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He checked his email on his phone for the four hundredth time in case they didn’t have the balls to give him the bad news with a phone call, but there was no message.
Sawyer slid his phone across the kitchen counter with more than a little force and strode angrily from the room, swearing at himself the whole way. He ended up in front of the living room window, staring out at the appropriately stormy day, watching the palm trees three levels down bend in the wind.
He’d screwed up. Repeatedly.
He’d thought the interviews went well, but who ever knew? He’d been dumb enough to believe that having his mom’s connection with Ramon Tennyson would boost his chances, but he knew better. It might have gotten him the interview, but it sure as hell hadn’t gotten him the job. Then he’d sealed his fate by showing up for his tee time with Tennyson with only twenty-five percent of his brain cells firing. He could have possibly smoothed over that stupidity by being on his game Wednesday for the ribbon cutting, but no. He’d fucked that up too.
The peal of the doorbell startled him out of his pity party. Who the hell…? He wasn’t in the mood to see anyone.
He ignored the first two rings, and then he crept to the peephole. Tall woman. Red hair.
What was Mariah doing here? He opened the door without further deliberation, and as he looked at her in full view, standing a foot in front of him, there was an instant when he felt … relief? A moment of comfort during his internal tsunami. He ignored that strange thought and drank in the sight of her instead. What guy wouldn’t? Her auburn hair fell smoothly down her back with a few stray strands slipping over her shoulders, drawing his attention to her breasts. She was dressed in her unique, attention-grabbing way, wearing a gauzy, translucent blouse over a delicate camisole that exposed cleavage. A modest amount, but it had his mouth going dry nonetheless. Her shorts … her legs … shit. She was exactly the type of long-legged woman clothes designers createdshort-shorts for. Short-shorts like the ones she was wearing. Those legs were made for…
“Hey, Sawyer. I was about to leave. Glad I didn’t.” The tilt of her head was friendly and open, and yet he saw all kinds of sexual undertones in it. Probably unintentional on her part. Everything about Mariah oozed sexuality. She could gasp for breath after a run on the beach and he’d be turned on.
Her smile faded. “Is something wrong?”
Sawyer blinked hard and chased his inappropriate thoughts away. “No. Come on in.” He opened the door wider for her and wondered at the same time if that was ill-advised. No. He wanted to see Mariah right now. Needed the refuge she offered from his state of mind. If there was anything that could keep him from losing his shit over the lack of a phone call, this beautiful redhead was it.
“I remembered you said you didn’t have to work today,” she said as she walked past him toward the living room.
Sawyer couldn’t help it — he checked out her ass in those shorts and got lost in the fantasy of touching her where the white material ended.
“You remember a lot,” he said distractedly.
“Only the important stuff. You really do seem down,” she said as she set her purse on the coffee table. “Is everything okay?”
He exhaled and closed his eyes briefly, all his worry collapsing back around him after a two-minute break brought on by lustful thoughts. “I didn’t get the job.”
“What?” She stepped toward him, her brows furrowed in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”
He shook his head.
“No. Of course you’re not,” she said as if to herself. “What the hell? Why wouldn’t they choose you, Sawyer? You’re good at your job, amazing—”
“Someone is obviously better.”
“When did you find out?”
He looked away and walked to the glass door to the balcony. “They haven’t called yet, but if they were going to hire me, I’d know.” The wind outside gusted suddenly, blowing the folding chair on the balcony into the adobe wall.
Mariah came up behind him. “Then you don’t actually know for sure. You’re assuming?”
He watched the trees bend below for a beat before answering. “Yes, if you want to get technical.”
She touched his shoulder blade, and he felt his blood warm. Sawyer turned to her.
“It’s” — she checked the delicate silver watch around her slender wrist, then rested her hand on his chest — “just after two o’clock. You have no idea what’s going on in their offices or their lives. You never know until you hear for sure.”
The inside of her wrist was delicate-looking and much better to think about than the non-phone call.
“You know I’m right,” Mariah said.
He dragged his gaze from her arm to her eyes.
“You knowI’mright that they would’ve called by now if it was a yes. Quit trying to make me feel better long enough to admit the truth.”
Mariah seemed to debate with herself for several seconds before shrugging. “They should have. I hate when people don’t do what they say they will. It sucks to be left hanging.”
