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I take a deep breath, swallow my nerves, and fight the urge to argue with him.
I shrug. “That’s fine.”
“There may be some interviews during the initial buzz.”
“Uh, huh,” I agree with a hum, already hating the idea.
Why couldn’t he have stayed anonymous? Bet if he was old, they would have left him alone. But no, this guy has the bone structure of a Greek god with a body I can only imagine is carved from marble.
His gaze assesses me too closely, and I shift under the weight of his stare. “Why choose this line of work, Ms. Russell?”
I rear back. “Excuse me?”
“It’s a simple question. You’ll be asked it until you’re blue in the face. I suggest you prepare a better answer. Is there a reason you wanted to help women and children?”
My mouth goes dry.
Oh, God.
“Jake,” Nora pleads with a soothing voice.
“I’m good at my job. It’s something I’m interested in.”
Please don’t ask again.
Can he see it?
Can he see the lies glistening in the tears wanting to fall?
“You’ll be asked how you relate to these women. Can you? Can you relate? Personal experience?” he asks flatly, pinching at a raw nerve buried somewhere in the dark parts of my mind.
“Do I need it?” I shoot back. “Mr. Williams, I relate to these women and children because I will work with them. I will listen to their stories. I’ll empathize.” My spine turns to steel, and I sit so straight I think I slip a disc. “Maybe if you worried less about appearances and interviews and actually met the women you are so generously throwing money at, you might be able to relate as well.”
I hear Nora mutter, “Oh no,” but I choose to ignore her.
“With all due respect, I understand your job here differs from mine. But my concern isn’t with my image, appearances, or how I will come across in interviews. My job is to make these women believe they deserve a second chance. My job is comforting children who curl up when they hear raised voices. My job is to make these women believe they’re enough before they doubt themselves and walk back into the relationship that brought them to the shelter in the first place.” I’ve no idea when I stand, but my palms are spread against his oak table. “That is my job, Mr. Williams, and I take it seriously. You can focus on your image. I will smile and answer questions. Then I will go home, peel off the fancy dresses and domy job.
“You may throw money at this project because you can, and it somehow feeds your ego, but I don’t work for you. I work for those women and children.” My chest is heaving, and there’s the lingering pounding at my temples, but I don’t stutter.
I do not stutter.
Because I believe in everything I said.
I also believe I’m about to be fired before I ever start.
This mouthistrouble.
But this isn’t about me, and he had no right to ask. My past has nothing to do with him.
He sits back, linking his fingers over his broad chest. Then the smug bastard does something that makes my hand ball into a fist with the want to punch him.
He smiles.
“Mr. Williams, areyouhaving a stroke?” My voice doesn’t break—not once—but my chest is tight.
He tries to hide his smile as he looks over at Nora, but he doesn’t try hard enough. His face looks like it will crack under the pressure of his grin, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You were right about her.”
