“I appreciate this information.”
“You’re more than welcome.” I end the call, wishing I could be a fly on the wall as they rewind the tapes from that night, as they call to ban Nate from ever stepping inside their club again.
Never being able to host his high-profile friends there will definitely bruise his ego.
And his reputation.
Crossing the first task off my list, I type in my mom’s number next. I’m not ready to call her from my phone just yet, and I’m still unsure of what to say.
Her line only rings once.
“Hello?” The soft sound of her voice makes my heart ache. “Hello?”
Hello…
“Is someone on this line?”
Yes.
“Um, hello? Are you there?”
‘There’…
Hearing her say that word locks up all the potential words in my throat. I’m instantly reminded of the night I called her during my rehearsal dinner, when I asked if Dad was ‘excited’ about the following day’s father-daughter dance.
The dance that never happened.
The day they never showed.
“You’ll be there for me, right?”
“If you don’t speak up, I’ll have to end this call.” She waits. “Hello?”
She ends the call, and I force myself to brush away those ugly memories.
I’ll have to attempt talking to her another day.
Looking over my makeup one more time, I step out and head to the main desk.
“Ah, Miss Autumn.” A man in a charcoal-colored suit greets me. “I’m Mr. Wells from the phone interview, and I’m glad you’re already here.”
I shake his hand, and he escorts me into a small office.
“We don’t have to do a full-blown interview today,” he says, handing me a folder. “We train everyone who passes the first-round check for two weeks and give you everything you need. Then you have to go over our policies and protocols to determine if this job is for you.”
“Sounds great.”
“Let me grab a binder for you while you think about the day that you can start training, Miss Autumn.”
“I’m willing to start as soon as possible.” I smile as he heads to the door. “And just so you know, my last name is Jane, not Autumn.”
“Autumn Jane?” He stops dead in his tracks. “Is that what you just said?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I see…” He turns around and then he snatches the folder from my hand. “I am so sorry. I’m afraid I spoke too soon.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not in a position to hire you right now, Miss Jane.” He holds out his hand for a parting shake. “But if anything should change, I’ll be the first to let you know.”
Huh? I cross my arms. “What’s happened between now and literally two seconds ago?”
“I realized that we already filled the position.” He attempts to smile and fails. “Silly me. That’s all.”
“I may be younger than you, Mr. Wells, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Yes, well…” He shifts his feet. “I can’t hire you and that’s that. My apologies for any inconvenience.”
“I don’t care about the inconvenience.” I narrow my eyes. “I want you to tell me why you’re pulling a sudden one-eighty.”
He ignores my comment and adjusts his tie. “If you like, I can keep you on our temporary reserves list. If all of our staff positions are ever depleted, you’re the first one we’ll call for a part-time job.”
“That sounds like lip-service.”
“Look,” he says, avoiding eye contact. “Our top donor and benefactor has alerted us about a certain conflict of interest.”
A chill runs up my spine.
“His name is Nathaniel Taylor.” He doesn’t give me a chance to ask. “When I called to verify your contacts and complete the background check, he sounded quite upset.”
“Nathaniel Taylor has nothing to do with how you run your business…” My blood boils, and I feel stupid for forgetting to remove him as an emergency contact. “You should hire whoever you want to hire.”
“I agree,” he says. “And since Mr. Taylor has informed us that his company’s yearly donation will be in jeopardy if I hire you, I have no desire to. Surely, you can understand that decision.”
I glare at him.
“On the plus side, he said that he has a job offer for you.” He gives me another fake smile. “I’m sure someone like him pays well and he’ll hire you right away.”
“You better hope like hell that he still has money to continue donating when I get done with him.” I walk past him, vowing to complete the rest of this week’s checklists the moment I get back to my suite.
By the time I make it to the hotel, the oversized lobby is completely empty and my duffle bags are sitting next to two huge trash bags.
What the hell? I approach the front desk. “Why is my stuff out here and not in my room?”
“Good evening, Miss Jane.” The manager smiles at me. “Unfortunately, we found a mold issue in your suite while you were gone, so we wanted to be sure that your things weren’t exposed to further contamination.”