Page 2 of First Chance

“Seiver!” He yells to someone out of sight, and he doesn’t wait to see if he’s been heard before turning back to me.

“I don’t know what your game is, but you don’t belong here,” his deep voice states plainly. His eyes flick from my car and back to me, giving me a steely once-over.

I’m wearing a knee-length pencil skirt, white blouse, and interview-appropriate heels. This is the average attire for a person looking for a job. I checked.

“I’m here for an interview,” I repeat because I can’t seem to string together any other rational response to his aversion to me.

“You need something, boss?” An older man comes half-jogging, half-limping, over toward us. His tawny skin wrinkled from years under the sun.

“This woman thinks that she is here for an interview. Would you know why?” He asks with such an accusatory tone that even I’m afraid to hear the response.

“Well, I don’t know, boss. The only resume we got was for a guy named Jo. I emailed him to set up an interview like you told me.”

“That’s me.” I raise my hand as if there is anyone else around. “I’m Jo. JoAnna, actually.”

Both their heads swivel, one look of innocent curiosity, and one is a full-blown glare. I wish I was talking to the curious old man, but it looks like Mr. Glare is the one in charge.

“We don’t hire women.”

“Excuse me?”

“This isn’t a place for women. The gates will open automatically on your way out.” He turns, giving me his back again, with no chance to respond. My gut sinks.

This guy is going to ruin everything I had planned.

“Can I speak to the real boss?”

His shoulders stiffen at my question, but he doesn’t turn around; he only tilts his head in my direction. “The real boss?”

“Yes. Mr. Dane.”

He rolls his shoulders before stalking toward me slowly like a hungry predator. He keeps walking until his tall frame is blocking the glare of the sun from my face. “I am Mr. Dane.”

What?

“No, Mr. Dane is older.” This Mr. Dane cocks his head slightly, looking at me as if for the first time.

“My grandfather?”

“So you’re?”

“Lochlan Dane, his grandson. The only boss here, according to his obituary.”

No.

Mr. Dane is dead. The man I thought I was meeting with. The one that is specifically part of my plan.

And that means I am having a conversation withtheLochlan Dane.

I know the name, but I’ve never seen a photo. Besides, nothing could do him justice. The aura emanating around him is as sinister as the stories about him. All of which are rumors. I think.

It doesn’t matter. He’s not giving me a chance. I’m not going to get the job here. Avoiding his gaze of terror, I reach into my purse and retrieve my sunglasses, pushing them ontomy face before looking up at him again.

“I apologize for wasting your time then. Have a nice day.”

His stance doesn’t falter as I turn on trembling knees, crossing the gravel lot to get back in my car. My heels are as adept at this terrain as my tires, but it doesn’t matter. I won’t be back.

I’m sliding into my seat as gracefully as I can in this skirt when someone whistles from across the yard. “Is that the Princess of North Carolina?” The words bounce around in my head, but I’m an expert at ignoring catcalls.

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