The Fortunate Ones

He arches his brow. “Do you know of any?”

My stomach drops. We’re joking around, but still, the thought of setting him up with someone else isn’t funny yet. I refuse to drop the cool-girl act though, so I force a laugh.

“Maybe you should just post a job opening through your business—or better yet, make a Tinder account. Slap on a photo with you wearing a suit, maybe link to this address, and make sure to mention that annoying little dimple that appears when you really think something is funny.”

His gaze is hot on the side of my face when he replies. “Thanks for the advice.”

A car honks out front.

It’s time to leave.

“Thanks for the ride. Sorry about your car.”

He smiles. “Thanks for the talk. Sorry about your bike.”

“Is that what it was? A talk? It felt more like a therapy session.”

“If that’s how you feel, you should come back for another appointment, lie down on my couch…”

I roll my eyes.

“I’ll see you at the club,” I counter, taking one last look at him as he holds the front door open for me.

Though, for sanity’s sake, I hope I don’t.CHAPTER TWELVE“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

The question snaps me out of my brief reverie and I straighten in my chair, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles out of my skirt. It’s the second time someone has asked me that recently, and my answer is the same.

“Ideally, I’d like a long-term position with a family either here in the States or somewhere abroad.”

The woman sitting across from me —Mrs. Lancing—smiles and glances back down at her clipboard. She’s been interviewing me for the last 30 minutes, making her way down what I presume is a list of a million and one questions. We’ve gone through the gritty details about my resume and experience. I recounted the work with my last family, careful to leave out the irksome details of my departure. Still, Mrs. Lancing is curious.

“Was there any reason that position didn’t work for you?”

I smile sweetly, trying hard to keep my focus on her and not the large mounted moose behind her head. Their entire house is filled with animal carcasses, mainly deer heads and elk antlers. On the way to the sitting room where we’re conducting the interview, I had to walk past a taxidermied black bear twice my size. Apparently Mr. Lancing is a big game hunter, a masculine hobby I can only assume helps him compensate for a particular anatomical shortcoming.

I swear the moose’s eyes follow me when I shift in my seat and reply, “Not at all. I loved Sophie—my student—and I had a very professional relationship with her mother, Ms. Bannon.”

She sets her clipboard down on her lap. “Then why aren’t you still working there?”

I swallow hard. “Ms. Bannon asked me to leave. She felt there was no longer a need for—”

Her smile falls. “You were terminated.”

“Well…yes. I was fired, but not for reasons on my end.”

Her eyes narrow.

“If you call Beatrice at the agency, she can fill you in on all the details—”

“Of course. I’ll give her a call.” She smiles, just to save face, and then she stands, signaling the end of the interview. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Ms. Davenport.”

I stand and shake her hand, fully aware that I will not be getting the job all thanks to that five letter word: F-I-R-E-D.

She offers to show me the way out, but I tell her I’m fine on my own. I can’t stand another minute of small talk, especially if she’s not even going to offer me the job at the end of it. I’m frustrated that another potential position fell through my fingers because of this bizarre black mark on my record—although, would I really want to work for a family crazy enough to fill their house with dead animals? Stop killing bears, you psychos.

Outside, the bike I borrowed from one of my roommates sits on the sidewalk waiting for me. The neighborhood where the Lancings live is so nice that I didn’t even bother locking it up. Unfortunately, it’s also about a 30-minute bike ride from where I live, and worse, it’s hilly. I had to wear nice clothes for my interview, and while I strip off my blazer and stuff it in my purse, I’m still left in my skirt and blouse. At least I thought ahead and packed tennis shoes.

I know I could call an Uber and save myself from biking home in a Texas sauna, but money is tight at the moment. I’m trying to save up as much as I can, just in case I never find another tutoring position, not to mention the fact that I need a new bike since my old one was turned into an aluminum pretzel. I’m assuming it’s beyond repair, as I haven’t spoken to James since the night of the accident. One week and two days, but who’s counting? I figure he would have reached out if there were any part of my bike worth salvaging.