Horses were pretty. Sunsets, pretty. Crickitt was gorgeous.
She looked up at him, bright blue eyes at odds with her olive-toned skin. Surprise choked out his ability to speak, so he simply gestured at the guest chair in front of his desk.
Crickitt wore a boxy button-down shirt, simple pant, and plain, square-heeled shoes. A far cry from the skintight dresses and expensive pastel suits he saw around the office. Her plain-Jane neutrals may be dull, but the outfit wasn’t quite able to conceal Crickitt’s tempting curves. He’d bet twenty percent of his stock she had no idea how beautiful she was.
He was surprised he noticed. There wasn’t a shortage of women in August Industries dressing to get attention, arguably his attention. The woman who’d graced the same chair moments ago wore a dress so short and so low cut he could practically see her navel. And she didn’t stir anything within him save for irritation. Again he thought of Crickitt’s blond friend at the bar on Saturday, how he’d overlooked her blatantly flashy clothing because he’d been so taken with Crickitt.
He skimmed the bullet points on her résumé before dropping it on his desk. Her work record was patchy and varied. Crickitt hadn’t stayed anywhere for very long, with the exception of the last place she worked…what was it called? He lifted the paper. “Tell me about Celebration.”
Crickitt shifted in her seat. “Celebration is a direct sales company with a thirty-two-year history. They specialize in in-home demonstration and high-end home décor…”
He listened, duly impressed, as she described her former career. It wasn’t so much by what she said, but how she said it. Shane didn’t know much about direct sales, but he knew sales. And he knew salespeople. Unlike the pompous braggarts he’d had the privilege to encounter in his ten years of business, Crickitt shared her journey from sales consultant to one of Celebration’s top earners evenly, and without embellishment. She highlighted the skills pertaining to the position as his personal assistant. And while she never said it outright, Shane picked up on the ribbon of pride beneath her well-formed speech.
“Celebration might sound like a hobby, or a lonely housewife’s distraction, but direct sales is a respectable way to earn an income.” A note of defensiveness laced her tone, and he sensed she’d had this argument before.
Shane smiled. “Sounds like a real business to me.”
Crickitt’s shoulders relaxed.
“So, you made good money,” he said, “and loved what you did.” But she’d left out a key bit of information. “Why did you quit?”
* * *
Crickitt swallowed. Hard. She’d expected this question. Had prepared for it. There was a perfectly planned, politically correct answer poised on the tip of her tongue. But she didn’t say it.
“I’m divorced,” she blurted, peering through her lashes to gauge his reaction.
Shane nodded rather than comment and waited for her to go on. He was probably wondering what her divorce had to do with leaving her lucrative career. Some days she wondered the same thing.
“After he, I mean we”—she hastily corrected—“separated, I took inventory of my life.” Crickitt paused under the guise of clearing her throat, but really, she was giving herself a mental talking-to. Take inventory of her life? She sounded like one of the self-help books on her shelf at home.
If she continued in that direction, she might accidentally admit the truth. That her confidence had slipped more than a few notches since she and Ronald separated. Lately she’d begun suspecting the career she’d worked so hard to build had more to do with proving she could, rather than because it was what she’d wanted to do.
“It’s…disingenuous,” she started carefully, “to continue to do something when your heart is no longer into it. And working for one hundred percent commission has its challenges.”
Shane’s lips tipped into a soft, utterly distracting smile, and forced herself to look at her lap instead.
“I’m not who I was six months ago,” she said in a burst of honesty. She faced him. “I’m Crickitt Day, not Kitt Wachowski.”
There. That speech might sound like a two-dollar fortune, but it was the truth. She watched Shane’s eyebrows meet in the middle and held her breath while she waited for him to speak.
“You don’t look like a Kitt.” Shane grazed her with a glance, and she swore parts of her tingled wherever his golden eyes touched. “Those sound like valid reasons to change careers.”
“They do?” she couldn’t help asking. She’d been so used to defending herself, it was a little off-putting to hear him agree.