His Fire Inside

***

It’s just after ten thirty in the morning when I call Rourke Vega. From the rasp of his voice you’d think it was three a.m. “This is Olivia Casey. Patricia gave me your number about a possible position.”

“Five o’clock, my office. I’ll text you the address.” Then he hangs up.

Wait? What? I roll my eyes. Asshole. He didn’t even stop to consider if I had plans. I’m just supposed to drop everything to meet with him. The guy isn’t helping his case. My phone chimes with a text. It’s from Vega. I recognize the address: it’s on South Lamar, a bit of a hike from where I am now in Round Rock.

With traffic during what would normally be called rush hour but is actually parking lot hours from four until seven in the evening, the trip will be at least forty-five minutes; even without traffic it’s a half hour. It might be quicker on I-35, but I never take it. Too many eighteen-wheelers jackknifed and flattened cars—it was how my mother died. I stick to Mo-Pac, Capital of Texas, 183 or the surface streets to get from North to South Austin. It doesn’t matter that Janice already stopped working and will be home with Skyler so I can meet him at five. He doesn’t know it, and to assume I’m working around his schedule screams Rourke Vega is a self-centered asshole.

Going through my closet, I’m not sure what to wear. I haven’t worn scrubs in almost a year. Skyler didn’t like me in scrubs, hating the way they reminded him I was here to take care of him. I’ve been in leggings and long comfy T-shirts for a while. What does one wear to meet with an asshole billionaire for a job interview?

I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the closet. Seriously, is that woman really me? There’s the olive skin tone from my Hispanic mother and the height of five six, taller than the five foot one of my mother, from my father of German and Scottish descent. I recognize the brown eyes and long brown hair, even the small nose and wide mouth, but those cheeks...I don’t remember them being so round. I don’t remember me being so damned round. A size sixteen, I’m a freaking size sixteen. In high school I was a ten and hated feeling fat then. Eighteen-year-old me would be having a tantrum. Twenty-eight-year-old me is grateful I haven’t gone up in over two years. I’ve managed to go down, but I only get into a fourteen for a few months before I go up again.

Flicking through my small selection of clothes, I sigh. Janice knocks on my door. I tell her to come in.

“Hey, Olivia. I’m trying to get rid of the seafood salad. Would you like some?”

“Sure, if you’ll tell me what you think I should wear to meet with Rourke Vega. His mom had a stroke recently and they’re looking for someone to live in.”

“Rourke Vega? So that’s who called me about you last night. Wow, the guy is a stunner—don’t tell Mark I said that. I met him once, I swear I couldn’t remember what I was going to say. It was so embarrassing. Let’s see. I love this dress on you, the boatneck is a little flirty, but with the long skirt and in black it’s still business enough for an interview.” She hangs it up on the closet door.

I follow her out of the room, into the kitchen. We sit down at the table and she sets out the seafood salad with some toasted French bread and sweet tea. “You got a call checking on me last night? I only called him about an hour ago. The guy works fast.”

“Yeah, I didn’t say anything because I don’t want to get all weepy again at the idea of you leaving us. I got the call about eight last night. They said they were a security company doing a background and employment check. I gave all the usual compliments. Then they asked for more information, so I told them everything. How amazing you were with Skyler, and patient with us. That I’m still crushed you aren’t coming with us to Seattle, but we understand your reasons for staying in Austin. Now that I know you’re going to work for Rourke Vega, I wouldn’t want you to come to Seattle. This will be the most amazing thing for you.” Janice sighs as she brushes her carefully colored blonde hair from her forehead. She hates the cut but she’s been told it makes her look years younger, so she’ll probably keep it until she’s sixty.

“There’s no guarantee I’ll get the job. I have to meet with his mother, or stepmother or whatever. I’m pretty sure I won’t like him but he’s not the issue, she is.”

“How can you say that? Have you met him? He’s a really nice guy, oh right, I remember you bitching about him with Mark. How he’s the reason behind all the changes to Austin, making it more expensive, and with all these people moving here from California and New York. And forgetting the whole time we moved here from San Francisco.” Janice laughs as I blush. “Honey, seriously, this city was always bound to blow up big. It’s been one of the ten places to move to since the eighties. It was the reason why my grandparents retired here and my parents after them. And even though we’re going to Seattle for Mark’s job, we’ll be back when we are ready to retire, if not before.

“Don’t hold it against the guy he was smart enough and in the right place to take advantage of the boom. He worked hard for it, none of it fell into his lap. Also, it’s not like he’s the only person who helped change Austin, he’s just the prettiest face to put on the magazines.”

She’s right, her echoing Patricia makes me feel like an idiot. “I’m not saying my resentment makes complete sense. Maybe it’s the way he’s so... I don’t know, he looks impervious to cold weather, hale, and bombs detonating right next to him. Like nothing touches him.”

“Ummm, Olivia, are you unaware he was in the Army? He was actually Special Forces, a Ranger and almost died?” My eyes go big; I had no idea. “Yeah, the guy was in Afghanistan. He came under sniper fire, got hit in his right shoulder. He almost died and came close to losing his right arm. If he’d gotten the same bullet on the left side he’d be dead. The guy is not impervious to bombs or bullets.”

Holy shit, I’m the asshole. “I seriously had no idea. How have I never heard of this before?”

Shrugging, Janice refills my tea. “I have no idea. He doesn’t talk about it in interviews, but he mentioned it in a speech he gave for the veterans charity he has. It’s also the reason he’s so big on only hiring veterans for the real estate portion of his company where he flips, and for smaller home construction jobs, and they are given precedence over other hires for his hotel workers too.”

“Here I thought he was the asshole, and it turns out it’s me instead.”

“Well...” Janice grimaces as she chases a tiny shrimp around her plate, avoiding my eyes. “I wouldn’t say he’s not an asshole. Maybe asshole is kind of a strong word, though.” She finally meets my eyes. “I’ve heard he’s maybe a little arrogant, demanding, and he isn’t always nice about some things. But he can’t be that bad, his employees are all crazy loyal. My niece’s best friend works for him as a receptionist for his commercial property office and refuses to listen to anyone badmouth him.”

Great, now I’m back to being ambivalent about getting the job again.

3

Olivia

Is the ambivalence why I changed out of the dress Janice suggested at the last minute? I’m in a scrub top with kittens on it and the new comfier cargo pants most hospitals and medical facilities switched to a few years ago for my interview. I arrive five minutes early; it was actually a fifty-five minute drive to get here. The drive was filled with Cardi B on blast and me cursing Rourke Vega instead of the haters. It also causes a fierce ache to be back in South Austin.

I grew up in South Austin and lived here until one of my jobs took me north. There is a huge difference between North and South Austin. North Austin is upscale, there’s even an outdoor mall with Tiffany and Co. and Neiman Marcus and an Apple store. While South is laid-back with the independent coffee shops, bookstores, vintage and resale stores. Although I prefer South, the drive is so bad it’s not worth living in one and visiting the other.

It’s not an impressive building, only three stories and even though I’ve traveled along South Lamar often I was barely aware it was here. When I go inside I’m thrown by the décor. Instead of the ultra-modern slick and shiny surfaces I’d expected, it’s filled with antiques and Persian carpets I cringe at stepping on. I’m barely settled into the surprisingly comfy rolled arm sofa before the pretty, perky receptionist tells me I can go right in.

I’m immediately struck by heat sucking all the air from my body, leaving me gasping. There’s no warning; one moment I’m stepping through the door into a brightly lit room, the next I’m a fish yanked out of water and tossed on shore. My eyes find his without hesitation, and a frisson of electricity races up my spine. Holy fuck, obsidian eyes suck me into a black hole where there is nothing. I’m weightless, empty, floating yet somehow tethered only to him. He blinks and it’s gone, the connection cut too fast it borders on pain.

I suck in air so fast I’m dizzy, my legs wobbly. Why the fuck do I miss the crazy connection? Why do I feel lost without it? My hand is still tight around the doorknob. I don’t want to let go—I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing holding me up right now. From far away I can hear the perky receptionist greet someone. Leave, run, a tiny voice is screaming deep inside.