Page 4 of Hot Buttered Kisses

Jacob lifts an eyebrow, all sharp and commanding. “You’re hired, Dee. Pending a few background checks, of course.”

I blink, shocked at the little kernel of uncertainty that flows through me. “Great.” I hope my response doesn’t sound forced to him.

He lets out a low, expensive-sounding laugh. “Good. Wait here; I’ll be right back.” The second Jacob leaves, I almost collapse against the marble bar, knees weak. Holy hell. That was the most high-stakes interview of my life, and I didn’t just survive—I nailed it. My hands shake as I clean up behind the bar, adrenaline still surging so hard my vision kind of tunnels for a second.

I can do this job—definitely.

I want this job—maybe.

My phone buzzes in my bag like an angry hornet. I fumble it out and find three missed calls from Eamon.

And a text.

Tigger

Why aren’t you answering your fucking phone?

The bar is slammed, and Lorna ditched again. I fired her ass.

About fucking time. I told him to fire her months ago, but he ignored me. I mean, come on. How many times do I have to be right before he just listens? Lorna’s allergic to hard work, and I’m not even sure she can count higher than three. The only things she has going for her are her triple-D’s and her blood thirst to find a rich husband. But did Eamon listen to me? Nope.

My phone buzzes again. Another text.

Tigger

I can see you read my message. Answer.

God, I almost laugh out loud. I was looking for a reason to take the job at Velvet, and he just supplied it. It’s time for me to get over Eamon Whelan. Even if it means moving to New York City to do it.

Me

I’m on leave. NOT ON CALL. Don’t text me again until I return to work.

Tigger

You never complained about answering my messages on days off before.

Me

That was the old me. This is the new me.

Tigger

What changed?

Me

Everything.

Before he can send another message, I turn my phone off and shove it deep into my bag. No way am I letting that thing distract me right now. Jacob slides back in behind the bar, an envelope pinched between his fingers. He lays it on the counter and pushes it my way, but keeps his hand covering it. "Here's a detailed offer." His voice is steady, all business. I reach for the envelope. He doesn't let go, those big knuckles resting right on top. "Contingent on a clean background check." His eyes are fixed on mine, waiting for my answer.

“My background is clean.” I reach for the envelope and pop it open. The numbers on the offer letter make me want to scream. In a good way. This is more than quadruple my salary at Midnight Mischief. With paid vacation. And a relocation bonus that’s more than I have in my investment account.

Holy shitballs. My brain's just one long scream: say yes, say yes, say yes! But I hear myself say, “I’d like a few days to look this over.” The words shock me as much as they seem to shock him.

Jacob’s eyes narrow, that wolfish thing he does, but then his shoulders go loose, and he just shrugs. “That’s perfectly acceptable. My assistant will be in touch with you in a few days to see if you have any questions or concerns.”

I mumble a thank you. Now, I’m a trainwreck of nerves and questions, more tangled up than ever. Why didn’t I just say yes right then and there? Beats me. But I trust that jittery little voice in my gut—even if it’s making things complicated—and I’m not about to start ignoring it now.

By the time I drag my exhausted self back to the hotel after the Velvet interview, all I crave is oblivion. First, I want a scalding-hot, ten-minute shower, and then I’m going to pull on my fluffy bathrobe and dive into a pile of takeout sushi. Maybe if I lose myself in the burn and the salt, the world will make sense again.