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Motions of the Heart
A Small Town Holiday Romance
Pandora Snow
1
Penelope
“You’re late, Miss Parks.”
“Sorry. The train was delayed. The police were walking through the cars, looking for a thief dressed as Santa Claus.”
“We don’t give second chances at Barton’s Law Offices. Consider me the grinch.”
My new boss furrows her eyebrows. She’s a frumpy woman in her fifties, with gray hair pulled into a tight bun. I bite back a laugh as she stares down her nose and removes reading glasses.
Being fired within five minutes of employment would set a record. The last four temp jobs with supposedly world-class lawyers all ended the same way. Their fingers fondled my double-D breasts or curvy ass, and my right hand slapped their perverted face. Why I continue attracting sleaze bags in their sixties, I don’t understand.
Without a paralegal degree, I’m forced to work through staffing agencies. Rent is insane in downtown Atlanta. My hourly wage barely covers a tiny apartment and food. I’d love to further my education if I could catch a break with a reliable job and save some cash. Being able to live in a less crime-infested neighborhood would be nice, too.
I stare at the floor, sinking into my chair. Her oak desk is covered in papers and books. The bookshelves lining the walls are filled with thick law books and ancient tomes. She’s obviously an expert in her field. Yikes.
“I’m here to work.”
“You will. Barton’s Law Offices take pride in its legal team. Our reputation is impeccable. Is that why you were late? Were you having too much fun on the train?”
She scowls. Is it the heat or my response that pisses her off?
“Let me rephrase, were you ‘having sex’ on the train?”
“No.”
“You’re too ugly for that.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The woman was obviously serious, not insulting me, but her words stung. My figure is full and curvy, considered average according to Ted. I have long, wavy red hair and my light green eyes are my best feature, which has helped me land jobs before. Her response is a slap in the face. A lie, and not the first I’ve heard.
“Hmm. Well. I’m Mrs. Rogers. We’re a small firm, and I hate to waste time. After the holidays, I’ll be too busy to train you.”
“I learn quick.”
“Our clients are high profile, and I expect them to be treated with the utmost respect.”
The grouchy woman’s tone is like a knife scratching at the back of my neck. She’s obviously a perfectionist.
“What kind of law does the firm practice?”
“Personal injury.”
Mrs. Rogers answers her ringing phone. The conversation’s brief. She reminds me of a strict school principal. I release a sarcastic giggle at the thought her ruler might smack my fingers.
