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“Thanks.” He grabs the cup and leads the way to a small table in the corner near a window. When he sits down, he pulls out his phone again. I sit down in shock, trying not to stare at him as I feel the weight of how badly this is going. But why? What have I done? Do I have food in my teeth? Impossible. I triple-checked.
Does he have an issue with plaid dresses? I sneak a quick glance down at my outfit. Or my simple, black ballet flats? Am I overdressed? Under, perhaps?
When he places the phone face up on the table, I realize we’re staring at my résumé on his screen. Blood rushes from my face. I’ve been panicking over nothing.
“So, tell me, Ms. Ortega, why do you want to work at Spines and Wines?” The scent of his coffee hits my nose as he pulls the lid off, inspecting it with a careful sniff, yet not casting a single glance my way.
I just want to leave. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this uncomfortable.
“Um.” I squeeze my hands together under the table. “Well, I love books, always have. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a librarian.”
He looks up at me from behind dark brows, skeptically, then back down at his coffee cup as he takes a sip.
“And,” I go on, “well, I’ve just moved to the area and started to look for jobs—”
“What brought you to the area?” he asks without looking up.
“Um, I…” I trail off, trying to decide how to say,A messy and terrible divorce after a five-month marriage at just twenty-four years old and the loss of the life I’d always imagined, without sounding pathetic. “I just needed a change of scenery, I guess. I grew up here and my parents still live in town, so I decided to come home and regain my bearings.”
“So you aren’t planning to stay long term?” For the first time, his eyes meet mine.
“No, I will,” I say. A potential lie, but I suspect I’m not getting this job anyway, so does it even matter? “I’m planning to stay here. I had my fun out of state and realized how much I missed this place, you know?”
I glance over my shoulder at the free-spirited Mary. Perhaps her appearance is the reason he insists on doing all of the interviews himself now. If he has such a problem with my appearance, surely he’s bothered by hers as well. If plain black flats and knee-length plaid dresses are inexcusably offensive to him, I can’t imagine he approves of her brightly colored hair, overalls, and crop top. Maybe someone else hired her, and he’s miserable over it. Enough so that he’s not taking any chances with other hires.What would he prefer I be wearing?I wonder.Jeans and a dress shirt, like him? A turtleneck sweater and tweed jacket?
Apparently, feeling judged brings out my petty side, but I can’t help it. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. Or rather, the way he won’t.
We both seem to know this is a waste of our time, yet neither of us is impolite enough to say so. Not yet, anyway.
He takes another sip of his coffee just as his phone begins to buzz. He stares down at it, but dismisses the call, quickly sending a text. There are no apologies offered for the disruption.
“Do you read?”
The question catches me off guard, and I can’t help the edge to my tone. “Of course.”
“What do you read?”
“Thrillers, mostly. An occasional nonfiction, romance, or historical. I used to be really into fantasy, but I haven’t read it much since I was a kid. But I’d be able to give a wide range of recommendations to your customers. I’m active on social media, too, so I always know what’s being talked about.” I gesture toward an empty space in the floor setup. “One of my favorite bookstores in my old city had a table just for what was trending online. If you wanted to try something like that, I’d be happy to help.”
He grimaces at me, his upper lip literally curling with disgust. “What’s trending matters very little to me. I care about what’s good.”
“Taste is subjective,” I say with a soft breath, shocked by his manners.
“What would you recommend for me? If I came in and asked you what to read.” He leans forward over the table, challenging me.
“Well, what do you like?”
“Never read a book before,” he says with a quick shake of his head. “No idea where to start. Come on.” He snaps his fingers in quick succession.Snap, snap, snap.“Recommend something, Ms.Full of Recommendations. What’sin?”
Sweat gathers at my hairline as I stare at him in utter disbelief that this is happening. “Um, well, if you prefer thrillers, Riley—”
“I don’t know what I prefer. I just told you.” He stands up from the table, shaking his head. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Ortega.”
“Wait. What just happened? Are we done?” I follow him with my eyes as he walks away.
“I’m afraid so. I’ve learned all I need to. Feel free to ask for a coffee on your way out. On the house.”
With that, he disappears in between the shelves of books. I stare at his path in complete shock. Then the anger hits.
