The Space Within (The Book of Phoenix #3) (7 page)

Chapter 7

1 Year Ago

I leaned over and looked out the passenger side window at the large, cream-colored, two-story home, then back at my phone to double-check the address. Another glance at the house number confirmed this was the place. I turned right into the driveway, shaded by two enormous palm trees, stopped in front of the iron gate that blocked the rest of the driveway and presumably the backyard from visitors, and slid the gearshift into park. Then I smoothed my hands over my blond hair that finally reached my shoulders again, took a few cleansing breaths, and forced myself out of the car and into the heat of fall in Florida.

I seriously needed this job. The drive from Boston to here and living in hotels proved to be expensive, and my savings was draining away quickly. I wouldn’t be able to survive much longer, and I wasn’t about to call home for money. Not only did this position pay a weekly salary, but it also provided private living quarters. Nice ones, by the looks of the place.

With lush, green grass, plenty of tropical bushes and flowers, and a variety of palm trees, the grounds were certainly beautiful, and so was the Spanish-style house with its elegant arches and orange, ceramic-tiled roof. Although huge, the size paled in comparison to my parents’ home, but considering it was near the water on Florida’s famous Gold Coast, it may have been worth nearly as much. I’d left home and school to escape this nauseating lifestyle, but a job was a job and beggars can’t be choosers. If I didn’t find work fast, I would certainly be a bona fide beggar on the streets.

My legs wobbled on my high heels as I walked up to the front door. I’d already become used to my Doc Martens, and I now felt vulnerable and naked without them. Not too long ago, I’d been a typical rich girl fashionista who could walk five malls in a day and still go clubbing in shoes like these. But life happened, my priorities shifted, and then my whole world was basically flushed down the toilet in a massive mess that had left me hollow inside. My ass-kicker boots were one of many ways I’d found to protect myself from ever going through such hell again. Now wearing one of only two outfits I’d kept from that previous life, I felt completely out of sorts and wanted to jump back in my car, drive back to the motel, and hide under the covers.

Instead, I jabbed the doorbell with my finger. And wiped my sweaty hands on my skirt as I waited. And forced myself to breathe normally.

When the door opened, I completely forgot how to do that last part.

I expected the woman I’d spoken to on the phone to answer the door. Instead, a hunk of a guy about my own age stood there in jeans and nothing else. No shirt, no shoes, no socks. Bare chested and bare footed. Holy mother-effin cow, what a view he provided. Broad shoulders, bulky and well-defined arm and chest muscles, washboard abs, and a narrow waist with that V shape that made smart women stupid. Like I was being right now as my thoughts ran away with what it would be like to lick all those muscles. Heat flushing my cheeks, I forced my eyes up to his face. He looked down at me with a raised brow—a dark brow over dark but playful eyes that matched his disheveled dark hair.

And in one perfectly sculpted arm, he held a baby.

As my brain caught up to the view, my eyes immediately went to the tiny human, cradled between the thick forearm and bare chest. The world froze, and my gaze became stuck on its little head with a shock of dark hair and an angelic, sleeping face. My heart wobbled. My stomach clenched. A newborn, I thought. Barely a month old, I guessed. Wearing a onesie, with soft, pink arms and legs curled into itself as it slept comfortably. For a moment, breathing became even harder than it had already been.

“You’re here to see my mom?” the guy asked, and my nerves jolted as if they’d been given an electric shock.

I tore my eyes from the infant’s peaceful little face and cleared my throat as I looked back up. “Um, yes. I’m Asia?”

Why did it sound like a question? He smiled. Shit. I had to remind myself where I was and who he was. Not that I knew him, but I didn’t have to. He was rich and hot and that’s exactly what I needed to stay away from. But damn, what a smile.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked. The baby squirmed and opened its mouth in a big yawn. I didn’t know which unnerved me more—the teasing tone in his voice or the little one in the crook of his arm.

“Brock?” a female voice called from somewhere in the house behind him. I recognized it as the one I’d heard on the phone. “Is it my twelve o’clock?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “She thinks she’s Asia. Does that sound right to you?”

A woman appeared behind him, looking around his arm. She may have been middle-aged, but she’d arrived there gracefully. Her dark hair, streaked with gray, was pulled back in an up-do, and she wore only enough makeup to accentuate her gorgeous dark eyes, which her son obviously inherited from her.

“Oh, stop giving her a hard time,” she said before smiling at me. “Ignore him, dear. He always likes to tease the pretty ones.”

I pressed my lips together. Brock rolled his eyes.

“Are you going to let her in, son, or stand there and gawk?” she asked as she turned and already began walking away.

The smile I’d been fighting slid away when my gaze returned to his face. She didn’t mean gawking at me. He was staring past me, at the driveway.

“Your car?” he asked before turning and stepping to the side to finally let me in.

I looked over my shoulder at my yellow Camaro, the only thing my mom and stepfather had given me that I’d kept. “That’s my baby.”

As soon as the words were out, I wanted to suck them back in. Or change them. Or do anything because they suddenly sounded all wrong and awkward, and probably only to me, but still …

“Nice,” he said appreciatively as he held his arm out in a welcoming gesture. Or shooing me in, I wasn’t sure.

Once the door closed and blocked out the bright sunlight, my eyes adjusted to the sunny grand foyer with its tile floors, sweeping staircases to each side, and multiple archways to other rooms. Brock’s mother—my potential future boss—stood in the middle with her arm extended to me. She wore a loose top and miniskirt on a body that defied her age more than her face did.

“Hope Verdor,” she said when I took her hand for a quick shake. As if I didn’t know, and not just because she’d told me on the phone. “Romance author—” she waved a hand in Brock’s direction “—mother to Brock and—”

The baby took that moment to introduce itself with a loud cry. She hurried over and tried to scoop it out of Brock’s arms.

“Let me have my little sweet ’ums,” she said.

“Mom, you have a meeting. I’m pretty sure I can take care of him for more than a few minutes,” Brock said, turning away from his mother. I couldn’t help but notice his nicely shaped butt and how his back muscles pulled as he walked off.

Mrs. Verdor put her hands on her hips and pouted as she watched them disappear into an adjacent room, and then she let out a sigh.

“That was baby Connor. Truly unexpected, both of them, but my pride and joy nonetheless.” She turned toward me, and I had to clench my jaw to keep it from hanging open. I couldn’t believe she’d just said that about her own children. I’m sure it was weird to have kids so far apart in age, although I didn’t know if she had any more in between, but to just blurt that out to a stranger floored me. She went on as if such comments were normal. I instantly felt a little bad for her children. “So tell me about yourself, Asia.”

She began walking down a corridor, and I followed as I gave her a brief overview of myself, trying not to be distracted by the row of windows on our left that looked out onto a courtyard with colorful plants and a fountain in the center. Was I really in Hope Verdor’s home? I wasn’t the squealing type anymore, but I’d almost reverted to it. Romance wasn’t exactly my favorite genre, but since scheduling the interview three days ago, I’d been devouring as many of her books as possible, and her characters had converted me—at least to paranormal romance.

“I just moved to the area from up north,” I started, and then it all poured out in one long gush. “I hope to enroll in classes again for the spring semester, but first, I really need a job and a place to live. I love reading and writing, and I’m good with computers and social media, and very organized to the point of being a little OCD, so when I saw your ad for a personal assistant, I had to call.”

We stopped in front of a door, and she waved at me to go inside. We entered what was obviously her office, with an entire wall of bookshelves crammed full, a desk piled with teetering stacks of notebooks and more books, a sitting area with two salmon colored, velvet-upholstered armchairs and a table in between them, and pictures all over the walls of her with other people, some of them famous authors and celebrities I recognized.

“This is where the magic happens?” I asked, trying and failing to keep the awe out of my voice.

She snickered. “Not exactly. This is where I do the business stuff. I can’t stand to write in here. It kills my creativity. Have a seat.”

I sat on the edge of one of the chairs and she sank into the other, tucking her legs under her.

“So tell me about yourself.”

I stared at her while clasping my hands together tightly in my lap. I thought I did that already?

One side of her mouth pulled up in a half-smile. “You didn’t tell me anything really. I think I know five things about you and nothing personal.”

“There’s not much else to tell.” Not anything she needed to know anyway.

“Oh, please. We’re all characters with backstories, motivations, and goals. I don’t need your biography, but at least tell me about your goals and why they’re important to you. If you want, you can share your hobbies. A personal assistant is
personal
. We have to like each other at least somewhat.”

I sucked my lips in, not sure if I was offended by her directness or appreciated it. I thought a little of both.

“Mrs. Verdor, I’m being totally honest,” I said. “My current goals are to get a job and a place to live, because I can’t do anything else until I accomplish those. I’d love to tell you that I still want to complete my degree, land my perfect job, and have my dream life, but I’ve learned that the world doesn’t work that way. Life happens and priorities change. I can only focus on what’s right before me and what I can control, and right now, that’s being able to support myself. I’m sure you’ve had a lot of applicants, but I can promise you no one will work as hard as I will.”

“Please call me Hope,” she said as her only reply for several long moments. She leaned her elbow on the chair’s arm, rested her chin onto her fist, and stared at me, her eyes tightening with each beat of my heart. Then a smile spread across her face. “I like that! You have a good head on your shoulders, I can tell. I looked over the résumé you emailed me—by the way, you’re the only person who sent one—and it’s kind of sparse, but that’s okay. I’d rather teach you my ways than have to unteach you someone else’s first.”

She listed out the main job duties, and for each one, I told her about my experience doing it, or how I might approach it, emphasizing that I’d always do it her preferred way, whatever “it” was. She appreciated my answers, and I seemed to be acing this interview. I tried to suppress my hopes, but if nobody else had applied, I surely had this job.

“The OCD thing is exactly what I need, because I’m pretty much a mess,” she said as she waved a hand toward her chaotic desk that had me twitching inside every time I looked at it. “I need someone who can keep up my calendar and make sure I’m where I need to be with everything I need to have for whatever I’m doing. There will be travel—I do a lot of events and signings—and that may include Connor, too, although I haven’t figured that out yet.”

She paused and let out a long sigh.

“But that’s the problem right there,” she said, and again I couldn’t believe she’d said that about her own child. “Oh, no, not Connor. He’s not a problem. Not really. Anyway, the problem is, as you said, life happened and priorities have changed. I’ve had to clear my calendar from travel and deadlines until I can work some things out. With Brock showing up like he did when he’s supposed to be up north at college, and the baby, and everything that’s going on … everything’s changed. I don’t even have the private living quarters available now. I need a PA more than ever, but I’m afraid throwing another person into the disarray is also the last thing I need. I just can’t see how I can make it all work at this time.”

Shit. My hopes had already risen, but my interview and the promise of a job and home were on a sinking ship before I’d even arrived, and it was going down fast.

“I promise I’m a fast learner,” I said, spewing out words, trying to save any possibility of changing her mind. “I can help you get control over whatever you have going on and take a lot off of your plate. I’m excellent at juggling and multi-tasking, and will do anything you need me to do. I can even—” I paused, not believing I was about to say this, but I
really
needed this job “—I can even help with Connor, if that’s what you need. Please, Mrs. Verdor, I like you, and you seem to like me. We can help each other out here.”

She gave me a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and then she stood up and walked for the door. I bit my bottom lip to keep from frowning as I stood, too, and followed her back through the house to the foyer.

“I’ll have to give it a lot of consideration, Asia,” she said when we reached the front door. “I wish I could make it work, and if I can, I’ll call you. Family’s first, though, and I have to remember that.”

I nodded and held my hand out to shake hers. “I understand. You have my number.”

My thoughts and emotions were all over the place as I slid into my car and drove back to the motel I called home. She wasn’t going to hire me, I knew already, and I couldn’t decide if I was disappointed or relieved. In a way, the job would have been perfect for me, and I couldn’t imagine not loving it. I liked Hope, even if she was unexpectedly direct, but I could get used to that. I wasn’t so sure about Brock. Although nice eye candy, I felt uncomfortable around him, and it wasn’t his looks or build that intimidated me. It was all that he represented. And then there was baby Connor.

My chest tightened at the thought of the sweet little face scrunching up and letting out a howl, his tiny fists waving in the air and bare little feet kicking. Part of me had wanted to sweep him into my arms as much as Hope had, press him against my shoulder, and soothe him back to sleep. But a much bigger part of me had panicked inside and wanted to bolt.

Which was what convinced me, as I slid my key card in and out of the slot and opened the door to my room, that the job wasn’t meant to be mine.

After I dropped my purse on the table and pulled off my heels with a sigh, I changed into shorts and my favorite Batman t-shirt, grabbed my laptop, and sat on the bed. Back to square one and more job hunting. If my luck didn’t change soon, though, I’d have to take drastic measures.

* * *

As Christmas approached two months later, the time for drastic measures had come. Well, actually, the time came a couple of weeks ago when I’d started sleeping in my car. It wasn’t so bad really—I’d park at the beach, roll the windows halfway down for the breeze coming off the ocean, and let the sound of the waves lull me to sleep. There were public bathrooms with showers nearby, too. I even had company in the form of a white cat that hopped into my car every night and curled up in the back window until morning, when it would disappear as if knowing I couldn’t feed it. Safety was an issue, but I picked the beaches near the upscale neighborhoods, kept my weapons handy, and never took off my steel-toed ass-kickers. The real problem was during the day. My pale skin didn’t equip me for life as a beach bum, although it wasn’t as pale as it had been when I moved down here.

I’d been able to catch an odd job here and there, enough to make food money. Just not enough to keep a roof over my head. I did land a job as an “appointment setter,” which, turned out, meant I was cold-calling people and trying to convince them to schedule an appointment to have their air conditioning system inspected and maintained. That lasted a week. This girl could only take so many times of being hung up on or cussed out, especially since my income was based on how many people made—and kept—an appointment. That definitely wasn’t the job for me. Then I’d started training to be one of those girls who went around to restaurants and bars, selling roses to men to give to their ladies. Except after a couple of weeks of that, the boss-woman said my youth and my body would be perfect for the night clubs, and when she showed me the skimpy costume I’d have to wear, I was out of there. I’d never be that desperate.