Three Broken Promises (One Week Girlfriend #3)(24)
Author: Monica Murphy

“So you’re holding that against me.” His gaze cuts to the windshield and he looks at the restaurant, lost in thought.

I become lost in thought too. I’m a confused mess of emotions when it comes to Colin. Mad, sad, frustrated, aroused—I’m experiencing all of that at this very moment. It’s the craziest thing. All my anger dissipates the longer I look at him. Studying his beautiful face, that firm jaw I long to trace with my lips, his perfect mouth I yearn to kiss . . .

“I want to prove you wrong.” His deep, determined voice breaks through my clouded brain, startling me. “I can’t take away my past. I can’t fix the things I’ve done to you and your family.”

Frowning, I shake my head. “Things you’ve done to me and my family? What are you talking about?”

“I promised them I would take care of you. I promised your brother.” Grimacing, he waves a hand, dismissing my question and his way-too-vague answer. “You want to start a new life and I’m not going to stop you. You deserve happiness, Jen. And if being where you are now doesn’t make you happy, then you need to go out and find that happiness. You deserve it.”

I press my lips together, foolishly overcome by what he’s said. We’re sitting in the parking lot of a lame restaurant having this profound conversation and it feels surreal. Makes me wonder if I’m making a huge mistake, leaving him. Leaving everything I know behind so I can forge a new start in life for . . . what? A change? A challenge? To escape my past?

My past is creeping up on me and bleeding into my present more and more. That’s enough to make me want to run and hide.

Reaching behind me, I rub my nape, brushing against the healing scabs on my butterfly tattoo with my fingers. Touching it grounds me, reminds me that I’m changing my life for the better. I’ve been thinking about Danny a lot lately. How he wouldn’t want to see me miserable. How he wouldn’t want to see Colin miserable, either.

It makes me wonder if spending so much time with each other is exactly what’s making us so miserable . . .

“Let’s go get lunch,” I say softly, desperate to change the subject before I say something really stupid. “I’m starving, and my interview’s in little over an hour.”

Without looking at me, he reaches for his door handle. He’s just about to open the door when I touch him, my fingers curling around his forearm. “Thank you,” I murmur.

He turns to look at me over his shoulder. “For what?”

“For encouraging me.” I don’t want to let him go. His arm is pure muscle and sinew, and I can feel the soft hairs tickling my fingertips. Dropping my gaze, I study his big hand, those long, capable fingers.

“I’d do anything for you, Jennifer.” I jerk my head up when he calls me by my full name, my startled gaze meeting his. “Someday I hope you’ll realize that.”

Chapter 10

Jen

“So you’re currently a waitress.” The woman glances over my application, her mouth screwed up in distaste.

I sit across from her, a narrow table dividing us. The interview is for a personal assistant to the vice president of an advertising agency. We’re in a tiny meeting room of some sort and I swear their air conditioner is broken. The air in the room is practically stifling and I’m tempted to fan my face for some sort of relief, but I restrain myself. “I am.”

She switches to look at my résumé, the one I’d agonized over for hours a few days ago, when I lined up these interviews. Fable helped me with it. Even Owen made a few contributions; the kid is surprisingly good in English and he spotted some mistakes.

But she barely looks at it, lifting her head to pin me with an assessing stare. “Almost all of your work experience is in the food industry.”

“It’s what I know, yes, but I’m more than willing to learn.” I lean across the table, ready to launch into the speech I’d practiced in my head during the drive here, ready to bust out all of those impressive words that will no doubt push her into hiring me on the spot. At least, I hope. “I’m new to the area and am looking to line up a position with potential to grow. I’m a quick learner and I really need this jo—”

“Do you know Microsoft Office?” she interrupts.

I press my lips shut, swallowing my speech. “Some.” It’s an exaggeration. Well, I can use Word, but nothing too fancy.

“Specifically Excel? I’m in constant need of spreadsheets.” She smiles, but it’s not genuine. She knows she’s got me. “How about PowerPoint? We give a lot of presentations here.”

“I . . . I can take a class,” I offer weakly, wincing. Local community colleges offer those sorts of courses all the time and I’m dying to go back to school. Once I can afford it . . .

“I appreciate the offer.” The smile turns condescending, just like that. Ouch. “We’ll be in touch.”

That’s it? I watch her stand and I do the same, pushing away from the table and bringing myself to my feet as if I’m in a daze. I shake her hand and she practically shoves me out of the building.

And I thought the last interview had been bad. At least that man had given me a solid ten minutes of his time, listing the duties of the receptionist position I was interviewing for, his gaze straying to my br**sts every few seconds, which kinda creeped me out.

Okay, fine, it really creeped me out.

It’s not as if I’m dressed indecently or anything. Straight black skirt and heels, a white, sleeveless shirt with a delicate lace collar and pretty little pearl buttons that run down the front. My hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail, and the pearl earrings my grandma gave me for Christmas when I turned thirteen dot my ears. Respectful, earnestly-looking-for-a-job clothes, and the guy still leers at me.

I can’t win for trying.

Breathing deep, I walk across the hot parking lot, the heat from the sun seeming to radiate upward from the asphalt in waves. I head toward Colin’s car, determination filling my steps. I refuse to get upset, but talk about disheartening. Every interview I’ve had today, including the spontaneous one I’d stumbled upon while at the restaurant waiting to be seated, ended badly.

I’d overheard the man in the restaurant saying he needed a marketing assistant and I’d barged right into his conversation, turning it into an appointment so we could talk more after I finished eating. I’d had the interview not even an hour ago with the gentleman, who ran a marketing firm, and it turned into a bust.