Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,4

elevated the tone in Wild Horse with the resort and the NFL and all. Possibly.

Probably not, though.

There had to be three hundred calories in each of those brownies. They weren’t just brownies with cream cheese swirled through it. Oh, no. They were fudgy brownies with a layer of cheesecake on top.

And she’d eaten so many of them. She’d put in a whole lot of extra time on the elliptical machine at the gym, working off her nerves, but still. That would take a lot of … ellipses.

Right. That was no more cheesecake brownies, then. Rigorous discipline.

“You have,” Blake said, and she thought, I have what? “You’ve outgrown Wild Horse, that’s for sure,” he went on. “Ever thought about Portland? And, yes, I’m paying you severance. Do me a favor.”

“Uh …” It took her a second. Maybe that was the relief. Or the panic. “Portland?”

“Yes,” he said patiently. “Portland. You know. Where I’m based. Where I used to work. Where I know people. I’d be offering you a job right now, but I’ve got an assistant there already.”

“Meredith,” she said.

“Want to work in development?” he asked. “We’re expanding. Maybe you’ve noticed. I could fit you in.”

“My grandpa …”

“You know what?” Blake said. “Dakota and I stopped by your house on the way here and had a talk with your grandpa. He says you should go for it. So let’s take that off the table. And Dyma’s going to the University of Washington in the fall, right? Early decision, so she’s all set.” He was talking right over her now. “Which is, let’s see, counting on my fingers … Oh, yeah. Two and a half hours from Portland.”

“Dyma doesn’t want me that close,” Jennifer said. “If she had her way, she’d be going to MIT, or the University of … somewhere ten thousand miles from here. Which is, of course, why I should be close, but never mind. I get it. Anyway, it’s Aeronautics and Astronautics. There’s a limited amount of trouble she can get into and still get that degree, and she wants that degree. Of course, she’ll probably get into every bit of that trouble, but like I said, never mind. My grandpa, though—of course he’s going to say I should go. His daughter died six months ago, though, and his only great-grandchild is leaving town the second she can. How’m I supposed to leave him, too?”

More panic. About all of it. Her life was changing too much, and now, she was going to have to absorb one more thing. She’d absorbed so much already, she felt like a sponge. At a certain point, you had to wring the sponge out.

“Generally,” Blake said, “you leave by walking out the door and closing it behind you. He sounded pretty insistent to me. Today is the first day of the rest of your life and all that. And again, it’s Portland, not Beijing. Six and a half hours in the car.”

“Besides,” she said, not deigning to answer that, “I don’t know Portland. A lot of getting things done, assistant-wise, is your contacts. And I don’t have any there.”

He sighed. “I might believe you more if you didn’t sound so triumphant about being so unqualified. It’s going to be some football player, not Jeff Bezos.”

“Jeff Bezos lives in Seattle.”

He waved a hand. “Who cares. It’s not him. The guy I find isn’t going to be that picky. He doesn’t know what to be picky about. Or if you want that office job, I’ll find it. Either in my company, or somebody else’s. Something with a future. Nothing easier, because in case I haven’t mentioned it, I’m a successful guy with successful-guy friends, and you’re good enough to work for any of them. So come on. Tell me. What is it really?”

She stared down at her skirt. It was a navy-blue check. She wore a lot of navy blue. Redhead. Slimming colors. Et cetera. The outfit was new, though, which meant she probably shouldn’t have spent money on it, because she’d known this was coming. Realistically, of course she’d known, and she was nothing if not realistic. The skirt was fitted at the top, then flared, and it hit above the knees for once, because her legs were her best body part. Other than her breasts, but you didn’t emphasize your breasts at work. Or ever, actually. She was wearing black tights with the skirt, though, because she was serious. An assistant. In the background. She rubbed the fabric between finger and thumb for