Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 109862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
His gaze lowered. Turning away from her so she could no longer read his expression, he said, “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. You know, you could be my roommate. I have a place. It isn’t much, but . . .”
“Thanks Parker, but I think I want to do this on my own. I know what it feels like to have the rug pulled out from under me. I don’t want to be in that position ever again. You know what I mean?”
“I would never abandon you like he did.”
She didn’t believe that, but didn’t see the point in telling him. “I just need to do this for myself.”
He nodded tightly. “How about waiting tables?”
“I’d have to write.”
He sighed. “You’re going to have to write with almost any job, Scout. We can work on it.”
“I can deal with a job that requires minimal reading, but writing’s different. I’m slow and incredibly self-conscious. I can’t spell.”
“Who cares? Not everyone’s a good speller.”
“I’d just rather not have a job that requires it.”
He looked back at the want ads. “Here’s an opening for models. You could be a model.”
She hit him in the arm. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious. You could!”
“I don’t think so.”
He shrugged and grumbled something. “How about a clerk at a grocery store? Clemons is hiring.”
She thought for a minute. She’d have to scan things, but as far as reading, there wouldn’t be much required of her that she could think of. “How much is the pay?”
His lips pursed. “About an eighth of what you’d make modeling.”
“Forget the modeling!” She snatched the paper from him and searched. “Where is it?”
“Here.” He pointed, scooting closer.
“Eight dollars an hour, that’s not too bad. I made more at Patras though. Maybe I should see about getting my old job back.”
A sour taste filled her mouth the minute the words left her. No, she couldn’t work in Lucian’s hotel ever again. What if she saw him? What if she saw him with someone else? Nausea swirled uncomfortably in her stomach.
“I don’t think you should work at the hotel again.”
“Yeah, I know. It was just a thought. This looks good.”
Parker took the paper and tore out the advertisement. He jotted down a list of things she’d have to write on a résumé, like a fake social security number, her address, a sentence or two about why she would be a good candidate for the job. It would be much easier to fill out an application if she had the answers spelled out for her.
“Do you have a phone?”
“Yes.” She went to the counter and found the phone Lucian gave her. “I don’t know how much longer it will work.” It was sad seeing her empty mailbox. “Here, the number’s on the back.”
Once they had everything organized, Scout cleaned herself up. She didn’t know if she would be interviewing on the spot, so she chose soft brown pants, a cream sweater, and camel-colored boots. They were clothes of courage Lucian had bought her. She needed courage.
She didn’t feel like putting on makeup, but she had to do something about the bags under her eyes, so she dabbed on some concealer she found in her purse and smeared a bit of gloss over her lips. That would have to do.
***
The stockroom of Clemons Market was cluttered and smelled slightly of cardboard and some sort of citrus oil. Mr. Travis Gerhard, a man who looked to be in his early twenties, was the assistant manager. After she filled out her application, he directed her to the stockroom he referred to as his office.
There was a chunky brown desk in the center and schedules surrounded by other notes tacked all over the yolk-colored walls. The drop ceiling had watermarks, and the gray metal filing cabinet wedged in the corner was dented and scraped along the side.
He leaned back in a wrinkled leather chair, his loafer-clad foot crossed over his knee. He wore a pale pink, short-sleeved button-down dress shirt with a gray tie that might have been a clip-on. He didn’t look old, but he carried himself as though he were in his forties.
His top lip was covered with a brown mustache, and his eyes were magnified behind thick, wire-framed glasses. His hair was parted severely on the left of his crown.
As he read over her application, the quiet stockroom filled with the incessant flick, flick, flick of his pen as he twitched it between his fingers, tapping the edge of the paper.
Her memory retreated to a familiar place where a similar pen flicked. She was suddenly in Lucian’s office, beneath his desk. Her mind jerked out of that vivid memory and back into the present.
“It says here you’re twenty-three?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded, but didn’t look at her. “What did you do when you worked at Patras? That’s quite a different atmosphere than what you can expect at Clemons.”