Page 54 of One Night Stand After Another
“Did he apologize for outing your blog, at least?”
“He did.”
“Good—that was a dick move. His enthusiasm sounds great in some ways, not so much in others. But I’m glad he put these ideas on your radar. You know what you want for now, but you never know what the future will bring. So how did you end it?”
“I called an Uber.” Oh God. Damn it. “I ran, Britt.” Clara heaved a sigh that came all the way from her toes.
“Ouch—did you at least give him those adorable alpaca socks? He’s not the only one who’s been reading your blog.”
“Yes, but somehow that makes me feel worse. He deserved more than a ‘thanks for the memories, and here’s your commemorative pair of socks.’”
Brit snorted. “You’re probably right, but maybe you can text him? Texting is such a brilliant way to communicate emotions.”
A surprised laugh escaped from her throat.
Britt chuckled with her. “At least you were honest with him. Leaving him standing on the beach road was a bit harsh, but you made it clear from the outset what the deal was. You stuck to it. It’s not your fault he wanted more.”
“I guess.” But she should have expected it. Been ready. Been nicer. Been…something? She couldn’t quite put her finger on how she felt she should have responded, but she knew she was disappointed in herself. It was a familiar feeling, but it was the first time she’d put a name to the emotion. What on earth? She was following the plan. Her interview was tomorrow. The hotel was incredible. The beach was gorgeous. She’d made it.
“Call me tomorrow after your interview?”
“Will do.” And tonight, she would check out the bar, order room service, and enjoy the amenities of her beautiful hotel room.
She was living her dream.
Even if it didn’t feel as satisfying as she’d hoped.
Chapter Eighteen
Clara took a deep breath and approached the reception desk. “Hello, I’m Clara Duke. I have a job interview with James Buchanan.”
The receptionist gave her a blank look. “Mr. Buchanan asked me to cancel all of his meetings today. Did you not receive the message?”
“That’s not possible.” Her heart slammed in her ears. “I have email confirmation of my appointment, and I’ve come a long way to talk to the—” She nearly said Fiber King but corrected herself in time. “To speak with Mr. Buchanan.”
She was pretty sure if she stopped concentrating on breathing, she would pass out. She had ended her lease. Put her belongings in storage. Traveled across the entire country. Said goodbye to Zane. And the Fiber King was blowing her off?
This isn’t happening.
“Please hold a moment.” The receptionist picked up her phone and spoke quietly. Her perfectly airbrushed eyebrows moved like they wanted to hit her hairline but couldn’t. Botox? It was Los Angeles, after all. “Mr. Buchanan will see you.”
She stood and ushered Clara down a long hallway and into an office that smelled like leather and money. An enormous desk sat in front of a window that took up most of the far wall. To her left sat a conference table heaped with yarn and scattered with crochet hooks and knitting needles. Behind the big desk, a high-backed, leather swivel chair faced the window. The receptionist closed the door behind her with a softclick.
“Clara Duke.”
There was something familiar about that voice.
“I’m James Buchanan.” The chair spun slowly, revealing the small stature, twinkling blue eyes, and sharp, genial grin of Jimmy Banan. His gaze swept her, and his affable grin turned delighted. “Nice skirt.”
“Thank you,” she said automatically. She’d been unable to sleep last night and had stayed up, using every skein of Denver yarn in her bag to recreate one of the designs she’d seen on a rack in his store with a two-thousand-dollar price tag. If she’d known she’d be sporting it in front of the skirt’s designer today, she might have worn something else—or at least accessorized better.
Jimmy Banan was the Fiber King?
He walked around his desk and gestured at the conference table. “Have a seat.”
She sank into one of the chairs. It took effort to keep her hands from exploring the yarn pile and sorting the hooks to find her favorite size, a bizarre urge, considering the circumstances.
He took the chair next to hers and pushed back from the table. “Let’s talk about your position with Fiber Kingdom.”
