Page 30 of Single Girl in the City
“Ah, then Double Ds was a blind date?”
“Potential bartender.”
“I thought the position was filled?”
“Just finishing off the last of the interviews for today.” Which meant he had more earlier in the week.
He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge. He flexed. Twice. And when she looked up, he winked because, as she was coming to learn, he knew when her mind had taken a different direction. Refusing to give him the satisfaction, she shrugged as if unimpressed.
“Great.” She slid her résumé across the table. “Then I’ll see you in,” she looked at a pretend watch, “thirty minutes.”
He didn’t budge. “You’re not on my schedule.”
“Oh, I signed up online.” She showed him her phone with the confirmed appointment time. “Even uploaded my résumé.”
He tilted his chin toward her three pages, printed on heavy stock and clipped with a Seahawks-green paperclip. “Then what’s that?”
“Me being thorough. Plus, you look like a dinosaur, so I went old school and printed it.”
When he still didn’t take it, she tucked it between his crossed arms and chest.
Amused, he picked it up and noncommittally flipped through. The longer he perused, the smugger her smile became. She knew what he saw. Top of her class, earning a master’s in leadership and administration, and three years’ experience managing a wine bar while in grad school. She was also the elementary school representative for the PTA and a bond oversight committee and that’s not even mentioning the jobs she’d done overseas teaching English to locals.
“You can’t lift trays with your hand,” he reasoned.
“I’m here for the manager position.”
She’d caught him off-guard. “You’re leaving.”
“Not for another ah …” How long was she staying? She didn’t want to lie to him, but she also didn’t want to overcommit. “month or two.”
“The answer’s still no.”
“Hang on, before you get stubborn, think of me as an interim manager. A temporary independent contractor of sorts, whose main purpose is to find, hire, and train a new manager. I can take on the responsibility of hiring new bartenders. It’s a win-win. You get to free yourself of a job you suck at, and I get some extra cash.”
“Texas A&M, then Duke for graduate school.” He eyed her. “You’re overqualified.”
“I work at a tea shop.”
He set down the résumé. “I know. Why?”
“Circumstances.” Like needing a job she could do in her sleep since after the accident she’d become short on sleep. “That I don’t want to talk about, but I can talk about how perfect for this job I am.”
“I’d still have to train you.”
“I’m a quick learner. Plus, I’m personal, reliable, more than capable.” She lowered her voice. “And I’d never abuse your trust. Never.”
The last part seemed to have him reconsidering. He went quiet and gave her résumé another pass, this time really seeing what she’d accomplished since that night. He looked at her over the paper. At the unexpected rush of nerves racing through her body, she uncrossed and crossed her legs three times.
“I’m an asshole of a boss. You’d hate working for me.”
“You’re a pushover, which is part of the problem. You’re also overworked and on the verge of burnout. This shouldn’t be a hard decision.”
Again, he studied her and again that rush of nerves got the best of her. She knew he’d be a hard sell, but the longer he stared at her, the more uncertain she became. She knew she was, hands down, the most qualified person he’d interviewed. Knew she’d rock the job. So why the hesitation? Was he that big of a commitment-phobe that a two-month agreement with a pretty face made him itchy? Or was it because of the situation she’d put him in all those years back?
“You don’t have to answer now. In fact, my mee-maw used to say decisions were best made on a full stomach.” She unpacked her backpack, placing a container of cornbread and a thermos of chili in front of him.
He looked at the setting, complete with a napkin and plastic utensils, and grinned. “What’s this?”
