Page 3 of Her Pucking One Night Stand

“Mindy Conrad, please.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Conrad is unavailable,” declares a young male voice. “May I take a message?”

Dammit.

“Can you tell her that Ava Sterling is calling? I need her to get back to me immediately.” I tap my foot as I say that, needing some way to rid myself of this pent-up energy. “This is an emergency.”

“What sort of emergency?”

“I must’ve received an email in error. It’s not even from Mindy, but it states that I didn’t receive the job that I was assured of over the phone.”

There’s a pause.

“Can you give me your name again?”

I do.

Then the man’s voice begins to drip with condescension as he releases a long-suffering sigh. “Well, your name is not among the list of new hires. Therefore, I have to conclude that someone made a false assumption. Did you receive a packet in the mail with instructions to follow?”

Taken aback, I shake my head before I realize that he can’t see me. “No.”

“Did you receive a text confirming your first day or the address where you’d need to arrive?”

Any bubble of hope I might’ve been sheltering in my chest pops like soda fizz. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.” With no further discussion, he disconnects, hanging up on me.

It doesn’t matter that this Conrad woman told me, “You’d be a perfect fit for our Santa Barbara location.” Or that she was impressed by my education and experience, could picture me in that role, and would be thrilled to have me join their team.

Apparently, none of that is true.

Reflecting on everything we discussed only makes a pit form in my stomach. Did her “being thrilled” mean she’d legit offered me the position? I thought it did. I’d Googled the Santa Barbara facility so I’d have the address. That means she didn’t send it. But did I jump to the conclusion that I had confirmation of a job when I actually didn’t?

Evidently so. Ugh!

Drifting off to one side of the concourse, I lean against the nearest wall and drop into a seated position right there on the shiny tiled floor, hyperventilating.

How could I be so stupid? Yeah, this was my first time applying for out-of-state positions, but to be so far off about something I’d been banking on. Hell, betting my life on.

The pit in my stomach becomes a churning whirlpool. So much so that I might be sick. The only thing that keeps me from puking there in public is the knowledge that I have to cancel my plane ticket and get my money back before it’s too late.

Lurching back to my feet despite being out of breath, I glance up and find the correct gate. Thank God. I race over there like I’m being chased by monsters.

“I need to… cancel my ticket, please.”

It takes a lot of rigamarole and dealing with a frowny host, but I’m able to get the return credit back on my debit card for the ticket I bought online. My main problem at this point is what to do next. After being this close to a solution for getting the hell out of dodge, failing is like a slap in the face.

But I can’t go to California without a net to catch me when I land.

I remember the mocking message I scrawled in four-foot letters across Dean’s business, and my breath catches. If he sees that—if anyone he knows tells him it’s still there while I’m still in town—he might just kill me.

I’ve already set the pieces in motion—the message, the divorce papers. It was all supposed to unfold once I was safely gone, away from him, where distance could shield me from the storm of his rage.

Where’s that distance now?

Maybe I truly am the idiotic bitch he claims me to be. I leaped before I looked, and now, I have to deal with the consequences. I run through some options. I have two days before Dean returns from his trip to discover all that I’ve done.

I could go back to him, scrub that shoe polish off his windows, and pretend that nothing’s changed. That’s the most repugnant option. It also means praying that no one tells him of my highly visible insult before I take it down.

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