“Oh yeah? What town?”
“Hill Point.” I answer instinctively even though his interruption threw me off my practiced spiel. “It’s south of here. Have you heard of it?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know the rest of Georgia very well. We moved here two years ago from Seattle.”
I file that piece of information away in my mind before I go on. “Hill Point has about seven thousand people. It’s definitely a small town. I lived there all my life, and my parents are still there.”
“The information packet I got on you says you’re working on your undergrad degree?”
“Yes. I started college right after high school. But my boyfriend at the time was two years older than me. When he graduated, we got married. I was only twenty. He was going to optometry school, and I…”
“You dropped out to get a job?”
“Yep. Someone had to support us. I assumed once he finished his degree, I’d be able to go back to finish college, but unsurprisingly, that’s not what happened. He joined a practice and made plenty of money, but we bought too expensive a house and ended up trapped in a lifestyle we needed my income to support. At least that was his reason for insisting I shouldn’t go back to college.” I tell him all this in a bland, uninflected voice, but it’s still such a humiliation. That I did it to myself. That I didn’t recognize how I was being used.
“You’re divorced now?” His eyes are focused on my face, as if he’s really listening. He’s not conveying sympathy or pity or condescension or anything else that would have embarrassed or annoyed me. It’s more like he’s simply interested.
“Yes. Thank goodness. He was working late one day about a year and a half ago, so I brought dinner to his office. Found him, uh, in the act with his assistant.” I shake my head. It still hurts, but the worst of the sting has faded over the months. Now it’s mostly mortifying that I wasn’t smarter. “It’s such a cliché. I know. But I guess clichés become clichés for a reason.”
“They do. You’re well rid of him.”
“Yes. I am. So I’ve been focused on putting myself back together and remembering who I am again. Part of that is finishing my college degree. I work for Companions for Hire for extra money. I didn’t accept any spousal support from him.”
Many people have told me I’m stupid for that choice, but everything connected with Nick is tainted, including his money. I don’t want any of it to touch me.
“You didn’t have children?”
“No. That’s the biggest blessing of the whole situation. I wanted kids but he didn’t, and now I’m so grateful for that fact. I can put him aside completely and cut every single tie. With kids, you just can’t do that.”
“No. You can’t.”
Something about his tone raises a question in my mind. Is he divorced from his wife, and did they have to handle custody of their daughter?
Maybe he read my mind, or maybe it’s a natural segue. He adds, “My wife died three years ago, so I haven’t been through a divorce.”
“Oh. That must have been really hard. Candice was only twelve then?”
“Yes. It was hard for both of us, but I think we’re doing all right now.”
I nod, wanting to ask more questions but holding them back. This conversation has taken a personal turn, and it’s supposed to be a job interview.
Maybe Hugh realizes it too. He clears his throat again and straightens up, taking a sip of the coffee remaining in his mug. “So have you worked with teenagers before?”
“Not really. My job while I was married was in a bookstore, and I moved up to manager level, so I had to supervise staff that included teenagers. But that’s as much work experience with them as I have.”
As soon as I say the words, I second-guess myself since I’m supposed to put on a positive, confident front and not downplay the experience I have.
“That’s something.” He glances down at his phone. I think at first he’s checking messages, but then he scrolls down on something and I realize it’s probably the information he received about me from Companions for Hire. “So you’ve worked there for several years.”
“Yes. I still do. I only do Companions for Hire for extra money since I’m new there and don’t get a lot of jobs.”
Shit. I did it again. The last thing I need to be doing is conveying the impression that I’m always chosen last.
Even if it happens to be true.
“You aren’t like the other two candidates I interviewed,” he says, setting down his phone. He lifts his eyes and scans my face closely. It feels like he sees way too much. “Have you traveled a lot?”
“Not at all.”
Damn it. There’s no way I’m getting this job.
“I mean, my folks took me and my sister on road trips and stuff as kids. And my ex and I would go to the beach every summer for a week. But he never wanted to travel internationally, so I never had the opportunity.”
Hugh nods thoughtfully. He slowly licks his lips with his tongue. It’s an idle gesture. Unconscious. Something he must do while he’s thinking. But for some reason, I find it mesmerizing. I watch his tongue make its slow slide along the top lip and then the bottom, and something clenches low in my belly.
I jerk my gaze away. I really can’t be thinking about him that way.
Not that I’ll be getting this position. Not when I’m bombing the interview this badly.
“What are you majoring in?” he asks after a minute.
“Business. I’m not sure exactly what I want to do, but I’m pretty good as a manager at the bookstore, so I figure a generic college degree can give me a leg up in some sort of job.” I sigh. “The truth is I don’t have any big ambitions. I’ve never had a specific career I dreamed about. I just want a job I’m good at that I don’t hate and one that will earn me enough money to support myself somewhat comfortably. I like working. I just don’t like working when it feels like a downward spiral into nothing productive.”
“That’s understandable. Who would want that?” His brows pull together, and he licks his lips again. This time I make a point of glancing away. “You can take a month off from your job at the bookstore?”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course. They have a lot of college students working for them who go home in the summer, so they’ve always been flexible that way. They like me and don’t want to lose me. They’ll work with whatever I need in terms of time.”
“I’d like to hire an intelligent, mature person for this position who’s had some life experience. And one who isn’t too… flashy.”
I suddenly perk up. I’m as un-flashy as it gets. Generally, I consider myself an attractive person. I’ve got red-blond hair, green eyes, regular features, and a build on the slimmer side of medium. I have no sense of style, so I usually wear basics in darker colors, but it’s more my personality than my appearance that isn’t showy. “That makes sense. With a teenage girl, I mean. I’ve never been flashy. In fact, my friends used to tease me about acting like an old lady—because I never liked to go out to drink and party like they did. And my ex would complain that I was boring because I prefer to stay home than go out.” Once again, I’m spilling far too much than is appropriate in a job interview, so I try to dial it back. “I think I’ve had a chaperone kind of personality all my life, is all I mean, which might work for your needs.”