Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Sounds painless, but I’ve only been unemployed for an hour. I should exhaust other options first, like finding another bartender gig. Except I’ve been actively looking for a better job for the past year. Opportunities are pathetic.
“I need to think about it,” I say.
“Yes, of course.” He grabs his phone. “I just need a way to contact you. What’s your number?”
I dig through the pocket of my jacket where it hangs on my chair and remove my phone. The screen doesn’t respond, the battery dead. My electricity’s shut off, so charging it is a problem. Then I remember the prepaid plan ran out this morning. I intended to refill it tomorrow, but that won’t be happening.
With a heavy exhale, I drop the useless thing on the table. “Give me your number, and I’ll contact you if I’m interested.”
His lips form a flat line. He’s probably considering the fact that once I walk out the door, he’ll have no way to reach me and might never see me again.
“No job means…” I return the phone to the pocket of my jacket. “No more cell service.”
“How are you going to call me if you don’t have a phone?”
I lift a shoulder. “I can use a neighbor’s phone.” Except I might not have neighbors after tomorrow.
“Say yes to the interview, Decker.” His fingers clench and relax on his phone. “I can call the Infidelity rep right now, schedule the medical appointments and interview. No further contact is needed.”
“Don’t I need to fill out an application?” One that will ask about my prior work experience and criminal history. My pulse kicks up.
“You can do it on my phone after I make the call.”
“I don’t know.” What kind of man am I to even consider this? I feel like I’m losing control of my life, and I fucking hate it. “I need to think—”
“Five thousand dollars for a couple hours of your time.” His jaw sets, eyes tight with impatience. “What exactly do you need to think about?”
He’s right. My scandalous past might prevent me from being hired, but if what he’s saying is true, I’ll receive enough money to get by until I find a real job.
“They’ll pay me for the interview, even if they don’t hire me?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Fine.” I blow out a breath. “Make the goddamn call.”
A victorious smile spreads across his face, but there’s no smugness there. This guy is genuinely happy. For me. It’s mind-boggling.
He stands and paces away from the table with the phone at his ear. I drain my beer while he sets up the appointments, ends the call, and returns to the table.
“Well?” I fold my arms across my chest.
He removes a business card and a pen from the pocket inside his suit jacket and jots down times and addresses on the back.
“Medical and psychological exams tomorrow morning.” He hands me the card. “Interview the day after. If something comes up, my office number is on the other side. Let’s get that application going.”
Twenty minutes later, I click submit on the electronic form and return the phone to him.
“You’ll be at the interview?” I stand and pull on my leather jacket.
“I’ll be there as your sponsor.” Having already paid the bill, he walks with me to the door. “Wear a tie.”
I own exactly one suit, worn to dozens of interviews over the past year. I despise the damn thing, but I’ll get over it.
Outside, we pause on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in our coat pockets and breaths mingling in white clouds between us.
“It’s fucking cold.” I tense against the shivery night air.
“Do you have heat at your—?”
“I’ll manage.” I back away, in the direction of the subway. “Hey, thanks for dinner.”
“Yeah. Anytime…” He stares at his feet, jaw wriggling as if working up the nerve to ask me something.
I can guess it involves me going back to his place.
“See you in a couple days.” I turn and tread down the dim street, saving him from an awkward rejection.
That night, I stretch beneath the blankets on my small mattress, flipping the business card between my fingers. The frigid darkness of my five-hundred-square-foot studio apartment aggravates my fraying nerves. At least I still have warm water for tomorrow’s shower.
The medical tests in the morning will be a waste of time. I don’t touch drugs, have never had sex without a condom, and don’t suffer from mental illness. It’s the background investigation that’ll put the brakes on a twenty-grand-per-month job offer. If Infidelity’s clients are as high-profile as Evan claims, they won’t go near me and the shit storm I was caught up in. My name was cleared of all involvement, but my reputation is fucked so badly I’ll never work in the industry again.
At least I don’t have to contemplate having sex with an undesirable woman. I’ll go to the interview, collect the five grand, and forget about Infidelity.