Page 7 of Church Girl
I stare at my friend. Whoisthis person right now?
“Yes, Aaliyah. It’s awesome to meet you, Chelle.”
Awesome. What’re we at fucking band camp? I don’t look over my shoulder again, but I can hear the smile in Aaliyah’s voice. Can mentally see those dimples in her cheeks.
“Same. Are you from around here?” Chelle asks.
Not with that warm, honeyed accent.
“No, I—”
“Last time I checked, this was my interview. Ms. Montgomery, this way.”
I walk away, and the clack of her modest heels echoes in the hallway behind me. Reaching my office, I open the door and allow her to step through first. When I enter and close the door, it’s in Chelle’s grinning face.
I don’t know what’s up with her, but she can have it on the other side of the door.
Crossing the room to my desk, I glance at Aaliyah, who stands in the middle of the room, her hands clasped in front of her. Does she even realize how her fingers twist, exposing her nerves? Probably not. And asshole that I am, I stare down at them, making her aware. Following the direction of my gaze, she dips her head, and her slim shoulders stiffen as her arms drop to her sides.
“Have a seat.” I wave toward one of the two armchairs and sink in my own seat.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “And please, call me Aaliyah.”
I frown, recalling that I did formally address her. But we don’t need to be on a first-name basis; she won’t be around long enough. The only reason I insisted she call me Von is because...
Shit, I don’t know why I told her to do it.
That seems to be my mantra in the less than ten minutes I’ve been in her company.I don’t know why.
Another mark against her.
Yeah, it’s unfair of me to be so biased against her, but I can’t find it within myself to give a fuck. Shebothersme. And I don’t—dammit.
I refuse to think or say it again.
Aaliyah fidgets in the chair before she stills. Tugging her shoulders back, she visibly controls her body, and my frown deepens. Not at the rigidity in her frame—well, not only that. It’s the composed, damn near blank expression that covers her face, darkens her eyes to a deep brown. The difference between now and a minute ago is like a heavy door being slammed shut on a bright, clear day.
Someone only closes down completely like that with practice.
I should know.
The question of why Pollyanna would need to adopt that particular form of self-defense drops into the grab bag with all the other ones I have about Aaliyah Montgomery. And not one of them have to do with whether she would be a good fit for Gia.
Leaning back in my chair, I move the mouse, and my laptop screen blinks to life. Quickly typing in my password, I navigate to my inbox and pull up the email with her info and résumé.
“Where’re you from? It’s not here.” Not my intended first question, but it’ll do.
She shakes her head, her wavy hair moving with the motion. And damn if my gaze doesn’t follow the sway and swing of the thick strands.
Sheree would hate her on sight. Aaliyah’s too fresh-faced, too pretty. My ex-wife couldn’t stand not being the best-looking woman in the room, being the center of attention. Knowing how Sheree would feel is almost enough to make me change my mind about hiring Aaliyah. Good thing I care more about my baby girl’s well-being than aggravating my ex.
“No, I’m from Alabama. I just moved to Chicago a couple of weeks ago.”
“For family?”
“For school. I started taking classes at the University of Chicago.”
I frown. “How old are you?”
