gave the same diagnosis, and life with Billy became unbearable. With no outlet for his pent-up anger on the football field, the beast that slumbered inside him came out at home. Playing in the NFL was all Billy had ever wanted to do, and now that he couldn’t, he took it out on me.
When the consequences of a stray speck of dirt were liable to hurt, a person became real good at cleaning, believe me. I was prepared for anything Michelle’s clients could throw at me. Literally.
She fished a package of cookies out of her drawer and offered me one before replying. They were the good kind with chocolate on them. Would it be greedy if I took two? Probably.
“Yeah, I reckon you’d be able to cope. Problem is, I haven’t got so much on the books at the moment. Kids are home from college for the summer, and they’ll work the low-end hotel jobs more cheaply than our staff. I’ve had to push more people over to the private side temporarily.” She smiled and pushed the cookies towards me again. “Things’ll pick up in a month or two.”
“I’ll be homeless before then.” I bit into a second cookie, holding a hand up to catch the crumbs.
Michelle tapped away at her computer for a few seconds. “There’s one possibility, but I’ll be honest. You’ve got a slim chance of landing the job. Still, you might as well have a shot at it, hun—you’ve got nothing to lose.”
A sliver of hope was better than none, and I grabbed at it. “What is it?”
“A full-time housekeeping job. Sounds straightforward, but I’ve sent twelve of my best people over so far, and none of them has gotten past the first interview.” She shook her head. “I’ve never had so much trouble filling a position before.”
“Why? Is the boss a complete ogre?”
She shook her head. “The company’s hired domestic staff for their executives from me in the past, and they’ve all raved about what a great place it is to work. It’s just difficult to get a foot in the door.”
“Could I put in an application? Like you said, I’ve got nothing to lose.”
“I’ll send off your details, hun. Keep your fingers crossed.”
Two days later, I was vacuuming up what appeared to be an entire package of chips from a motel room floor when my phone vibrated in my pocket. I stiffened as the screen announced Michelle was calling. Would it be good news or bad?
“Well, hun, you’ve got an interview.”
I let out a squeal, then clapped a hand over my mouth.
She chuckled. “You’re the thirteenth candidate.”
Gee, thanks for reminding me. “When? Where do I need to go?”
“Can you do tomorrow? You’ll be meeting the client’s assistant.”
“I’m free in the afternoon.”
“I’ll set it up.”
“Uh, I’ve never had a proper interview before—do you have any tips?”
All my jobs had come through word of mouth or popping into a bar or agency for an informal chat. What should I expect?
“Oh, just be yourself.”
Well, that was super advice. Being myself hadn’t gotten me very far yet, had it?
“Do you have any more details of the job?”
“My contact was a bit cagey with those. Apparently, you’ll discuss it during the interview.” Another phone rang in the background. “Good luck. I’ll text you later with the time and place.”
Having the interview so soon gave me little chance to prepare, but at least I had less time to get nervous. Actually, scratch that. I wasn’t nervous; I was terrified.
My hands trembled as I opened the door to the swanky office building downtown. The plaque outside listed an insurance company, a law firm, and a software business. Which of those would I be visiting? Michelle’s message just said to go to the desk in the lobby and ask for Bradley.
The perfectly groomed receptionist with her razor-sharp blonde bob made me feel like an impostor as I fidgeted in front of her.
“Uh, I’m looking for Bradley?”
“Lara Reynolds?”
“That’s right.”
“Take a seat, please.” She waved at a bank of cream leather chairs by the window.
I shuffled over and sank into one. What was I doing here? I didn’t belong. Not in my cheap white blouse and the thrift shop pants I’d worn to Momma’s funeral. They didn’t even fit properly now—I’d lost too much weight on my unwelcome diet, and they sagged around the middle. I peered at my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling glass. My hair desperately needed a cut, and a bunch of brown strands had escaped from my ponytail again. I tucked