Billionaire's Second Chance

“You need more wi

ne.” Caroline refilled my glass and then poured some more in her own. “Listen, Daisy. You can’t let this derail you. I know it sucks. And I’ll help you out however I can, okay? I can ask around and see if anyone knows of any openings. Or . . . maybe you should go to grad school. Now might be a good time.”

“I’m not going to enroll in an MFA program now,” I said. “That would be a huge waste of money that I don’t even have. I mean, so was four years of college to get a creative writing degree. I should have listened to my mother.”

It had been a while since my mother and I last talked, mostly because I’d chosen to study creative writing, with a minor in English. She wanted me to do something practical; she didn’t want to spend the money on something that may or may not pan out in the end. And since I hadn’t yet written the Great American Novel and made millions of dollars, clearly getting a degree in creative writing had been a waste of money. My mother had her Ph.D. in psychology and was a professor at Boston University. I knew that at the very least, she thought I should get a teaching position, even if the pay for a public school teacher was pretty terrible.

“There’s probably not going to be a totally perfect time to go back to school, you know,” Caroline said. “There’s always going to be some sort of challenge. And so maybe you have to take out some loans. Most of us do.”

“I’d consider it if it was for something a little more concrete. If I go get an MFA, the most I could reliably hope for is some teaching position, but then again, who knows since I’ve only published a few short stories in completely obscure literary journals?”

Caroline frowned, trying to come up with something to dispute me with. She started to say something but then stopped, took a sip of her wine.

I could hear my phone ringing. I was tempted to ignore it, but decided at the last second to at least look and see who was calling. It was a number, not a name, that appeared on the screen, but I recognized the number: Ian’s. It was the number he had just called me on.

“It’s Ian,” I said.

“Pick it up,” Caroline said immediately.

I hesitated as the phone continued to ring in my hand.

“Pick it up!” Caroline said again. “Before it goes to voicemail.”

I didn’t want to pick it up, though. I’d felt bad enough talking to him the first time; I didn’t want to have to talk to him again. There was something unnerving about the way he had of looking at you. Jonathan had prepped me before the interview: Ian’s a great guy. He can be a little intimidating if you’ve never dealt with him before, but he’s a really good guy. And since Annie left the office has been a mess, so we REALLY need someone. You’ll be perfect. The way he’d said it made me feel like I’d been a shoe-in for the job, yet obviously, that wasn’t the case.

What I hadn’t been prepared for was how good-looking he was; Jonathan hadn’t mentioned that part. Though I suppose he wouldn’t have. Guys probably didn’t talk about that sort of thing the way girls did. So I had felt totally nervous and was probably talking a little too much to try to cover up my nervousness, but his looks and the way he had of gazing at you did not make me feel entirely comfortable.

“It’s good news,” Caroline said, reaching over to snatch the phone out of my hand. She answered. “Hello, this is Caroline. Did you want to talk to Daisy? Hold on one sec.”

She held the phone out to me. Caroline could be kind of psychic sometimes—though not all the time; she had encouraged me to go to Amanda and tell her what Rosie had been doing, saying that everything was going to work out if I did, she just knew it. Reluctantly, I took the phone from her and put it up to my ear.

“Hello?” I said. “This is Daisy.”

“Daisy, it’s Ian Roubideaux again. Sorry for the bombardment of calls. Listen, I’d like to offer you the job if you’re still interested. If not, I understand.”

“Of course I’m still interested,” I said, and Caroline’s eyebrows shot up and she grinned, giving me a thumb’s up. “But . . . what happened? Did the other person not work out?”

“Something like that,” he said. I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “So, if you’d like to pick a time in the next couple of days to come in, that’d be great. I’ve been the one manning the office for the time being, so things are a bit chaotic. Which is where you come in. And I did like what you had to say about organization. I think you’ll be a good fit here.”

“Well . . . thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Is tomorrow okay? I can come in tomorrow.”

“You’re a go-getter, aren’t you?” he said. I couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a compliment or not.

“Um . . . yes,” I said. “I can be. Is eight o’clock good?”

He coughed, or maybe he was trying not to laugh. “Eight? No. If you come down here at eight, you’ll be waiting around for a while. We don’t get things started in the office until nine, nine-thirty. Why don’t we say ten o’clock, just to be on the safe side.”

“Ten,” I repeated. “Sure. I’ll be there at ten.”

When I got off the phone, Caroline was looking at me, a big grin on her face. “Was I right?” she finally said. “That sounded good! That sounded like you’ve got a job!”

“You were right.” I nodded and looked at the phone, wanting to feel as excited as Caroline was. She held her wine glass up to me.

“Well, cheer up then, buttercup! You’ve got a job! That’s fanfuckingtastic!”

I forced a big smile, because she was a right—this had been a rather unexpected turn of events, and for once, it was good. I should be happy about it. I held up my own glass and we clinked them together.

“Cheers,” Caroline said. “I knew this would work out for you.”