All That Really Matters - Nicole Deese Page 0,22

her voice strained with a sincerity I would have doubted her capable of during our interview.

She swallowed, recovered, and then retreated a full step back, gripping the wooden handle of her purse with both hands. “I appreciate you telling it to me straight, though. I value learning from my mistakes.” She stopped suddenly and studied the intersection at the end of the hallway. “I’d also value you telling me how I might find my way out of this maze before my brother reports me as a missing person.”

“Two lefts and a right. The staircase will take you to the lobby. Glo can let you out, or . . . I actually have a minute now. I can walk you out.” I started toward her when she shook her head and waved me back.

“That’s okay. I got it.” Her smile left no doubt in my mind of how she’d attracted over half a million followers. It was worth that much, maybe more. “I’ll make sure to tell Miles you said hello.”

“Thanks,” I said, unsure of what else to say but positive I should be saying more than a monosyllabic word. Yet I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around what had just happened. I’d prepared for a defensive outburst, a vent of frustration at the very least. But not an apology. Not remorse.

A familiar tug of intuition surfaced as she walked away, one that had no right to be there. Not when I’d already crossed her name off as a mentor candidate.

Yet my disquiet persisted.

There was nothing inherently dangerous about the woman, unless one could count the level of distraction she would cause for the hormone-crazed males living on our premises. But even still, my decision to dismiss her was valid.

The instant I was back in my office, I opened my laptop and scanned my waiting emails without actually reading a word. Then I picked up the phone on my desk and punched in Glo’s extension. I would ask her to pull up the other background-checked women we had on file and schedule interviews for early next week, seeing as our summer program was officially as short on instructors as it was on time.

Glo answered without so much as a hello. “Ms. McKenzie just left.”

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“And . . . ?”

I clenched my jaw, released, and clenched again. “She’s not right for us.”

“Huh. That’s too bad. I liked her.”

“Liking her is not the issue. A lot of people like her.” Over half a million, in fact.

“Shall I add a new requirement to our application forms, then? ‘Must be unlikable.’”

“Glo.” I rubbed my left temple. “She’d be a constant migraine to manage.”

“Then don’t manage her. I will.”

A humorous remark, considering Glo’s responsibilities were already at maximum capacity, like the majority of our staff. “I’d rather focus on who we have on file already. Let’s make some follow-up calls, okay?”

“Alrighty.”

I set the receiver back in its cradle and closed my laptop with a heavy sigh. Rolling back in my chair, the toe of my shoe bumped the wastebasket housing Molly’s folder. And then, before I could stop myself, I reached down and lifted it out of the trash and placed it in the bottom drawer of my file cabinet.

6

Molly

A cascade of silky fabric shimmered over my hips as my hands reached for the sash at my natural waist. My fingers stilled on the knot as my mind added yet another class idea to a syllabus I’d never be allowed to write, much less teach from: Multifunctional Fashion—How to Get the Most Bang for Your Buck When Purchasing an Outfit. Most people struggled with how to take a simple article of clothing and either pair it down for a casual ensemble or, on the flip side, add a few meaningful accessories to dress it up a notch or two. One piece could easily serve multiple purposes. Surely not even Silas would criticize such a budget-friendly notion. Clothing one’s body could easily be categorized as both a critical need and a life skill, depending on the occasion.

“Molly? You there? Can you still hear me? Did we lose audio again?”

I fumbled to locate my phone, hidden under the last outfit I’d tried on in the tiny dressing room I currently found myself in. When I unearthed it, my assistant’s smiling face stared back at me. This was our standard practice, Val waking up early to hop on a video call with me while I tried on clothing options in a space suited for Polly Pocket.

“Sorry, yeah.