better outfit is there to interview for a job in a barn thanbarn clothes?
I grab my resumé off the printer, tuck Mr. Wiggins under my arm for luck, throw my bag over my shoulder, and storm the steps back down to the barn.
Gustavo’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “He’s in the penthouse at thePalm Frond Hotel.”
“How—?”
He shrugs. “So I have contacts. Sue me.”
It doesn’t matter how he knows. He’s a saint who just saved me an hour or more. That Mariano’s at a hotel is his business, not mine. My business is getting hired.
“I owe you!” I scamper to my car, praying Stephanie won’t see me leave and send an armed guard to hunt me down, insisting I be the one to untack and bathe Tattle after her ride, because she pays me good money, blah blah blah. I take it as a good omen when I make a clean escape.
Traffic’s not too bad, landing us in thePalm Frondparking lot in under twenty minutes. I park far from the entrance and take a couple of deep breaths. I need to be the center of calm when I walk through those doors. Calm, cool, and hirable.
“High five, Wiggie Woo!” Mr. Wiggins gives me enough side eye to slay a dragon. He’s not in the mood for parlor tricks. “Okay, if you’re not going to give me a paw, at least give me kisses?” I need all the luck I can get walking into this interview.
I scoop him up—all seven pounds of fur and attitude that make up my sidekick—and lavish him with kisses. “Come on Wiggins, you’re my snorty-barky talisman! Show me some love!” He allows the PDA, rewarding me with a single nose lick, but as soon as I plunk him on the seat beside me turns circles, huffs, and tucks his head under his paws.
I’ve got a jump on the competition but not by much. Now that the word’s out that Mariano Arias—the pologodI’ve admired for donkey’s years—is looking for an assistant, he’s going to be beating them off…
Snort.
I’ve got to remember to tell Alicia that one. My bestie has a taste for low-rent sexual innuendo, and I aim not to disappoint.
I turn the rearview mirror my way, making sure I don’t have hay in my hair or barn muck smeared on my cheeks.
I’ve got to admit, it doesn’t much matter what he wants me to do. He’s aGolden Horseshoeand being his PA or AA or personal barn rat, mucking out stalls and making sure the polo ponies are ready for play, all leads to good things.
The way I look at it, working for Mariano Arias equals visibility, and I can turn that into opportunities, and from there the sky’s the limit. “You hear that, Mr. Wiggins? That’s the sound of the crowd cheering for Lolly Benoit as she scores the winning goal for theHorseshoes!”It’s going to be me. I’m going to secure a slot on the team. I close my eyes and pray to the horse gods of old, they who snort and stamp and steam, readying themselves for battle. “All I want is a shot. Give me that and I’ll spin it into gold. I promise.”
Creative visualization. That’s the way to go!How do I want this interview to play out? Got to see it in order to make it happen.
Okay, first up: I’m in my best riding outfit. Strike one. Never mind. Let the scent of the barn speak to my work ethic.
Step two: I present my resumé and tell him why I’m the woman for the job, what my quals are, how long I’ve been around horses, and how I’m destined to be the next Esther Fitzwilliam.
The laugh that explodes out of me tells me just how much I donotbelieve that last bullet point. Esther Fitzwilliam is only the world’sgreatestpolo player. She’s a southpaw like me but British and proper and fierce as hell. In my dreams I might be her one day, but it’s not something I could say out loud. And definitelynotto Mariano, who’s the creamiest cream of the crop: a 10-goal player and a legend in his own right.
I guess that’s not exactly strike two, but it’s not a home run, either.
Deep breath and reimagine: he has my resumé in his big, beautiful hands, crooking his fingers the way he does around a mallet, and he’s studying it. In depth. Nodding and smiling, because he knows—just as I do—that there’s no one who comes close to being as suitable as me, Lolly Benoit, Assistant to Mariano Arias, and future polo queen.
Ugh. Every time I try to articulate my deepest desire the doubts come swarming up from the depths of my icky-sticky subconscious.
So, let’s concentrate on thehimpart of the interview, rather than themepart. It’s easy to conjure him from memory, the hair that falls into his eyes, his powerful stride when he enters the barn, his seat so intimately connected with his mount that they ride as one. There’s nothing about him I don’t like.
But for the purposes of this pre-enactment, he’s seated. Shoulders back. Spine straight. Every feature trained on me.Lush!
We each have a glass of water, but I spy the bottle of bubbly already on ice, waiting on the words he’ll inevitably utter.
