Chapter 2 THE WAIT

CHAPTER 2

THE WAIT

JOANNA

I could feel her questioning gaze on me. "And the boyfriend," I said, hoping to clear the air. I tried not to think about Jarrod when I could avoid it, but sometimes, he just got stuck in the back of my head, and I had to force myself to remember that he had nothing to do with the way I lived my life now.

"And since then?" she asked. "Where have you been working?"

"Mostly short-term jobs," I said. "I did some work as a waitress a few months ago, just for a couple of weeks. Then I was a temp at an office for a little bit, so I know how all of this stuff works-"

I gestured around myself, knowing that I must be coming off as a complete amateur but hoping that my honesty would set me up for something at least. I knew that it would be difficult for her to look at me and take me at all seriously, given all that I had just told her, but I had to try.

Trying was all the last couple of years had been for me honestly. Just trying, pushing, and hoping that something was going to change if I just kept my head down and kept working, even when it felt like everything was going to come falling apart at the seams all over again.

"But nothing long term since your work at the art gallery?" she asked.

I shook my head. "And it's not around anymore, so I can't even give you a reference. I'm so sorry."

"That's all right," she replied, and she seemed to mean it. Most of the time, when I ran down these aspects of my past, the interviewer would hit me with one of those hard stares that would let me know that I was already out of the picture for what they were looking for. And that just broke something in me no matter how hard I try to ignore it.

But she seemed sweet. Not totally dismissive at least. I couldn't help but feel a little awkward when I thought about the way I had just spilled my whole life story to her, but I didn't want anything to come up later that might cost me the job. Honesty up front. That was the policy, right?

And to my surprise, this woman carried on the interview like none of my patchy past seemed to matter at all. She chatted to me warmly about the company, about everything they did, and I listened and tried to respond with the right stuff as best I could.

I liked her actually and was surprised by that. She was the first woman who had conducted one of the interviews I'd been on over the last couple of weeks, and I was sure that had something to do with it.

Maybe she saw some version of herself in me. Maybe she had been screwed over by an asshole ex at some point in her past and felt a little sympathy for what I had been through with mine. Whatever it was, she seemed to take to me pretty well, and I found myself enjoying the conversation, relaxing a little, and managing to get in a few jokes to demonstrate my sense of humor.

Maybe she was the head of HR or something. Yes, that would make sense. The questions she was asking seemed to imply that the job was something close to simple. She asked about my communication skills, my comfort with technology, stuff like that. So maybe I would be helping run a mail room? Working at reception?

Nothing I couldn't handle. That was what mattered, of course. After all this time looking for a job, I couldn't help but dread the thought of having to head back out there on to the market to try my luck a little further. Job hunting, I had discovered, was about as fun as dating had turned out to be. Though at least I wasn't relying on the men I went to dinner with to pay my rent as well.

"Thanks for coming in today," she told me once the interview had drawn to a natural close.

I glanced at the clock on the wall above her and was surprised when I saw that nearly a half hour had passed. Normally, I was counting down the minutes of these things with total dread, ready and waiting to get out so I didn't have to worry about wearing these scratchy stockings or ill-fitting shoes a moment longer. But this woman had made me forget all about that for a change, and I was more grateful for that than she could know.

"No, thank you for meeting with me," I replied at once, and I extended my hand to her this time, taking the initiative.

She took it and smiled at me. "You'll be hearing from us soon," she promised. "Have a safe journey home, all right?"

"Thank you," I gushed. "Thank you so much. If you need anything..."

"We'll be in touch," she replied.

I nodded and pressed my lips together before I came out with anything else that would make me look like even more of an overenthusiastic fool than what I had just said.

She walked me to the door, we said our farewells, and by the time I stepped out onto the street, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

I couldn't believe it. I had actually done it. Not just gotten through the interview but actually done well at it. I didn't know how long I would have to wait to hear just how well I had done, but at least I was walking out of there feeling a hell of a lot lighter than I had on the way in. That had to count for something, right?I hope I was able to breath by the time the inevitable rejection letter came through. Most likely due to my past run in with the criminals I worked with.