Page 10 of Soulless Saint

“Umm…”

“Look, Becca, was it? Why don’t you come by tomorrow with a resume and I’ll take a look—”

“I’m here now, and so are you. There’s nothing a piece of paper can tell you that I can’t in person.”

His eyes popped wide at my insistence, something like interest sparking in their hazel depths.

“All right,” he acquiesced after a moment’s hesitation, jerking his chin in the direction of two vacant armchairs near the front of the shop in an alcove of rainbow abstracts. “You have five minutes.”

He lifted a section of the counter and stepped through, brushing past me, untying his apron as he went.

I followed behind him, my nerves on fire as I watched him toss his apron over the back of his armchair and flop down onto the cushion.

The pressure of knowing this job could be the difference between me surviving on ramen and motel coffee or real person food and free lattes threatened to crush me.

My palms were slick with sweat as I slipped into the seat opposite him and brought the latte to my lips. That first sip feeling helped ease the nerves enough to let my shoulders drop.

“Four minutes, thirty seconds,” Logan said, cocking his head to one side. “Tell me why I should hire you instead of one of the forty other applicants who actually bothered to drop off a resume.”

I inhaled, and readied myself to exhale the most bullshit list of job experiences and strengths I probably didn’t possess.

After my four minutes and thirty seconds were almost through, I knew he wasn’t convinced. He leaned forward over his knees, steepling his fingers as he considered me. “Was any of what you just told me true? Or was it all bullshit?”

My stomach dropped.

I wasn’t that bad of a liar.

But I also had no idea what I was talking about when it came to explaining job duties and experience. Fuck.

“Okay, look, I—”

Logan stood up with a sigh, reaching for his apron. I beat him to it, scooping it from the back of the armchair. I pulled it over my head and knotted it at the back of my black dress.

“What are you doing?”

“Working. Give me a shot. I’ll work the rest of the day for free, and if by the end of it you still don’t want to hire me, then I’ll leave.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Behind him, I noticed the guy with the white hair cocking his head at me with a grin while he whispered to the blonde. At least I was providing some entertainment.

“I wasn’t lying about knowing my way around an espresso machine,” I pressed. “Let me make you a latte.”

His hazel eyes met mine, lips pressed in a tight line. He wasn’t saying no. I grabbed onto that life raft with both fucking hands.

“Please,” I changed tactics. “I need this job.”

“Fine,” he said, giving me a sharp look before I could jump for joy. “But I don’t tolerate liars, Becca Hart.”

“Right. I’m sorry.”

“You have four hours. Impress me.”

I sucked in a breath as cool water poured over my head in the shower, balling my hand into a fist against the tile.

“Fuck.”

Dipping my heavy head, I let the water roll down my back, cooling the sun heated flesh there.

Hardin left my ass in the back of the Bronco, parked in our driveway to sleep off the booze in my system.

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