Page 4 of First Chance

“Engineering.”

His eyes widen ever so slightly. “Impressive.”

“Thank you.”

I tend to pick up on the tiniest of changes in facial expressions that others might not notice because certain cues help me prepare for where the conversation might go, but he’s incredibly difficult to read as the silence continues.

“Why did you want to work at Second Chance Sanctuary?” He finally asks.

“I have experience in Public Relations.”

“A Bachelor’s Degree, I know. I read your resume after you left. You didn’t mention that you were still in school or any work history. It’s all volunteer work.”

“I’ve had trouble with employment based on who I am.”

“The Governor’s daughter?”

“Former Governor.”

“Wouldn’t everyone like to hire the Princess of North Carolina?”

That dreaded nickname. My father has been known as the Governor of North Carolina for most of my life. He has held office in this state in some capacity longer than any other official.

He started as a mayor in the capital of the state, then did two non-consecutive terms as Lieutenant Governor before doing two non-consecutive terms as Governor.

If he didn’t hold the office, then he was either running his campaign or maintaining a good reputation for the House or the Senate. He is and will forever be known as the Governor, as if he holds celebrity status.

Our family is treated as royalty in the worst way. Gossip, scandal, and unlimited notoriety. I have been primed and polished from infancy to showcase our family name in anungodly light.

After I won Miss North Carolina Teen when I was 16, my “Princess of North Carolina” title stuck.

“You didn’t want to hire me,” I state blandly. The initial fire I had to get the job has completely dissipated.

“Because you’re a woman.”

“You don’t think women are capable enough to work with you?”

His brows furrow deeper than they had been previously, since there seems to be a permanent scowl on his face. “No, that’s not why.”

“Then, why?” I cross my arms over my chest. I have the sudden urge to stomp out of here, but decorum tells me otherwise. I know my butt will be planted in this seat until it’s socially acceptable to leave.

“What do you know about SCS?”

“It’s a rehabilitation sanctuary for black bears and felons.”

“So, you see my reasoning.” He stares at me pointedly, expecting me to understand him without having to actually explain.

“I’m not afraid of black bears.”

He huffs, leaning back in his seat and rubbing his hand across his forehead. “The bears aren’t the problem. They rarely are.”

“All of my research told me that you only hire non-violent felons. You don’t trust them around a woman?”

“I hire men who have been convicted of non-violent crimes. Men who have a plan to better their lives. I don’t know every detail of their past. I don’t know what type of temperament they’re capable of when a pretty piece of meat is dangled in front of their face. There is no guarantee thatthey can’t be violent.”

“Did you just call me a piece of meat?” I think now would be an appropriate time to leave.

“I know bears. I’ve worked with black bears my entire life. I can guess what they’ll do when subjected to external forces. I cannot guess it as accurately with the men that come through my gates. They don’t behave like bears. It’s safer for you to steer clear.”

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