“As in a job recruiter?”
“Not exactly. Recruiters are employees who hire people only for their company. Think of me as more of a matchmaker, only for employment. Companies pay me to find candidates who will best fit the positions they’re wanting to fill.”
“Is that what you went to school for?”
“I tried college. Even made it through a few years. I quit when my dad… Forget it. We said we wouldn’t talk family.”
“I never went to college. Waste of time, if you ask me.”
“You don’t need a degree to fly?”
“Not to get a license. Most commercial employers would require one, but I don’t plan to fly commercially.”
“Yet you got your commercial license.”
“I had the time. Tell me more about your job. How does someone become a head hunter?”
“It wasn’t something I set out to do. I waitressed. Worked at a country club driving the beer cart. Was a receptionist for a construction company. But I knew they were all temporary. I started applying for jobs I thought could turn into a career, but I never got a second interview. I thought it was my lack of education. So after the tenth rejection, I called them all back and asked them to be frank about what I was lacking. When a few of them spelled it out for me, I felt like they were describing some friends of mine, so I encouraged those friends to apply. They ended up getting hired. So I kept going on interviews, getting rejected, and finding friends who were a better fit. Before long, people were knocking on my door, begging me to find them jobs. Eventually, I went back to those employers, and some of them were nice enough to write me letters of recommendation for finding them the perfect candidates. I took those letters to small corporations and asked them if they’d give me a finder’s fee. Some agreed, and it kind of blew up from there.”
“A self-made woman. Impressive. But you can only have so many friends. How do you find people?”
“Research. These days, you can pretty much find out anything about anyone. I spend a lot of time looking into executives of random companies. I have a database of them. Qualifications, backgrounds, families, education, training. The more I do it, the easier it becomes.”
“So you poach people from one company and send them to another?”
“Basically. And sometimes I even go back to the first company and get hired to fill the position I stole from them. I call those twofers.”
A cow strolls up, investigating the chopper. Amber scrambles out of her seat, climbing over me to the far side while wincing in pain.
If I didn’t know her ankle was killing her, it might be funny. “She’s just curious. She won’t hurt you.”
“What if it charges us?”
“Cows don’t typically charge. Only bulls.”
“She’s staring at me.”
“She’s checking things out. This is her territory. She’s not used to seeing a helicopter in her pasture.”
“Wait. If cows are here, then cowboys will be close by. We’re saved!”
“While it’s possible a rancher could be nearby, they don’t typically hang around the herd unless they’re bailing hay or rotating them into pastures.” I pat her leg. “Don’t worry. Someone will find us sooner or later.”
She pulls her leg away. “I’m not worried.”
“Okay. Whatever.”
“What? I’m not.”
“So tell me, Amber Black, this promiscuity of yours… Just how slutty are we talking?”
Her eyebrows arch. “You want to compare numbers?”
I laugh. “Sure, why not? I’ve been with about seventy women. You?”
“I’ve been with one.”
For a moment, I’m confused, then realization dawns and my jeans get tight. “Oh, shit. I’m gonna need details.”
“I’ve never talked about it with anyone. Except Tag.”
“Tag?”
“My best friend.”
“You have a friend named Tag? What’d she do to get that nickname?”
“Tag is a he. And it’s his real name—Tag Calloway. Funny story. He accidentally fingered my butt once.”
“How do you accidentally finger someone’s butt? And why do I feel like you have lots of stories?”
“You have no idea.”
Suddenly, I find myself wanting to know everything about Amber Black.
Chapter Six
Amber
Quinn stares at me like a dog who wants a pat. “Tell me about Tag Calloway.”
“We grew up together. He was the first friend I made when we moved from White Plains to Calloway Creek.”
“Calloway Creek? Tag’s family owns the town?”
“Ha. Far from it. That’s another story I’ll tell you sometime. Tag and I did everything together—walked to school, got jobs at the movie theater, got our first piercings.”
“I assume you’re talking ears,” he says with a smirk. “I’d have found any others.”
“Ears for me. Nipples for him.”
“Ouch.”
“Women love it. Maybe even more than they love bruises.” I wink.
“Is that so?”
“Because we did everything together, we thought we’d try sex, you know, so we were better at it when it really mattered.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen. You?”
“Sixteen. So the finger in the butt?”
It’s still hard not to smile when I think of it. “We were young and inexperienced. So when he did it, I thought maybe that’s how it was done. We were in my basement. My dad interrupted us before we could go any further. The next time we were together, and he put his finger in my vagina, he commented how I must be more relaxed because it wasn’t as tight. I told him it’s because the time before, he put his finger in my butt. He was mortified at first, but soon we were laughing so much we cried. When he went to stick his dick in me, I told him to make sure he got the right hole. We still crack up over it to this day. It’s the one thing I can hold over him.”
“That’s hilarious. And much more entertaining than my first time.”
“I told you mine, now you tell me yours.”
“Libby Metzer. She was a year older and way more experienced. I think she made it her mission to deflower as many virgins as possible. The first time we were together, I blew my load before she even touched me.”
I cover my mouth and giggle. “How embarrassing.”
“Not as embarrassing as mistaking a butthole for a pussy.”
“Touché.”
“The second time we were together, she gave me a handy. I lasted about ten seconds. And when we finally did it, I think I lasted five. I followed her around like a puppy dog after that. I wanted more. She never gave it to me. She never gave it to anyone. More self-analysis—she’s the one who fucked me up and made it so I never sleep with a woman more than once.”
“Never?”
“I wouldn’t think that would be surprising to the nympho of Calloway Creek.”
“You don’t know me well enough to call me that.”