DEFENSE (46 page)

It’s amazing how much can change in a year.

A year ago from today, I was interviewing for a job I was incredibly underqualified for. I mean, really, I shouldn’t have even been there. It was my first interview out of college, and I thought I could do anything, even apply to be the vice president of accounting for a construction firm that did things about which I knew absolutely nothing. I mean, really, does the average person really care about all the things that go into building green office or apartment buildings? Do I really care about renewable materials and plant-based insulating foam? I mean, I’d never even thought about those sorts of thing, let alone knew what they were and how they were used as building materials. Now, of course, I do. But not because it was something I wanted to know about. It’s just because it was the only thing my husband ever talked about.

Yeah. Husband.

So I go for an interview. I don’t get the job, but end up married to the CEO of the company. Sounds romantic, right? It wasn’t.

I needed the job. I needed the money. My aunts—I love them to death, but they don’t always make the smartest decisions—needed my help. When I couldn’t get a scholarship for college, they mortgaged their house—a house that had never had a mortgage because they inherited it from their father—and quickly began missing the payments. The bank was threatening to foreclose, all because they had wanted me to have an education. They took me in when I was five, just after my parents were killed in a car accident that spared my life for some unknown reason. They were already older, two women completely content to live a spinster’s life. But then I came along, turned their lives upside down, and caused them to go into debt that they wouldn’t have had if not for their kind hearts and sense of obligation.

I had to save their house. And this job…but, of course, even a top-notch education cannot fake knowledge I simply didn’t have. So, when Miles made his proposition…how could I turn down that much money? It was more than enough to save the house and allow my aunts to live the rest of their lives without financial worries. The plan seemed so simple.

But it didn’t stay simple. It turned into a mess that I’m still reeling from.

And now, here I am, about to cross the gangplank of a cruise ship. My aunts were standing behind me, giggling and waving. They thought this was the perfect birthday gift, a two-week stint on a singles cruise. Like I said, they didn’t always make the best decisions. I’d rather be at home, lying on my bed and watching some bad reality television. But how could I look at my kind, gentle aunts and say no? It was nearly impossible.

If I hadn’t gone on that damn interview in the first place…

“Miss Giles? You can go in now.”

I stood slowly, a strange smile pasted to my face. I was so nervous my palms were sweating. I wiped them on the front of my skirt and then worried that I had left marks on the dark material. I walked down the narrow hallway, staring down at my skirt, pulling at it like it was giving me a wedgy or something, probably looking like a complete fool to the strangely bitter receptionist. Well, at least I was offering her a little comic relief, right?

As I turned the corner into the marked office—checking the nameplate on the door three times to make sure I was in the right place—a tall woman with such a severe ponytail that my scalp crawled at the sight, stood and held out her hand to me.

“I’m Joan Tarek, Mr. Thorn’s personal assistant.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I muttered, all while wondering if my palm was still too moist. She didn’t seem to react to it, so it must have been okay.

She gestured for me to take a seat in one of the chairs carefully placed in front of a heavy oak desk. She took the other, pulling a file folder into her lap and thumbing through it briefly.

“I see that you recently graduated from Baylor,” she said.

I nodded. “I did. With a double major in communications and business.”

Ms. Tarek nodded back, her eyes thoughtful as she looked at me. “Do you know a lot about environmental construction?”

I didn’t know anything about construction except what I saw on the
DIY
network. That odd smile came out again, as I tried to figure out what to say.

“I know that the company does some really great things for the city. I drive by the new Franklin Insurance building almost every day. It’s quite impressive.”

“It is,” Ms. Tarek agreed. “Have you ever been on a construction site?”

I shook my head. “No. But I’m a quick learner, and I am willing to do just about anything to advance the company.”

Ms. Tarek’s eyes continued to stare through me, a slow nod doing nothing to dislodge her concentration. “I’m sure you are,” she said softly, almost under her breath. “Your work experience is pretty vague. It says here that you worked for the Starbuck’s Corporation?”

I was a barista for five years. In fact, I was still a barista. I had a shift in twenty minutes. However, I hadn’t written that in my resume, hoping she would assume I worked at the corporate offices in some sort of executive-type role. I hadn’t expected her to ask about it.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t push for details. But, of course, I couldn’t be that lucky.

“And your role there was?”

“Drive-thru.”

She looked up again, her eyes slightly wider. “Excuse me?”

“I work the drive-thru at the Starbuck’s on Fifth Street.”

She just nodded. “Have you ever supervised a team of any sort?”

“Not officially, no.”

“And your other work experience? There doesn’t seem to be anything else here other than some volunteer work.”

“Starbuck’s is my only work experience. My aunts—they didn’t want me to work while I was in high school because they were worried my grades would suffer.”

Ms. Tarek smiled. I wasn’t sure that was a good thing, however. She didn’t seem to be the kind of person who would find doting aunts amusing.

“Do you know anything about aerated concrete slabs? Or bamboo flooring? Do you know how to take an inventory or how to order supplies on a large scale? Do you know how to interact with subordinates and how to diffuse difficult situations?”

“I took a class on conflict resolution,” I said, aware how lame that sounded even to my ears.

Ms. Tarek stood. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Giles. Someone will call you next week and let you know what was decided.”

I stood slowly, well aware of what that meant. I didn’t need to be experienced at job interviews to know a brush off when I saw it.

“Thank you for your time,” I said softly, as I took her hand. We shook, and then she gestured for me to lead the way to the door. I wasn’t really looking where I was going, too lost in my own thoughts to see the tall, solid man—who was standing just outside the door. I walked right into him, pressing more of body to his side than I had any other man in longer than I cared to remember. He turned, grabbing my upper arm to keep me from bouncing off his solidity and falling to the ground, further humiliating myself.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled without looking up.

“No problem,” he said, his voice so deep that it seemed to reverberate through me. And it was filled with so much humor that I had to look up just to make sure he wasn’t laughing at me.

Damn, he was tall.

There were very few guys who made me really look up. At five eight, I’m pretty much on eye level with most guys my own age. Now. In high school, I towered over most of the guys in my class, including the one boy I loved from the moment I set eyes on him. I always felt like a freak standing next to him, which is probably why nothing ever happened between us—even when he asked me to the prom my junior year. But this guy…I had to step back a little to look him in the eye without having to tilt my head back.

And handsome. He had dark hair that was a little on the long side, big, wavy curls just touching the back of his collar. He had gray eyes that brought to mind the word steel, but they were so filled with kindness that I couldn’t quite assign that designation to them. He had a solid jaw that could be called square, but it soften as it moved into his chin. There was a dimple in one cheek. I’d always loved dimples on guys. It made them so approachable. And solid. He was wearing a pair of old jeans that were splattered with mud and a t-shirt that looked like it had seen better days. It was tight, hugging his chest and arms in a way that defined his muscles with an I-have-to-touch-that sort of emphasis.

“Sorry about that,” he said, squeezing my arm before letting go.

“It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, no harm done.” He smiled, that dimple growing deeper, wider.

“Let me show you to the elevator,” Ms. Tarek said, coming up alongside this handsome stranger. She didn’t seem too inclined to introduce me, and I couldn’t really blame her. I think she was so disgusted by my qualifications that she just wanted to get rid of me. I nodded politely to Mr. Handsome and followed her down the hall.

She stabbed the button for the elevator. When it opened, she looked at me but didn’t seem interested in a long goodbye. I just nodded and climbed into the elevator. The last thing I remembered—and I should have seen it as a warning of what was to come—was her stern expression and Mr. Handsome smiling thoughtfully as the elevator doors closed.

***

“What was I thinking? I knew it was a waste of time.”

“But it got you off the horse,” my friend, Lisa, said later that night over drinks at the bar where she works.

“I felt like an idiot. She asked me what I did at Starbuck’s, and I could see her interest in me just slip away with the first syllable out of my mouth.”

“Her loss if she couldn’t see what a great asset you would have been to the company. It’s brand new, isn’t it? I can’t imagine they can be all that picky about whom they hire the first year or two of business.”

“Yeah, well, they seem to be doing quite well for a business that’s only existed for seven months. I mean, they already have two projects finished, and I read on their website that they have five more near completion. That’s pretty impressive for a construction company.”

“I suppose. But they would have been much better off with you among their rank.”

I shook my head. While I was grateful for Lisa’s encouragement, I knew I’d made a mistake by applying there. I let my desperation to save my aunts’ house color my logic. It was just hard to accept the fact that my poor, elderly aunts were going to have to leave the home they’d lived in their entire lives.

“At least you met a guy.”

I snorted. “A guy whose name I didn’t even get. And he was so…” An image of him filled my mind again, nearly taking my breath, as it had when I was standing in front of him. “He’s way too far out of my league.”

“No one is out of your league unless you want him to be. At least, that’s my philosophy.”

Yes, well, this was coming from the girl who dated everyone from the president of the chess club to the star quarterback of our high school football team. She was not incredibly picky about the men she dated. Last week, she went out with a forty-year-old divorcé who cried about his children all through dinner. And she slept with him. Told me it was because she felt sorry for him. And, predictably, she never heard from him again. Probably went back to his wife. But that didn’t seem to faze Lisa. She had a date in less than an hour with one of her customers here at the bar.

I lifted my drink and swallowed more than I’d intended to. Life really sucked sometimes. I wasn’t looking forward to going home and telling my aunts I’d failed them.

Lisa touched my shoulder. “Don’t look so down in the dumps, kiddo. Something will happen for you. I have a good feeling.”

I pressed my hand to hers. “I wish I had your optimism.”

“You don’t need it. I’m optimistic enough for the both of us.”

I kissed her cheek as I stood to leave. “Call me tomorrow. Let me know how your date went.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come along? I’m sure he could find a friend…”

“No, thanks.”

I walked out of the bar into the cool evening air, a surprisingly mild start to a North Texas summer. I walked slowly down the street, taking small enjoyment from the exercise. I’d been on my feet most of the afternoon, thanks to my job, but it was nice to stretch my legs, and to do it at my own pace without someone yelling at me for taking too long to present them with a latté or a cappuccino. I wished I knew an easy way to get my hands on two hundred fifty thousand dollars. Or just the thirty thousand my aunts were behind. Maybe I could call the bank again, convince them to give my aunts another extension. They were nice. That Mr. Simons really didn’t want to foreclose on two old ladies. But I’d gotten the impression the last time we talked that his hands were quickly becoming tied on the issue.

Where would my aunts go when the house was gone? I’d thought about approaching the subject of an assisted living center. They could have their own apartment but have people nearby to help them. I mean, they were still pretty capable. But they needed my help more and more lately—paying the bills, reminding them to turn off the burners in the kitchen, helping them find their glasses, reminding them to take their medications—I didn’t like the idea of them living completely alone. But putting them into some sort of assisted living seemed like labeling them incapable, and I didn’t like that, either.

I didn’t know what to do. But I knew I had to make a decision soon, or someone else would make it for me.