necessity in her business. She’d been responsible for mentoring and training others, as well as maintaining her personal sales and team. It’d taken her a while to master the art of putting her personal business first, but she’d done it. If she focused too much on others, her numbers soon started circling the drain, and that wasn’t good for any of them.
“Definitely,” she answered, clarifying, “I was responsible for a team of twenty-five salespeople while overseeing ten managers with teams of their own.”
She almost cringed at the calloused description. Those “teams” and “managers” were more like family than coworkers. They’d slap her silly if they ever heard her referring to them with corporate lingo. But judging by Shane’s formality, he was a corporate man and Crickitt doubted he’d know the first thing about direct sales.
“You sound overqualified,” he said.
“That’s what I…wait, did you just say overqualified ?” Crickitt fully expected him to tell her to peddle her questionable work background elsewhere.
Shane reached into his pocket and offered a business card between two outstretched fingers. “Even so, I’d like to talk to you in more detail. Are you available for an interview on Monday?”
Crickitt stared at the card like it was a trick hand buzzer.
“I’m serious.” He dropped the card on the bar. “This isn’t typically how I find employees, but”—he shrugged—“I need a personal assistant. And someone with your background and experience is hard to come by.”
She blinked at him again. This had to be some elaborate scheme to get her to bed, right? Isn’t that what Sadie told her to expect from the men in these places?
“How about one o’clock, Monday afternoon? I have meetings in the morning but I should be done by then. If the job’s not a good fit, at least you looked into it.”
Well. The only interview she’d managed to arrange since her self-inflicted unemployment was for a thirty-thousand-dollar salary and involved her working in a government office. And she’d lost that job to a kid ten years her junior. She’d be stupid to pass up what Shane was offering—if it turned out to be for real. Which it wouldn’t, she assured herself. If she’d learned one lesson from recent events, it was to be cautious when things were going suspiciously well. But as her dwindling savings account constantly reminded her, she needed to find some sort of viable income. And soon. If the interview turned out to be a sham, the experience would still be worthwhile, she thought with knee-jerk optimism.
“One o’clock,” she heard herself say.
Shane extended his hand and she shook it. He excused himself and made his way to the door and Crickitt watched his every long-legged step. Once he’d gone, she studied the card. The top read, “August Industries, Leader in Business Strategies.” No name on the card, just an address and a phone number. She flipped it over. Blank.
Sadie returned as Crickitt hopped off her barstool.
“Where’re you going?” Sadie asked with a breathless smile. Shane’s cousin stood at Sadie’s side, a matching grin on his tanned face. Crickitt regarded his surfer-dude style skeptically. Cute. A departure from Sadie’s usual type, but cute.
“What’s with the card? Did you get a date?” Sadie asked.
“Better,” Crickitt said, snapping up her purse. “A job.”
* * *
Shane slowed his steps from run to walk before killing the power on his treadmill. He swiped a towel over his sweat-covered face and neck, replaying the chance run-in with Crickitt at Club Lace tonight. Since he’d returned home, he hadn’t been able to think about much else.
He faced the floor-to-ceiling mirrors while catching his breath and almost didn’t recognize the guy smiling back at him. When was the last time he’d caught himself grinning about anything? He sank onto the weight bench and started unlacing his shoes, wondering at his newfound
“Definitely,” she answered, clarifying, “I was responsible for a team of twenty-five salespeople while overseeing ten managers with teams of their own.”
She almost cringed at the calloused description. Those “teams” and “managers” were more like family than coworkers. They’d slap her silly if they ever heard her referring to them with corporate lingo. But judging by Shane’s formality, he was a corporate man and Crickitt doubted he’d know the first thing about direct sales.
“You sound overqualified,” he said.
“That’s what I…wait, did you just say overqualified ?” Crickitt fully expected him to tell her to peddle her questionable work background elsewhere.
Shane reached into his pocket and offered a business card between two outstretched fingers. “Even so, I’d like to talk to you in more detail. Are you available for an interview on Monday?”
Crickitt stared at the card like it was a trick hand buzzer.
“I’m serious.” He dropped the card on the bar. “This isn’t typically how I find employees, but”—he shrugged—“I need a personal assistant. And someone with your background and experience is hard to come by.”
She blinked at him again. This had to be some elaborate scheme to get her to bed, right? Isn’t that what Sadie told her to expect from the men in these places?
“How about one o’clock, Monday afternoon? I have meetings in the morning but I should be done by then. If the job’s not a good fit, at least you looked into it.”
Well. The only interview she’d managed to arrange since her self-inflicted unemployment was for a thirty-thousand-dollar salary and involved her working in a government office. And she’d lost that job to a kid ten years her junior. She’d be stupid to pass up what Shane was offering—if it turned out to be for real. Which it wouldn’t, she assured herself. If she’d learned one lesson from recent events, it was to be cautious when things were going suspiciously well. But as her dwindling savings account constantly reminded her, she needed to find some sort of viable income. And soon. If the interview turned out to be a sham, the experience would still be worthwhile, she thought with knee-jerk optimism.
“One o’clock,” she heard herself say.
Shane extended his hand and she shook it. He excused himself and made his way to the door and Crickitt watched his every long-legged step. Once he’d gone, she studied the card. The top read, “August Industries, Leader in Business Strategies.” No name on the card, just an address and a phone number. She flipped it over. Blank.
Sadie returned as Crickitt hopped off her barstool.
“Where’re you going?” Sadie asked with a breathless smile. Shane’s cousin stood at Sadie’s side, a matching grin on his tanned face. Crickitt regarded his surfer-dude style skeptically. Cute. A departure from Sadie’s usual type, but cute.
“What’s with the card? Did you get a date?” Sadie asked.
“Better,” Crickitt said, snapping up her purse. “A job.”
* * *
Shane slowed his steps from run to walk before killing the power on his treadmill. He swiped a towel over his sweat-covered face and neck, replaying the chance run-in with Crickitt at Club Lace tonight. Since he’d returned home, he hadn’t been able to think about much else.
He faced the floor-to-ceiling mirrors while catching his breath and almost didn’t recognize the guy smiling back at him. When was the last time he’d caught himself grinning about anything? He sank onto the weight bench and started unlacing his shoes, wondering at his newfound