Текст книги "Miss Match"

Автор книги: Laurelin McGee

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Instead of looking skeptical as she’d suspected he would, Blake Donovan seemed interested. Intrigued, even. “You worked for him in this capacity for eight years? Why did you leave?”

She gritted her teeth. “A difference of opinion.” That dickwad, Max. It still made her see red to recall, even nine months later.

“And you haven’t held a job since?” Again, he sounded more perplexed than judgmental.

Maybe she was reading him wrong. Which meant she wasn’t as good at her so-called abilities as she thought. “No job since. I haven’t been able to find anything that I’m really qualified for.”

He clucked his tongue. “I’m sure that’s true. You have a very unique skill set, indeed, Drea. Did Max provide a reference for you?”

Wow. He’d acknowledged her skills as legit. That was a first. Of course, the answer to his last question would probably end any interest he had in her. Not that she cared. “No references. And really, it’s Andy.”

“Then I’ll make a note to call him.” He scribbled on the top of her résumé.

“No, don’t!” She nearly jumped out of her chair. Which was embarrassing. She hoped he mistook her heated cheeks for enthusiasm.

He stalled with his hand on the receiver.

She took a second to calm herself, sliding back into the chair and making a conscious effort to smile naturally. “Please, Mr. Donovan. Max and I didn’t part on the best of terms.”

“Oh?” He sat back in his own chair.

Thank the Lord.

“I’d rather not discuss that if you don’t mind.” Andy crossed, then uncrossed her legs. That hadn’t come out as smoothly as it had sounded in her head. She would have to figure out a better way to deal with this question in her future interviews.

“I do mind.” His tone told her that he had no qualms about ignoring her request.

She held her breath while he stared at her, willing him to speak first.

“But since you aren’t my employee—yet—I suppose I’ll have to abide by your wishes. Let’s discuss my needs, shall we?” he finally rejoined.

His needs? If he kept looking at her with those devastatingly blue eyes, they’d have to discuss her needs. Not that she was entertaining the idea. Blue eyes were just generally disarming. Especially when attached to a tall, muscular man in an expensive suit. Shame about the personality.

And shame on her for thinking about him as anything other than disgusting. Or at the very least, unappealing. Or mostly unappealing. Inside-ugly! “Yes, let’s discuss your needs.”

Please, please let that have come out less seductive than it sounded to my ears.

If he registered the want in her tone, he ignored it. “I’m a very busy man. I built this IT business from scratch. It’s expanded worldwide. I often have to travel to New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago. Occasionally Japan or Germany. I work long hours, catering to clients in different time zones. When I finally leave the office, I head home and typically continue working there. Obviously, this leaves little time for anything else.”

Ah, the married-to-his-work type. But he was so attractive. He had to get it on sometimes. She couldn’t stop herself from asking. “You don’t date or … anything?”

“You mean do I have sex?”

She blushed at his bluntness, refusing to acknowledge that that was indeed what she had meant. Was this appropriate to discuss in an interview?

Turned out he didn’t need her confirmation and felt it was relevant. “I have plenty of sex. When I’m in the mood, so to speak, I simply go find what I need.”

“What you need…?” The conversation had her lower belly tightening in a way that made her both aroused and uncomfortable.

“I believe the term is cruising, Drea. I go by myself to a club or a bar, and I don’t leave alone.”

“It’s Andy. And how often do you do this?” She was starting to get a read now. Narcissist, control freak, misogynist …

Donovan leaned forward, grabbing her eyes with his. “Very often, Drea.”

She shivered at his low silky tone, at the way his gaze held her captive. When he looked at her like that, she wanted to be one of those women he picked up in the bar. Even though the idea should make her feel gross and slimy, it made her feel hot and bothered instead.

Blake continued his piercing stare. “Did you think otherwise?”

Andy shifted in her chair, not sure how to answer or even if she should because at that moment she was afraid her response would be to climb in his lap and lick him from head to toe.

Donovan decided for her, breaking their eye contact to brush an invisible piece of lint off his sleeve. “These rendezvous never last more than one night, however. It seems the women waiting to be picked up by men in bars are not the type of women I’d like to spend any real time with.”

Thankfully, Blake’s inside-ugly statement broke the spell he’d had over her. Well, mostly. She still found herself morbidly curious, about to ask the question she couldn’t believe she was going to ask—the one she had promised herself she wouldn’t. “What exactly would the ideal woman be, Mr. Donovan?”

He was quick with his answer. “About five-seven, five-eight. Between one hundred five and one hundred twenty pounds. I prefer the exotic look—dark-brown eyes, near-black hair.”

God, the man was a pig. And not just because the look he’d described left Andy’s five-foot-five, 147-pound frame out of the running. In fact, she had never been more proud of her light-auburn locks and hazel eyes. She’d hate to think she made it onto this disgusting bastard’s wish list.

At least, that’s what her brain was saying. The pulsing between her thighs said differently.

Snap out of it, Andy. He’s a filthy man-whore. Stay focused and get through this farce of an interview. “That’s a very specific type, Mr. Donovan.”

“What can I say? I know what I want.”

The office full of blond women came back to her. “Interestingly, I didn’t see anyone fitting that description on your staff.”

His lip rose in a smug smile. “Best not to surround oneself with temptation.”

Andy tried hard not to let on how repulsed she was with that statement. So many things about it turned her off—the idea that women could be lumped together based on their physical appearance; that looks were a more important factor to job placement than ability; that Blake Donovan believed his attraction to a woman was the only factor in the get-laid equation.

The last might be true and that was what bothered Andy the most.

Swallowing her loathing, she plunged into scary waters. She’d already committed to seeing the interview through, after all. “What about her personality?”

Donovan’s brows creased. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what type of personality are you looking to spend your life with?” Did he really not get the question? “Will she be funny or sweet or—”

“Quiet,” he said, decisively. “I don’t want to be bored with talk of shoes and soap operas. Sweet is good. Perhaps submissive is a better term.”

Now that Andy thought about it, calling Donovan a pig was rather unfair to the noble swine.

Andy ran her hand through her hair and scanned the office one more time. Certain there were no hidden cameras, she had to assume the man was for real. “What about long-term goals? I’m guessing you plan to marry this life partner. Do you want children?”

“God, no.” He was silent for a moment. “Maybe one. I’d hate to see my cousin or, more accurately, his wife get their grubby hands on my money after I’m gone. As for marriage—yes, with a prenuptial agreement. And nothing fancy as far as the wedding is concerned. A simple ceremony, no reception. There is no reason to invite anyone but close family. Even that is questionable.”

Unbelievable. “I see.” It was Blake’s turn to narrow his eyes and contemplate exactly what it was she meant with that statement. Well played, she told herself, chalking a point under ANDY on her mental scoreboard.

“What about a profession?” She had no idea why she was even bothering to pursue the conversation. It was almost like watching a train wreck. She couldn’t turn away.

“For the woman? Certainly not. If she’s working now I’d like her to give that up when we marry. Part of the reason I want a companion is to have someone to come home to. A woman with a profession cannot be counted on for that.”

Why doesn’t he just hire a housekeeper? Or get a dog.

“Okay. So you’d like someone”—she specifically avoided saying me, like hell was she taking this job—“to find women that fit this description and then … what?”

“You’d show me her picture to make certain I find her attractive. If I do, you set up a date for us to meet. If it works out, I’ll give you a bonus and you’re done. If it doesn’t, then you start searching again.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled slightly.

Knowing it was at the prospect of ordering a date like a restaurant meal kept Andy from returning it. “Where would the searching take place?”

“Wherever you choose. Facebook, dating sites, the grocery store—I leave that up to you. That’s why I’m hiring you. To do the research for me.”

“Right.” Because that’s how people met and fell in love—by being researched. Max Ellis and this jerk could be great friends, although all of the women in Boston would be worse off for that match.

“Any other questions?” His tone suggested he was surprised there’d been any questions at all. As if the whole transaction was everyday.

Well, it certainly wasn’t her everyday. And even if the pay was beyond excellent, it would be an impossible task. There could not be a match for Blake Donovan. She believed it wholeheartedly. Time to shut the morbid game down. “Nope. I think I have a grasp on the job.”

“Good. Although you should never assume you have a grasp on the job from one interview. Your employer will think you’re oversimplifying or are conceited.”

Her conceited? Wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?

“Now let’s test your skills, shall we, Drea?”

“It’s Andy.” Her patience was wearing. “Or Andrea, if you prefer.”

“I prefer Drea, thank you.” He leaned forward, his elbows propped on his desk. “Suppose Max Ellis were looking to hire me. What would you tell him?”

She almost laughed. “Oh, let’s not do that.”

“Let’s do. And I expect the truth.”

“Honestly?” It was awfully tempting … “You don’t want to know.”

“No, I do. Be brutal. I can take it.”

She hesitated. Telling him would put an end to her candidacy for the position. But did she care?

She did not.

Sorry, Lacy. “Okay. I’d tell Max that you are a devoted businessman with the commitment, hunger, fortitude, and ambition to succeed.”

The edge of his top lip curved upward slightly.

Then she went on. “I’d also tell him that you are lacking in common social skills, particularly humility, kindness, and decency. You’re sexist, arrogant, and, basically, a rich pompous ass. I also noticed all your very expensive, very monotonously black pens are lined up ruler-straight. On the right side of your desk. That indicates you are both rigid and boring. Probably a conservative. Don’t even get me started on your shirt. That shade of mauve screams Desperately hetero and hip. Nothing could make you farther from either.” That felt marvelous.

“Very good, Drea. Very good, indeed.” He stared at her as though he, too, was making an assessment of her character.

Huh? That was her move, and it made her squirmy to see him employing it.

He sat back in his chair finally, a smirk playing on his lips. “And tell me, would Max Ellis have hired me based on your input?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, he probably would have.”

*   *   *

Blake laughed out loud. It was the only thing he could think to do to dislodge the strange warmth he was suddenly feeling in his chest. Please let it be heartburn and not a fondness for the potential employee in front of him.

Andrea’s eyes blazed at his outburst.

“I apologize,” he said, composing himself. “Thank you, Drea. I appreciate your candor.”

“It’s Andy.”

He was finding her obvious annoyance more than a little amusing. This whole interview was exactly the opposite of what he’d expected. It was almost enjoyable.

Not almost—it was enjoyable.

He regretted now that he’d played a total asshole since she’d arrived. Most of it was exactly his true colors, but he’d amped up his arrogance. It helped weed the women who’d shown up only to sign up to be his bride, from the ones who wanted to find him a bride. Sadly, there had been few of the latter.

When this one had walked in, though, he was immediately on edge. It started with her bizarrely sparse résumé, something that screamed backstory to him. Blake liked a good mystery. Then there was that completely unprofessional lingering gaze they had shared. That had led him to be even nastier than usual. He just wasn’t used to not having the upper hand.

Now that he’d deduced Andrea Dawson was sincere about her job application, he decided he could dial it down a bit.

“Andy.” He tested her nickname on his tongue. “It doesn’t fit. It’s too boyish. And you are definitely all woman.” She wasn’t even remotely his type—between the curves and the all-American coloring, not to mention ambition. Ambition in a woman had always struck him as one of the least attractive things on earth. Probably because his money-grubbing stepmother had run his father into the ground, all in the name of “ambition.”

But the woman in front of him didn’t put him off as he might have expected. Despite her flaws, he had to admit there was something distinctly sexy about Awn-dray-uh Princess Leia Dawson. Really, a Star Wars reference?

“I … thank you, I think.”

He settled farther into his chair, reveling in her discomfort. “You’re welcome. Drea.”

She, in contrast, sat up, squaring her shoulders. “My name is Andy, Mr. Donovan. I’ve never gone by Drea. It’s always been Andy or, when my sister’s mad at me, Andrea.”

“Fine. Andrea it is. Perhaps it’s best since I suspect you will frequently anger me.” Did he just wink at her? That was strange. He never winked.

He rubbed his eye, hoping she’d believe his wink had been a twitch. “And you may call me Blake. You’ll need to get to know what makes me tick and I think that requires a first-name basis, don’t you?”

“What? Excuse me, but—are you actually offering me the job?” She looked completely shocked.

He was a little shocked himself. Normally Blake preferred his employees to treat him with a certain level of deference, but something in him said that Andrea Dawson was the one. “I am.”

“But—”

“But we haven’t discussed pay yet. That’s right. Here’s what I think your beginning skills are worth.” He grabbed a Montblanc and a fresh sheet of stationery from the desk and scribbled a figure. Folding the paper once, he handed it to his new hire, who opened it rather suspiciously.

“Oh.”

“I expect that’s reasonable.”

“It is, but—”

“As I mentioned in my ad, there will be an increase dependent on how the relationships progress. We can discuss that further if you accept the position.”

“Sure, of course. I appreciate the offer—”

“Don’t answer now.” He interrupted, suddenly nervous he’d scared her off before she even started. Or maybe the number he’d written down wasn’t high enough. “You should always take your time replying to business offers even if you already know how you’re going to respond. If you say yes, you’ll look desperate. If you say no, you’ll seem ungrateful for the opportunity. Never appear ungrateful. Call me by close of business tomorrow with your answer.”

“Uh … Okay.”

He stood and reached for her hand. That was what one did at the end of a business meeting, after all, but he knew it was an excuse to see if her skin was really as soft as it appeared.

She seemed startled at his outstretched limb. It took her a second to put her palm in his. When she did, when their flesh touched, Blake could swear he felt a spark. Not like the shock of electricity from rubbing your feet across the carpet, but a mingling of energy. The warmth traveled through him, spreading into every part of his body.

He was too stunned to let go.

Blake met the eyes of his soon-to-be employee. Their already dark shade seemed darker, and the small part of her mouth suggested a silent gasp. That meant she felt it.

Andrea was the one to break the spell. “Excuse me, I do have another question now.”

Sprung back to reality, Blake dropped her hand. Probably a little too eagerly. “Yes?”

Drea bit her lip. “Why are you offering the job to me? Am I the only person who applied?”

He considered telling her it was her qualifications, which was partly correct. It would be the nice thing to say, the honorable thing. It would be appropriate, too.

He’d never tell her the real truth—that she intrigued him and beguiled him and he couldn’t imagine letting her walk out the door, never to be seen again.

He settled on another answer, no less true, and decidedly dickish. “You’re the only applicant who hasn’t offered to be my wife rather than search for one. And from our interview here, I gather that filling that role doesn’t hold any interest for you.” The last comment should ensure that passing sparks and longing gazes did not occur in the future.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Excellent.” And it was, but she didn’t have to look quite so horrified at the thought.

Chapter Three

Andy paused outside the heavy wooden doors of the temp agency and smoothed down her pencil skirt. After a long night of practice-interviewing with Lacy, she felt more than ready to nail this. Temping for a few businesses would provide the references missing on her résumé. Not to mention the networking opportunities. She hadn’t exactly been Max Ellis’s most popular employee. Because of the nature of her position, everyone assumed she was spying on them and reporting everything back to the boss.

Everyone was right.

Still, it had stung when not a single co-worker had reached out in the aftermath of her departure. It also confirmed that she wouldn’t be using any of their names on her résumé. Hence the rigorous paces her sister put her through planning just what to say to explain her gaps.

She threw back her shoulders and stalked into the office with confidence. A pretty brunette looked up from behind the desk and smiled.

“Welcome to Spencer and Colt Staffing Solutions. How may I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Andrea Dawson, and I have an interview with Denise at nine.”

“Have a seat, Ms. Dawson. She’ll be with you shortly,” the brunette told her. “Can I offer you some tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, please. Thank you. I didn’t have time to stop on my way over.”

The receptionist stood up, revealing a slender figure in a slim-fitting mauve sheath. She was tall, even without the strappy heels. Donovan would love her.

Oh, God, what am I thinking? Andy shook her head. The whole scene yesterday had left a bad taste in her mouth. All the more reason to rock this preliminary interview and start getting matched up for jobs.

“Here you are, Ms. Dawson, and Denise will see you now. If you’ll follow me?” Andy collected the steaming cup and her leather notebook case, stood up, and trailed the woman back to a small conference room. It was cramped, and standard—the exact opposite of yesterday’s luxurious surroundings. She felt more comfortable already.

“Ms. Dawson. Have a seat. Close the door, Evelyn,” said the woman at the head of the table without bothering to rise.

“You must be Denise. It’s nice to meet you. Call me Andrea, please,” Andy said, setting down her things and extending her hand. Denise ignored it. She removed the reading glasses perched on the end of her nose and stared silently. Andy stared back, smile fading, unsure of what was happening. The woman in front of her was angular and sharp, graying blond hair scraped back into a severe bun. She looked pissed. Andy wondered if she wasn’t supposed to have brought her coffee into the room. She sat slowly, two seats down from Denise.

“Denise Thornton, Ms. Dawson.” She said her last name as if Andy might know it, but she’d never met the woman in her life. Perhaps it was simply the power of her position talking.

And since there was power to Denise Thornton’s position, Andy wasn’t above butt-kissing. “An absolute pleasure to meet you. You have a very lovely name.”

Denise narrowed her eyes almost to the point of scowling. Maybe she wasn’t fond of her name. Andy had better stick with Ms. Thornton then.

“You’ve been out of work awhile,” Denise said, glancing at Andy’s résumé. “Tell me, what kind of position are you looking for?”

“An office setting.” Except she didn’t want to be the person who emptied the trash and watered the plant, so she added, “Administrative.”

“I see.”

The woman took no notes, which bothered Andy in the same way it bothered her when a waiter didn’t write down her order. Invariably, the food came out wrong, her side salad missing the extra croutons or her sandwich layered with tomatoes when she specifically said to leave them off. Andy hoped this wouldn’t prove to be a similar situation.

Denise tilted her head and scowled some more—something she was rather good at. “Exactly what do you think qualifies you for an administrative position, Ms. Dawson?”

Andy had already written this all out on her paperwork, but she answered as she had when practicing with Lacy. “I have above-proficient computer skills. I’m organized and detail-oriented. Plus, I have a knack for reading people and determining their benefit or hindrance in a corporate setting. That’s what I did for a number of years in my previous job, as you can see from my résumé.”

Denise’s eyes remained glued to Andy’s. “Oh, yes, I know. My husband, Bert Thornton, is an associate at Ellis Investments.”

“Oh.” Things were starting to click. And her stomach, along with her hopes, was starting to sink. “Oh,” she said again, this time with less surprise and more dread.

Bert Thornton was a good guy. A great guy, even. He spoke of his wife and two sons often. The boys, twins, were blond, handsome, and star soccer players at the local high school. The wife … Andy hadn’t paid much attention to his stories about her, except to note that it was awfully cute to see a middle-aged man dimple up like that while speaking of his wife of twenty years. He was obviously happy with his life.

The problem was just that, at Ellis Investments, happiness was not considered a valuable trait. Three times during her tenure, Bert Thornton’s name had come up for a promotion. Three times, Andrea Dawson had recommended that he be turned down. Bert Thornton wasn’t hungry enough.

Kevin Weber, who showed up before the secretaries to do research each morning on new accounts, who occasionally was found to have slept at his desk to complete a project, who had a mild heart attack at age twenty-six that prompted him to give up smoking, but not eighteen-hour days—that guy was hungry.

JJ Ballon, the guy who openly discussed his love of high-end escorts with junior partners because dating would have taken time away from his career—that guy was hungry.

Hannah Wang, the radical feminist and PETA activist who frankly scared the shit out of the entire firm with her zeal to prove women could work harder, faster, and better than their patriarchal oppressors—she was hungry.

Each time Bert Thornton’s name was raised, Andy had recommended one of the others instead.

So the great family guy, avid Red Sox fan, and two-time winner of the HOA lawn award was left behind as the younger, angrier, more driven associates moved up. It sucked, but that was the culture at Max Ellis. And everyone knew that culture was bolstered, if not built entirely, on Andy’s suggestions.

Now here it was to bite her in the ass.

“I’m afraid, Ms. Dawson, that with your lack of real credentials and real-world skill set, I can’t offer you any positions in a corporate environment.”

Fuck. Okay, get a read on her and figure out how to make it work. Deference. She’s in charge here, just take a little abuse and let her get it out.

“That’s fine, Denise. Mrs. Thornton. I’m willing to work my way up. I can start in an administrative assistant capacity, it’s something I’ve done before … how are your boys, by the way?” She received a cold stare in response.

“Jason and Steven were both accepted to Ivy League schools. Due to financial concerns, they both chose to attend community college for their first two years and deliver pizzas to help bulk up their college funds for their undergraduate studies. It’s also helped to have them contribute to the household.”

Andy had no idea what to say that wouldn’t make this situation even more uncomfortable, so she wisely said nothing. She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. Never, ever during her time at Ellis had she considered the real-life ramifications of her recommendations.

Maybe it wasn’t Max that was to blame for her bad karma, but herself.

“As I was saying,” Denise continued, “I do have two positions open at current that would suit your résumé. The first is at Skybar.”

The exclusive Pierce Industries club downtown? It’s not an office, but I could hostess for a bit, if I get to hobnob with the clientele they pull.

“Their second-shift bathroom attendant is on maternity leave.”

It was impossible for Andy to keep the look of contempt off her face.

“No? All right, the only other position I need an unskilled laborer for is with a local landscaping company. You would be required to do a moderate amount of physical labor, as well as work unusual hours and weekends. Is that something you could handle?”

Andy took a deep breath. She could quit her hot yoga classes and save that money while still getting a workout in. Maybe learn a thing or two about growing plants instead of just killing them. “I believe I can handle that, ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Denise Thornton smiled a wolfish grin, and played her trump card. “Mataya Landscape and Design’s primary client is Ellis Investments. You can report to the building at four a.m. tomorrow. Won’t it be nice revisiting your old stomping grounds? I imagine you’ll run into quite a few former co-workers. Wear blue jeans, you’ll receive a company T-shirt as well, the cost of which will be deducted from your first paycheck.”

Andy’s eyes widened. This woman was good. Would have far outranked her husband, if she’d worked for Ellis, in fact. Unfortunately the balance of power was rather different right now.

“If neither of these options feels … suited to your profile, of course you are welcome to take your résumé to another temp agency. I have personally taken the liberty of sharing what I know about you with every staffing solution business in town that caters to Boston’s high-end firms. We are a very supportive community, you know.”

Andrea was not at all happy to discover that Blake Donovan’s Order-a-Bride offer had suddenly become her most appealing option, and yet it was a relief to be able to assure Ms. Thornton that she had decided to accept a different offer, and could see herself out. Not that anything was going to make her feel any better about herself at this point. She’d always thought Max Ellis was a shitty human being. It had never occurred to Andy that she was as bad as him. It was only out of love and respect for Lacy that she was able to keep the tears in as she called her sister to report back.

That lasted right up until she heard her sister’s voice, then she lost it.

“Andy, calm down. I can’t even understand you. Did you not get in with the agency?”

“I have twenty emergency dollars in my purse. I’m buying french fries and ice cream,” she sniffled in response.

“How could things possibly have gone that badly, good God! We practiced. We practiced all fucking night. What the hell did you say to them? Wait, did you say french fries?”

*   *   *

Halfway through the best meal the girls had enjoyed in a week—the handfuls of crispy fries perfectly salted, cherry ice cream eaten straight from the tub—things started to look up.

“Look, Andy. You know how desperate this is. But it hasn’t been totally fair of me to ask you to start supporting us with no notice, either. I can look for something else part-time, too. I still remember how to bartend. It’s been the lot of musicians forever, not to mention good song fodder.” This time Andy’s tears were of gratitude.

“No, Lace, I’m not going to let you work multiple jobs while I sit around. I can suck it up and take the Donovan job.” Ouch, it hurt to say that.

“No way … From what you told me, you’re way too good for him. Just because we need the money doesn’t mean you need another Ellis in your life. No one treats my big sis like that. Well. Not anymore.”

“Thank God, you agree.” She detested the idea of working for that man. Thinking about it made the fries and ice cream in her stomach want to come back up. She would have taken the position, though, if Lacy had insisted.

But she hadn’t.

“Hey, remember how you got our rent lowered the time you told the landlord he was taking his divorce out on the female inhabitants of our building?”

“Yeah.” That had been a gamble, but one that had been worth it. The landlord in question has postured big, but when Andy read him like a book—a heartbreaking book, but a book nonetheless—he’d teared up, apologized, and, instead of raising the rent by thirty percent as threatened, lowered it by a hundred bucks a month. That paid for two weeks’ groceries, with no more work than a simple Freudian analysis.

“Or when you convinced Mom and Dad to let us spend that spring break in Florida without them?”

“Probably my finest moment, Lace.” That one had been inspired, Andy had to admit. Knowing how adamant their parents were on college, Andy had woven a story about self-reliance, common sense, and adventure that had their strict parents practically falling over themselves in their haste to send the girls off to Panama City Beach.

That they had spent their vacation vomiting and wishing Mom was there was beside the point.

So Lacy wasn’t going to force the Donovan job, thank goodness.

Andy would take another one of the less desirable options before her, which, compared with working for Blake Donovan, seemed like an exec position at The Boston Consulting Group. “Then I can wait tables while I look for something permanent.” She squirted some mustard into her ketchup and stirred it into an orange puddle with a burnt fry. “That might work better anyway. We need cash before two weeks from now if this isn’t going to be our last hot meal until then.”