Page 8 of Trophy
“You know what look. I know all the girls in town think you’re God’s gift to shit, but you don’t have a shot in hell with that one. She’s way out of your league.”
Rob narrowed his eyes, immediately defensive, maybe because Keith had just verbalized the conclusion he’d come to himself. “You don’t know that.”
“Oh, yes, I do. She’d never go out with you.”
Rob was usually pretty easygoing, but he scowled at his friend. “I bet she would.”
He had no real reason to believe his words. He just wanted them to be true.
“Seriously? You want to bet on it?”
“No, I don’t want to bet.”
“See? Told you you couldn’t get her to go out with you.”
Rob let out a frustrated groan. “You really want to bet? On something so stupid?”
“Absolutely. A hundred bucks.” Keith was grinning now. “You’re always trying to help everyone else, so it’s time for you to start helping yourself. Or you can just admit that girl is way out of your league.”
Rob knew his friend was baiting him. He knew he shouldn’t fall for it. But he kept thinking there might be a chance that Allison could warm up to him. She might just need some time to get used to Fielding and the transition in her life. He’d never had trouble getting women to go out with him. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had told him no.
“Fine,” he said at last. “It’s a bet. What’s the time line?”
“Three months. You’ve got to get her to go out with you in three months.”
“Easy.”
Rob didn’t actually believe it would be easy, but three months was a long time. She’d be living across the street from him, after all, and she’d probably need a lot of help. Help he could provide.
He felt excited for the first time in a really long time.
5
The next day,Allison woke up sore and exhausted. She’d always worked out regularly at an expensive gym, but what she’d done yesterday was a different kind of physical labor, and she wasn’t used to it. She was tempted to stay in bed, but then she rolled over and saw that her clock said it was seven thirty.
She had too much to do today. She had to go in at nine about that receptionist job, and then she needed to fix her toilet, since the running sound had driven her crazy all night. She also needed to see if she could get any more of the furniture up from the basement. Right now the house was mostly empty, and she wasn’t sure how long she could live like that.
So she closed her eyes and gave herself a mental pep talk—reminding herself that she only needed to live here for a year or two, until she got back on her feet and could get a job closer to the city. If she stayed in bed this morning, it would mean Arthur had won a victory over her, and she wasn’t going to let him do that.
With a groan, she heaved herself to her feet and headed for the bathroom.
She had no idea what a small-town woman might wear to an interview for a receptionist job at the local dentist. When she got out of the shower, she scanned the portable clothes racks she’d bought at Walmart the previous day, searching for something simple and respectable.
She had very little in her wardrobe that fit that description.
Finally she settled on a long, sleeveless linen dress in a subdued tan. It was looser than most of her other dresses, and it didn’t look designer or ridiculously expensive. She rolled up her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck and added lowish heels and a pretty pink and tan scarf.
Scanning herself in the mirror, she decided she looked as much like a Fielding woman as she possibly could. It was just eight thirty, so she poured her coffee into a travel mug and went to buy a local newspaper so she could look for more job postings.
She felt encouraged, though. Maybe this receptionist job would work out. Maybe she could start earning money so she could continue taking courses toward her college degree. It wouldn’t be long before she could graduate and find a job more like what she wanted—preferably in Charlotte. Maybe she could even save up enough money to open that jewelry shop she’d always dreamed of.
She might be tired and sore, but she was hopeful. She was finally doing something entirely on her own, and things were going to work out.
The receptionist interview was a bust.
She didn’t even actually get to interview. An overweight, middle-aged woman just scanned her application and told her she didn’t have any experience and wasn’t qualified.
So at ten minutes after nine she was back in her tank of a car, slumping against the seat and wondering if she should just give up on the day, since it had started so badly.
