Page 24 of Crazy Thing

“A metaphysical what?”

“And I can run my shopandwork as your assistant. Lots of people have two—or even three—jobs. Why can’t I?”

“But you don’t even live in Starlight Falls,” he continues to argue.

I wave him off. “I’m not worried. It’s a short commute.”

“Forty-five minutes is hardly a short commute.”

“I can handle it, Darius.” I barely keep from stomping my foot. I don't know why he’s being such a baby over forty-five measly minutes. “Besides, I can work remotely a few days per week and the rest of the time, I can make the short drive here. No biggie.”

Darius presses his lips into a thin line, obviously not happy with my logic. “It would be preferable that you relocate to Starlight Falls to carry out this assignment.”

“No need to worry about relocation. My living accommodations are…mobile.” I purse my lips to keep from grinning.

His gaze swings over to the window, staring wide-eyed at my converted school bus. Then he grabs his forehead, like he’s just been hit with a killer migraine.

“Oh, hell. Never mind.” He changes the subject. “I need someone who can commit to me full time.”

“Well, right now, you have no one,” I say, standing my ground. “Part-time is better than nothing.”

Darius exhales audibly. “Okay. Fine. But I need to make sure you’re even qualified.” I follow him over to the desk ashe wakes up the computer. “Have you used this calendar system before?”

I lean in, squinting at the screen. “Nope, but I can learn.”

“What was your degree in?”

“Why do I need a degree for a volunteer position?” I counter.

He drops his head, and for a few long moments, he just breathes. In and out. In and out.

I’m just as frustrated as he is. This negotiation is exhausting.

Then he speaks again. “Are you organized?”

I cringe.

“Well, how fast can you type?”

I frown, holding my hands out in the air over an imaginary keyboard. Then I shut my eyes and mime typing out my name. “About this fast?”

“Oh god,” he groans. “Well, have you at least reported to a CEO or a manager before?”

I shrug. “I have jerkward customers to deal with all the time, so I think we’re good there.”

Let’s face it. This interview is going worse by the minute.

I cut to the chase. “Look—do I have the job? Am I qualified?”

I am so not qualified.His face says that much.

But I can’t tell if he’s trying not to laugh at me, or if he’s trying not to cry.

“If this were a real interview, I have to say I wouldn’t hire you,” he says, turning away from me for a moment and mumbling to himself. I can barely make out his next words, but it sounds like, “But you’re quirky and you’re cute and only god knows why I’m giving in to this insanity.”

My ears must be playing tricks on me, though. Becausethere’s no way that’s what he said. The ‘quirky and cute’ part, I mean.

Suddenly, he whips back around.

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