Page 55 of One Night Stand After Another
“Your receptionist said you cancelled my interview.” Now that she knew his identity, she was confused and a little hurt. She felt they’d bonded yesterday. He’d offered her a job. Had he changed his mind?
“Just a little test. I’m pretty good at reading people, but I like to be sure. If you’d turned tail at the first sign of adversity, then you wouldn’t be sitting here with me right now. Maybe you’d be having lunch with your boyfriend, who seems to know your strengths better than you do.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Irritation flared and she narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Banan, I don’t appreciate being manipulated.”
“Call me Jimmy.”
“Is the accountant job available or not?” she asked.
“Yes and no.” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I offered you a job yesterday, and you turned it down. You seemed hell-bent on working for Fiber Kingdom, and I want to know why. Mentoring artists is a passion of mine.”
“I’m an accountant, not an artist. How many times do I need to tell people that?”
The old man laughed. “Then why do you want to work for Fiber Kingdom? Stay in New York. Tons of money in the Big Apple. Work for Deloitte.”
She mimicked his stubborn posture, crossing her arms, making fists with her restless fingers. “I like the beach.”
“Live on Long Island.”
“The West Coast beach.”
He grinned. “I bet you wish you had a crochet hook and a bag of yarn right now.”
A small, frustrated growl escaped her throat.
“There, there, dear, everything is going to be fine.” He half-stood and snagged a hand-tied skein of variegated, heather-gray yarn. “Nevada Hills Farm. A feisty alpaca named Joe.” Jimmy’s eyes twinkled. “You need something to do with your hands, and I want a pair of those wonderful socks. Size ten, please.”
Clara opened her mouth to protest, but then she shut it, took the yarn, selected needles, and sat back in her chair. She looked at Jimmy and frowned, realizing that her mood had improved the moment she’d seen him. Deliberately, she thought about working for Jimmy Banan as something other than an accountant. Her heart danced a faster, lighter, happier rhythm in her chest.Oh hell.
“Cast on, girl, what are you waiting for?” Jimmy made an encouraging motion at her. “Now tell me why you want to be an accountant.”
She spoke from the heart. “Benefits. Security. A steady paycheck.”
“Done,” he said. “What else?”
She’d had plenty of time to think last night while she was crocheting. Telling Zane about her dad had brought up a lot of unhappy memories. As she’d sorted through her emotions and viewed her childhood through a grown-up lens, she realized Zane was right. Nothing was the same about her situation. She didn’t have a family to support. She’d saved a sizable nest egg to get herself settled in Los Angeles. She knew how to write a business plan and find investors, and yet the prospect of taking an enormous risk on socks and sweaters filled her with dread.
Halfway through the night, she’d discovered another hidden box of memories, and when she’d opened it, her mother’s voice had cried, “Steven, we had a plan,” over and over. Her father hadn’t stuck to the plan, and her mother had never forgiven him.
She sighed. “I think I’m scared.”
A silver eyebrow popped above Jimmy’s twinkling eyes. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Why?”
She knitted in silence for a few minutes, thinking. “I don’t like to take chances.”
“But you came all the way across the country for a job. That’s taking a big chance.”
He was right. She’d done as much as she could to assure security, but she still needed to find a place to live, and even with money and a nest egg, she was starting over. “Making a career out of art is too risky for me. My father tried it. It didn’t go well.” To say the least.
“But you used my grant to get a business degree. I’d say that would go a long way toward minimizing your risk.”
“That’s not the first time this week someone has said that to me.” She waited for his next question. This was an interview, after all, but Jimmy seemed content to watch her knit. Eventually, he stood and walked over to his desk. He returned with a laptop and sat back down beside her. “I want a heart on my socks, too, by the way. That’s a cute touch.”
Every muscle in her body seized. She sat still, breathing through the whispers of unease cascading through her body.Risk, risk, risk.
The only risk bigger than crocheting for a living was taking a chance on love.
Did she love Zane? How could she? It had been less than a week. No—their remarkable connection couldn’t be love, but it was terrifyingly intense, and a braver person probably wouldn’t wave goodbye and toss a pair of socks at it.
