“Don’t worry, Lauren. You’ve got this.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
Picking a careful path across the car lot, I stepped into the glass-fronted space and wiped my feet on the mat. The showroom was enormous with a couple of brand-new cars inside. A woman smiled at me from the front desk, and I headed her way.
“May I help you?”
“I have an interview with Mick Davies.” Checking the time, I added, “In ten minutes. I’m a bit early.”
“He’ll appreciate that. I think he’s in a meeting with the sales team at the moment. You can sit over there if you like.” There was a round table with magazines on it, probably used by the salesmen when chatting with prospective customers. “Would you like some coffee? Water?”
“Water, please.”
She brought me a paper cup and I sat down with it, pretending I wasn’t supernervous. In my life, I’d had two jobs—one as a cashier at Teriyaki King and the other as a receptionist in the fine arts department. I worked at TK for two years, more like three months in reception, so in this market, they probably had people a lot more qualified sending résumés. Sipping my water, I paged through a car magazine and tried not to sweat.
At promptly one o’clock, the salesmen returned to the floor and a supertan guy came out behind them. He looked like the proverbial used-car salesman, down to the shiny suit and poor quality hair plugs. His white teeth probably glowed purple in UV lighting, and his skin made my spray tan look natural. I kept my smile in place. Dealing with the public was easy; though I hated people socially, professionally, it was easier to pretend. Because y’know, money. Not that I saw myself doing this forever. Once I got my computer science degree, I’d be done with retail-type employment forever.
“Miss Barrett? Thanks for coming.”
When Mr. Davies elevator-eyed me, it was fairly horrible. I pretended I didn’t notice.
“My pleasure. I’m looking forward to hearing more about the job.” I almost said position, but pervdar hinted he was the kind of guy who would leap on even a mild double entendre.
Yeah, somebody more qualified probably wouldn’t take this job.
“Excellent. Let’s go to my office and talk. Shelly, hold my calls.”
“Of course.” I caught an eye-roll from Shelly on the way past. Uh-oh. In a burst of foreboding, I wondered why she’d given notice. Hopefully not because of Davies.
Let it be a better job offer.
The manager’s office was a shrine to lost youth, a combination of old sports trophies, sales plaques and pictures of hot women. I suspected he wasn’t dating any of them currently, as they were obviously old photos. But they still lined his walls in a testament to what he valued, and that was apparently T&A.
“The dealership is open from ten to eight, Monday through Saturday, and twelve to five on Sunday. We’re looking to replace Shelly, though Lord knows it’ll be tough. The girl’s a peach.”
Girl. Since Shelly was thirty if she was a day, I was offended on her behalf. But I didn’t show it. “I understand. What hours would the successful candidate be working?”
“Nine-thirty to five, Monday through Friday. My niece fills in for nights and weekends.”
“That would be fantastic.”
“I saw on your résumé that you’ve completed some college. Will you be going back?”
“Not in a way you have to worry about. I plan to take online classes and I can do that at night and on the weekends.”
He smiled at me. “Sounds like we’re made for each other.”
Oh, God, no.
Somehow I managed not to show my distaste. “This job could work out very well. What are the primary responsibilities?”
Davies ran through the list of requirements, mostly first-customer contact, heavy phone work, support the sales team as needed, light clerical work, some scheduling. It didn’t sound like anything I couldn’t handle, so I relaxed a little. He asked me the usual questions and I gave my best answers. The pay was nine bucks an hour—not amazing, but decent for a town like Sharon. Cost of living wasn’t bad here, and I’d be at my mom’s house as long as she didn’t get sick of me and demand I move out.
In the end, he shook my hand, then escorted me back to the front desk. “We have a few more applicants to interview. I plan to call the lucky girl next week.”
Not the “successful applicant,” I noted. His tone pretty much guaranteed that if a guy applied, he was out of luck.
“Thanks, I’ll be looking forward to it.” Too much? From his grin, apparently not.
Exhaling a long breath, I hurried out to the parking lot, where Rob was waiting. He hopped out and installed me on the passenger side, then ran back around.
“How did it go?”
“Well. I think. I won’t know for sure until the phone rings.”
“It will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I can’t imagine any guy not calling you when he has the chance.”
A flood of warmth washed through me because I was 90 percent sure he wasn’t just talking about the job. If I wasn’t crazy, this was subtle, low-key Rob flirting. “And why’s that?”
He paused for a long moment, his gaze steady on mine, and he seemed to weigh his words before coming to some conclusion that made him smile wryly. “Because I think about it all the time.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Calling me?” I felt like it was wise to confirm.
Rob started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot before answering. “Yeah. The urge usually kicks in late at night.”
“I’m not sure if you know this about me, but I definitely have an impulse control problem. What’s your number?”
“I don’t remember,” he confessed, gesturing toward the dash. “It’s on my phone somewhere.”
Taking that as an invitation, I picked it up and was amused to see it had no password protection. I’d bet anything Avery used to scroll through this, making sure he had no dirty secrets. I went to the information screen and memorized the number, then added him as a contact in my list. Afterward, I sent a quick text.
There, now you can call me.
“Problem solved,” I said. “I hope you drunk-dial me. I can only imagine how much fun that would be.”
He slid me a smile lightly spiced with wickedness. “That’s not my style.”
“What is?” Any more, and I might literally hyperventilate. This pencil skirt was going straight to the top of my favorite outfit list.