Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“It is, but I’ve been applying for everything from receptionist listings to telemarketer jobs. Carmichael was the only one to call me in for an actual interview, and that’s only because of your insider info.”
Jasmine squinted at me, glossy pink lips twisted to the side. “Noah, if no one else has called you back, why the hell would you go in and act that way?”
“Because I’m sick of people getting away with being complete assholes.” I slid my hands into the pockets of the battered old cords I wore. “At SafeZone, the case workers and residential staff were amazing, but upper management . . .” There was nowhere to go from there. I’d never told Jasmine about my fling with the director, or about the board using that fling against me. They’d said I was a scorned lover looking for revenge by slandering Gallagher. He’d even threatened to sue me. “Carmichael’s attitude just triggered my rage.”
“But you wouldn’t be working for Carmichael.”
“Right. I’d be working for some stupid football player.”
“I’m really hoping you didn’t say that to Gavin Brawley.”
I made a face. “Why do you have to say his name like that? He’s just a guy.” A really beautiful guy. “I can’t believe you still go to the games.”
“Pssh. Why?”
“I always thought your father and brothers just forced you to watch.”
“Uh, no. My brothers are older, so I started watching because of them, but I always liked it.” Jasmine finished her donut and licked powdered sugar from her fingers. “Going to those games was the only thing me and Dad did together that didn’t result in a fight. Plus, it was nice to have something to look forward to.”
The statement brought Gavin’s words to mind, and I winced. God, maybe I was an asshole. Even Jasmine was saying football had been an outlet for her, but I’d dismissed Gavin’s claim without even really considering it. Had I been the one to instigate that entire argument?
No. It had been Carmichael and his sneering face and judgmental attitude.
“I didn’t call him stupid. But he got in my face when I said I didn’t like football.”
“Uh-huh.” We stopped at a vendor selling handmade jewelry. “Considering he was convicted of assaulting a random guy after getting in an argument at a club, I can’t say I’d be surprised if he got in your face . . . but I have a feeling you said a lot more than ‘I don’t like football.’”
“And what makes you say that?”
“Because I know what a dick you can be when you’re defensive. ’Cause I’m the same way.” Jasmine picked up a pair of dangling, brushed-gold earrings. “How do these look?”
“They look like earrings.”
“You’re useless.”
Useless and broke. I couldn’t even buy a cider donut.
I hung back as Jasmine chatted with the people in the stall. For the billionth time in the past week, I replayed the interview in my mind. I’d never been that unprofessional in my life, but the entire situation had put me on edge. First Joe, then Gavin insisting that football was some holy sport. I’d wanted to specifically prove him wrong. Maybe because my tether had already snapped, or because the combination of his unapologetic brashness and startling good looks had made me feel even messier and more out-of-control, or maybe it’d reminded me that my lack of interest in sports had always been an indicator, to others, that I was a sissy. Regardless of the reason, now that I was out of the moment, I knew I’d needled him on purpose.
The vibrating of my phone pulled me out of my sulk. It was the same number that had been calling for the past two days.
I jammed his finger against the screen. “Hello?”
“You don’t answer your phone?”
The low, rumbly voice that belonged in a bedroom was now in my ear.
“Is this Noah Monroe, or what?”
Holy shit.
“Um, uh—yes. This is he. I mean me. I’m him.” Oh fuck. “Is this . . .”
“You know who I am.”
And just like that, my bitch mode turned on again. “Sorry, I’m not sure who this is. Can you give me your name?”
A long, low exhale sounded through the phone. “It’s Gavin Brawley. I’ve been calling you for days. This is my last attempt.”
“Really?”
Gavin was starting to sound annoyed. “Is this how you act when trying to get a job?”
“No, not usually. But I figured I’d screwed up and there was no way Mr. Carmichael would ever hire me.”
“First off, I’m hiring you. Not him. I wanted you. Not him.”
My mouth went dry. “Even after I insulted you?”
“Better to have an insolent nerd with no interest in football than a kiss-ass fan who will tell all to all their friends,” Gavin said flatly. “This is business. And even if you don’t like me, and I don’t like you, you might be the best person for the job. We’ll call the first couple of weeks a probationary period, and then we’ll finalize the contract.”