Page 2 of Roughing
The only available chair was buried under more paperwork. She waved her hand as if expecting the chair to clear itself. Realizing she wasn’t going to move the papers, I neatly stacked them and sat down.
“I’m Carla Edwards.”
“You’re the private investigator here?” I attempted to keep the disappointment out of my tone.
“I am.” Carla narrowed her gaze. She’d read me perfectly, and I’d offended her.
I bit my tongue to stop myself from asking her questions about her experience and worthiness of having an apprentice such as me. My gaze swept around the room and back.
“Filing isn’t my strong suit. Besides, something about the chaos is strangely calming.”
I nodded, not having a clue how the fuck this catastrophe could have a calming effect or if she was toying with the newbie. All the while, those pale-blue eyes of hers delved into my deepest, darkest secrets as if she saw through my defenses to what hid underneath.
“You don’t look like someone who’d enjoy being an assistant.” Her skepticism wasn’t lost on me. “More like someone who should be walking the fashion runway showing off next year’s haute couture.”
“I assure you, I’ve given this career move a lot of thought. I’m very good on a computer.”
She shuffled through the papers again and pulled out the one she’d been looking for. Picking up a pair of Dollar Store reading glasses, she perched them on her nose and studied what I recognized as my résumé. “Career move? You were a barista in your family’s business until they sold it?”
I nodded.
“You have zero experience in this line of work.” A statement, not a question.
“That’s why I’d love to work here. I want to learn all the things.”
“All the things?” She blew out a long, exasperated breath. She didn’t want me here, but I wasn’t so easily deterred. I had to have this job. I’d gotten this opportunity through my brother’s hockey connections, and I wasn’t about to walk away. I’d find a way to win her over.
“I’m eager to learn, and I’m a quick study,” I rushed to tell her. “I’ll cram on my off time and do whatever it takes.”
“You will?” Carla was as convinced as my father had been when I’d told him about my intentions. Great, this would be like working for my dad.
“Yes. I’ve been interested in doing investigations for a long while. I’ve had my fair share of missing people in my life, and I’m committed to helping others get answers. I’m also a huge true crime junkie, and I’m—” I stopped and swallowed my next words. My obsession with true crime wasn’t a plus as far as she was concerned.
“You do realize this job isn’t all glitz and glamour? In fact, none of it is. Mostly it’s hours of boredom followed by a few minutes of excitement.” She pursed her lips, and disapproval poured off her.
“I understand investigating crime isn’t like they portray on television.” Irritation crept into my voice. I couldn’t help it. “I’m a wiz at digging up information online via social media and other places. I think I would be a great asset to this agency.”
“Fine.” She snapped with an angry glare. “When would you like to start?”
“Really? I get the job?” I tamped down my enthusiasm and attempted to remain professional.
“Like I have a choice?”
“I’m sorry. A choice?”
“I was told to hire you by the boss.”
“You were?” I didn’t personally know the owners of Gone Missing, but one partner was a former hockey player my brother was good friends with going back to their junior days.
“I promise you won’t regret it. I’ll work hard to find out anything you need to know. You can trust me.” I hoped she’d be impressed with my enthusiasm, as right now, that’s all I had.
She wasn’t and had the audacity to roll her eyes. I wasn’t known for holding my tongue, and doing so took a gargantuan effort.
“I’m only hiring you as an assistant. I’d hoped to hire someone who’d be able to work their way up as the business builds, but I’m not convinced you’re that person.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m here for the long run.” I’d never stuck with anything in my life, but she didn’t know that. I was determined to prove the doubters wrong, including my family. Over the years, I’d tried fashion design, modeling, dancing, and ballet. Each time, I’d lasted a few months and gone back to working as a barista again. This time was different. Now that the coffee company was under new ownership, I didn’t have that option as a safety net.
“How long have you been a PI?” I attempted a casual conversation, even though I was very interested in what she had to say.
