In Her Way (2 page)

Ugh. My shoulders slump forward and my head droops.

"Hey." Hot suit guy reaches his hand forward again and lets it land on my shoulder. "If it makes any difference, I think the color goes very nicely with your skin. What is that? Peacock blue?" He shoots me another perfect smile.

I'm about to have a full on pity party when Mama's voice comes into my head with another one of her famous sayings.
Poutin's no more useful than a jackrabbit wearing boots, Pun’kin.

I pull back my shoulders, take a deep breath, and resolve not to put any bunnies in boots today.

"Sapphire, actually." I smile nice and big at him. Then I reach for a napkin, spit on it, and start rubbing off the damn paint while I balance the coffee in my other hand.

I look up just in time to see hot suit guy clench his jaw slightly in a mini-cringe.

I pause and lean forward. "Sorry, are you grossed out by spit?" I push the now-a lovely-shade-of-blue napkin toward him.

"No," he says defensively, pushing my hand back. "I'm just not used to pretty girls spitting around me, I guess."

I let out a laugh and shrug no-big-deal shoulders. "I'm a dentist, so spit's kinda part of the job description. Plus I grew up with three older brothers." I squint as I continue to rub the paint off. "Spit's kinda a part of big brothers, too."

"Painter by day, dentist by night, little sister in between?" He cocks his head to the side and then points to a remaining spot of paint.

"That plus all my welding and dancing, I just never have time to do anything fun." I shake my head and try to look serious, but fail miserably at keeping a straight face through my Flash Dance reference.

"Well, I'd hate to get in the way of that important work. By all means." He steps aside and ushers me toward the door.

I laugh, shake my head, and look him in those stone blue eyes.

"I'm Jules." I hold out my hand because I'm a business owner now (and shaking hands just feels like what business owners do).

"Andrew," he says, clasping a solid hand around mine.

"Thanks for the heads up, by the way." I motion to my face. "I was having a shit day and it was super helpful that someone could point out how low I'd really sunk."

Andrew says he's always glad to help and when I turn to walk away, he stops me, setting a gentle hand on my arm.

"Care to tell me your problems? Despite my slight aversion to spit, I'm actually quite good at cleaning up shit. It's kinda what I do."

I lift my chin and look at him sideways (oh, how I love punny flirting).

"Challenge accepted, Andrew." I motion to the two-top I had been sitting at earlier and he sits down after me. Hey, it's not like I said, "Sure, I'll date you." What harm can come from getting to know someone local?

Because you already know what's wrong, I'll skip the part where I fill him in on my drama. The part I'm not gonna skip? Yeah, that would be how cute and serious his listening faces are as he leans forward, almost looking like he's going to jump out of his seat at any moment to fix everything. He
is
wearing a suit at ten in the morning, on a Saturday, after all; he must be one of those take-charge types.

When I get to the part about Em walking out on me because I brought up not having enough time to hire a good secretary (it's possible I get a tad whiney here), his face changes. Cute, listening, I'm-gonna-save-you face is gone and replaced with a narrow-eyed thinking face.

I pause. Shit. Why the hell am I telling a cute stranger all of my intimate problems? Ugh. I totally over shared, too, and now he's probably planning how to get away. I really don't want to get a reputation for being the local over-sharing girl. That would definitely not be good for business. Plus, I'm supposed to have it together, know what I'm doing and all that. I paste on a smile.

"But, it's not really that bad, I'm sure if we --"

"I think I can help you."

My head juts back and my forehead wrinkles deepen. "Wha...?"

He looks up at the ceiling for a second, like he's trying to remember something. Then he starts nodding, the corners of his lips lifting into a smile. "Yeah, I know someone who would be perfect for you."

I wrinkle my nose. "And she'd be ready to interview like Monday?"

He waves his hand at me. "Yeah, this is what I do. I help people, you know, find work, prepare for interviews, that kind of thing."

My hands find their way to my face again (no freaking wonder I had so much paint on me) and I support my head as I try to figure out if this is really happening. Andrew watches me and I can't help noticing how one of his eyes squints more than the other when he smiles.

"Do you have a business card yet?" he asks.

I blink. "Oh, yeah. Course!" I reach into my wallet and pull out one of the cards I received in the mail just last week (of which I have been carrying seventeen with me at all times).

He takes it from me, looks at it while bending it from side to side.

"Great!" he says. "I will be sure to pass this along." Squinty eye smile.

A happy bubble starts in my stomach and floats up into my chest. I shake my head, laugh, and silently thank Mama for her great advice, yet again.

2

A Fresh Start

On my walk back to the office, I text my brother, Joel.

Me: Holy shit-balls, J. Yours truly just basically met Captain America.

I stick the phone in my pocket and point my face up at the sun as I keep walking. I feel my phone buzz with a response.

Joel: The Marvel character that was given the Super Soldier Serum or the actor Chris Evans?

I laugh out loud. Chris Evans! That's it. I can always count on Joel to know the names of hot guys.

Me:  Um... the actor?

Joel: Did you snap a stalker picture for your dear brother?

Me: Ugh. No. Sorry. There was that little nagging thing about me not wanting to look psycho. =)

Joel: You talk to Mama or Daddy lately?

Me: Yeah, just did. Why?

Joel: Nothing. I think. Mama mentioned something about having Nick look over their finances. Just wondering if they're having trouble.

My fingers hover over the phone. Shit. My parents having money problems? Ugh. Of course they wouldn't have said anything to me about it. They loaned me a large chunk of my start-up money. My goal was to pay them back within my first year, but maybe I'm going to have to do even better than that.

Joel: I'm sure it's nothing. Hey, babe, I gotta jet (literally) so I'll talk to you later. And get a damn picture next time. Love you.

I smile and put away my phone. Joel, my youngest older-brother, and I have always been close. He's a pilot and lives just over an hour away in Seattle. I never quite feel like something's happened in my life until I tell him. That taken care of, I round the corner toward the office.

The front door's open and I can hear Incubus blasting as I walk up. I smile; Em's back. We pulled a two-nighter when we were in college to see that band on tour (you know, one night in Portland and the next in Seattle). It was one of my favorite memories from school and the first time Emma and I really started to hit it off as roommates.

She looks up when she hears me set my keys down on the box we're using as our counter for now. She lowers the music, pushes her short, maddeningly-always-shiny, dark brown hair out of her face, and presses her lips forward in sort of an apology duck face we've come to perfect after years of fights.

"I'm sorry. Storming out of here sucked and I suck."

I shake my head and walk over to her. "Uh uh, I suck. I wasn't thinking of how much work that's gonna be for you."

Em grabs the coffee from my hand and takes a drink. "I think my brain was starting to liquefy in all these fumes." She gives me my cup back.

"Ditto," I say, and then I stand there, bouncing on the balls of my feet while I squinty-eye smile at her (both eyes, not just one like Andrew).

"What's up with you? You gotta pee?"

I shake my head.

Her eyes open wide. "Oh, I know that face! That's the Jules-met-a-hot-guy face."

I move my eyebrows up and down like my older brother Matt taught me after we watched Groucho in Duck Soup for the first time. "Not just any hot guy, mind you. One who may have just solved all of our problems."

Emma sighs. "Yum. Those are the best kind. Tell me all about him."

We sit on the floor and I dish my paint-faced coffee gathering experience. I don't even lie about the part where I'm a total narcissist and mistake everyone staring as a sign that I'm gorgeous (Emma lived with me for four years and caught me making kissy faces at the mirror on more than one occasion, so it's absolutely no surprise to her).

"He's gonna give her my card today and said she should be in Monday with her resume," I finish.

Em and I celebrate for only a minute or two before we get back to work, because now that one wall is painted, we have the intense need to make sure all the rest of the terrible yellow is covered up, too.

We take Sunday off, but come Monday morning Emma and I are spread out on the floor, surrounded by approximately a crap-billion pieces of wood and different sized screws, wanting very much to hop over to Sweden super quick so we can stab some Ikea execs, when a girl shows up in our office.

"Hello?"

We don't hear her the first time because we're blasting music (today it's Oasis) and simultaneously groaning as we try to locate piece F2b and connect it to piece C8 using an H12 screw. On top of that, she's quiet, standing there smiling, hands folded in front of her like she's ready for the first day of school (and may or may not be lost).

"Hello."

I look up, jump up, and then kick Emma to turn off the music. "Oh! Hey there!"

She's thin, shorter than both Emma or myself, has long brown hair, and looks to be in her early twenties. She's got that "I'm not wearing makeup, but I still look glowing and pretty" look going for her. Automatically, I'm thinking what a great first face of our business she would make. She looks put together and professional. I thank Andrew in my head.

After wiping my sweaty hands off on my pants I hold one out in front of me for my I'm-the-owner handshake.

"I'm Jules, er -- Dr. Maddox."

"Kaylee," she says in a voice that sounds like a tiny bell being rung by a small mouse, but it's cheery enough to be a good greeting on the phone or when someone walks in the door. "Kaylee Taylor."

"I'm Emma Hansen," Emma says (obviously).

We lead her over to the one thing we've been able to build today, which is a small table we eventually plan to use as a staff break room lounge-around. Thank god Em went and grabbed a few chairs from Target Saturday night after we finished painting or we'd be motioning for her to sit on a box right now.

"So, Kaylee, we cannot tell you how excited we were to hear that you were interested in this position. Do you have your resume with you?" Em asks.

Kaylee nods and pulls a crisp white page out of a neat blue folder she has in her bag. Her left wrist is covered with about fifteen thin, silver, bangle-type bracelets that ring against each other as she moves. She smiles, pushes at them, and shoves her hands back in her lap while we look over the resume.

Em sets it in front of us and my eyes skim over it. She's literally perfect. Great experience, tons of references, professional looking. I can feel Em's elbows pull tight to her body in excitement (she's such an elbow squeezer when she's happy).

"Wow, this is... wow." Em clears her throat and says, "I see these other jobs were all in different states. Did you just move here?"  She looks down at the page.

Kaylee takes a deep breath. "Yes. Just a few weeks ago, actually. I moved from Montana."

Her statement seems more like a question, but maybe she's just nervous.

Em's eyebrows raise. "Why the move?"

At this Kaylee looks startled, like someone's just poked her in the middle of the back. "Oh, um... I have just always liked this state and it's very beautiful here on the island."

Emma and I narrow our eyes at each other in our almost-imperceptible friends way. Island? We're close to the water, but in no way living on an island.

"You mean the peninsula?" I lean forward and ask, hopefully.

Kaylee smiles. "Right." The girl still does not seem to get that we don't live on an island, but neither of us seem to want to push the issue.

Em falters for a second. "So -- um --." But soon she regains the poised business manner I've come to appreciate in her. "Let's go over the job description and see if there are any questions we might be able to answer for you."

We go over the list of duties and responsibilities Em and I wrote up on Saturday in preparation for this. Kaylee smiles and squints and cocks her head as she listens. A worried wobble starts moving in my stomach. From the looks of Kaylee's reactions, you would think Em's reading a list of ice cream flavors rather than telling the girl that she'll be in charge of collecting payment from patients and making sure HIPAA privacy policies are not only posted but strictly adhered to.

"Have you ever used any type of scheduling software?" I ask after Em reads that she may have to make appointments and run reminders if the hygienists can't.

Kaylee's eyes go wide and she nods. "Yeah, I like the programs a lot... the capabilities far exceed... and scheduling is so much easier... it's very important."

I press my lips together and resist the urge to narrow my eyes at the word-salad-sandwich this girl just spat out. I can feel Em's elbows drop away from her body. We both look back to her resume at the same time and I can bet Em's focusing on the line that says this girl worked two years as a secretary in a doctor's office, because that's what I'm looking at, making sure I read it correctly.

"What program did you use at Dr. Hillman's practice?" Em asks.

Kaylee laughs, rubs the back of her neck, and finally says, "Scheduling Pro." Then adds, "Of course!"

Here's where she has us. Neither Em nor I are familiar with doctors office programs, only dental and vision (Em worked in billing and insurance in a optometrist's office for a few years). And I have to give it to her, Scheduling Pro does sound like a real program, if only sort of obvious and convenient.

"Ha. Well, very good, then." I nod. "Quite good." (I apparently become semi-British and very well mannered when I'm feeling suspicious. Also, I kind of just want her to leave so we can call these references and check the internet for Scheduling Pro.)

Em gets my hint and stands, holding her hand out. "Thanks so much for coming in, Kaylee. We'll do some work calling references and then give you a ring when we've come to a decision."

Kaylee smiles and nods, taking Em's hand and then shaking mine before leaving, tiny bracelets ringing away.

When she leaves, Em and I collapse into our chairs and just stare at the wall for a full five seconds before I say, "So..."

"Yeah..." Em shakes her head, but then sucks in a deep breath and says, "But she looks SO good on paper."

"True. Gosh, but she seemed to know less than anyone I've ever met."

"Uh, yeah." Em raises her eyebrows. Then she scrunches her mouth together and to the right. "Say it was just nerves, though. What could it hurt calling her references?"

I tip my head to the side. "I mean, she is working with Andrew. He's like some sort of job coach. So that would make sense that she's not great at interviewing." I nod. "Okay. Let's give it a try."

We split up; Em ends up taking two since my call to Dr. Hillman takes so dang long. And when we meet back at the table a mere half hour later, the smiles are back on our faces and Em's elbows are all squeezy once more.

"They loved her," I say.

"Same with my two. Oh, and Scheduling Pro is an actual thing. A doctor's office thing."

I blink. "Alright. I guess she's in then."

Em sighs. "That was easy. I'll go call her!" She stands up and pads away to her desk.

I take a few moments to Google her name on my phone, but it comes up with literally nothing, not even a Facebook account. No judgments, though. I get that some people aren't into the whole social media scene and thinking as a boss, not having to worry about her wasting work time online sounds like a plus.

When Em comes back a few minutes later, she tells me Kaylee accepted. So that's that. I can start on the paperwork tomorrow.

We make our way back onto the floor, turn our music back on, and resume groaning about the damn directions for these pieces we're trying to build.

"So besides her being a bit nervous, Andrew seems to have pulled through for us." Em looks up at me after a few minutes.

"Yeah. He kinda did, didn't he?"

"So cute and helpful. And he has your number." She raises her eyebrows.

"He took it for Kaylee, not himself." I roll my eyes at her. "Plus, you know I instigated a dating moratorium after I broke up with Tom. At least until we get this place up and running."

"Oh yeah." Now it's her turn for an eye roll. "I must've forgotten since it's stupid."

I narrow my eyes at her and motion around us. "I need to be focused on all of this, Em. We're opening in a couple weeks and while we're on track, I don't want to get distracted. I really don't think I could do both a business opening and a relationship opening at the same time and do them both well. Joel told me my parents are having money problems or something, so I really need to start making some cash so I can pay them back. Plus, Andrew and I are kind of involved on a business level now that we're going to hire Kaylee and he works with her." I punctuate my point with a smile, happy to have found another reason I should stay away from Andrew, one that Em won't be able to make fun of, hopefully.

Em nods. "Alright. Alright." She puts her hands up. "You are Mrs. Focus." Unfortunately when Em says the nickname, it sounds akin to a type of disease. Very different from the flashy, flourished way I hear it in my head. "Who knows, maybe he'll still be available when you're ready. From what you've told me about him, he seems different than the other guys you've dated."

"He is." I squinty smile and tip my head to the side as I think of him possibly waiting around for me.  The injustice of it all, meeting a guy like him at a time like this, twists at my stomach and makes me frown, so I try to look on the bright side. "I had fun with him. He kinda reminded me of hanging out with my brothers." My face morphs into a scowl. "Only hot and I wanna kiss him. Unlike my brothers," I add.