MRS. RIGHT
By
Ashley Ladd
© copyright October 2005, Ashley
Ladd
Cover art by Kat Richards, ©
copyright October 2005
ISBN 1-58608-757-6
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All
characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be
confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely
coincidence.
Chapter One
If she’d wanted to work in a minimum wage
nightmare, she wouldn’t be killing herself taking twelve hours of marketing
management classes this semester. If any of the other co-eds spied her working
in a dive like this, she’d be mortified after the way she’d run off at the
mouth about having a decent, respectable career, unlike her mother.
As she folded
herself back into the bucket seat, she bumped the visor. Her overdue rent
notice and tuition reminder tumbled open onto her lap, the big bold letters P-A-S-T
D-U-E faced her threateningly. She stared at the ominous phrase so long the
frightening words blurred together.
If only her scholarship had come through and
Miguel hadn’t turned out to be such a louse, she wouldn’t be in such dire
straights.
Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly,
reminding her that she hadn’t put a morsel of food in it for several hours. “Oh
hush up!” The only piece of food remaining in her fridge was a moldy piece of
cheese and her mouth had the nerve to salivate at the thought of it. God,
she was desperate!
Her glance stole back to the help wanted sign
and she frowned. Desperate people did desperate, crazy things.
“Money’s money,” she muttered aloud. “It’ll only
be temporary till something better shows up….” She came to a firm resolution.
She wasn’t going to end up like this destitute creature or her poor, departed
mother. She’d do whatever was necessary to stay in college and graduate, not to
wind up as her mother with a brood of hungry kids and insufficient skills to
support them. Even pump gas.
Blair squared her shoulders, smoothed her skirt,
and then marched toward her destiny with her head held high. She did her best
to ignore the overpowering stench of oil and gas,
which seeped into her every pore, and commanded her stomach to behave
and stop growling.
She tried to buoy her confidence with the cheerful
thought that the store manager would probably take one look at her resume and
promote her to management. This was their lucky day. They were being offered a
top-notch college student, a rare treasure indeed. Her bad luck would be their
fortune. A place like this couldn’t afford to turn someone of her caliber away.
When she pushed the glass door wide an arctic
blast of stale air smacked her in the face and bells tinkled overhead. Hot
dogs, strong coffee, and pine-scented cleaner replaced the pungent aroma that
overwhelmed the outside. Her traitorous stomach rumbled again, and her mouth
watered. Shut up, she hissed inwardly, hoping no one heard her making
embarrassing bodily noises.
A hunky raven-haired man bent over a mop on the
far side of the store. As her gaze riveted on him, she tripped over an object
in the middle of the floor and pitched forward. Wildly grabbing the shelf in
front of her to keep from falling flat on her face, rows of candy scattered to
the floor.
Appalled at the mess she’d made, she blanched.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see the sign.” How could she have missed the neon
monstrosity in the middle of the floor? Her only excuse was that she she’d been
struck by a lightning bolt. She knelt down and scooped up the candy and tried
to restock it in its proper place.
“Are you okay?” the man asked kindly, concern
lacing his voice. He hitched up his pants leg and squatted beside her and
cracked a friendly grin, when she nodded silently. “Don’t worry about this.
I’ll get it.”
Her stomach practically roared its hunger and
she pretended to cough, trying to cover the horrid sound. Oh God, not here,
not now. “Is the manager here?”
“Can I help you?” The man rose to his full
height, a good half head taller than she was, even though she easily stood 5’10”
in her flats.
“I really need to speak to your boss and I’d
consider it a huge favor if you didn’t tell him I nearly demolished your
store.” She flashed her brightest smile at him, hoping to dazzle him and win
him over to her side. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad working here after all, if he
were one of the perks.
Curiosity danced in his avid gaze. “I won’t say
a word. What did you need to talk to him about?”
“It’s private. I really have to speak to him.”
It would be just her rotten luck that this was the manager’s day off or he had
left early. If she didn’t get a job now, she could kiss her college career and
apartment goodbye. If she ever got her hands on Derek, she’d strangle him!
“I’m the
manager.” The suddenly off-limits hottie folded his arms across his broad chest
and flashed a noncommittal smile at her. A professional expression masked his
previous friendliness.
Oh God. She’d blown any chance of landing
the job even though she really hadn’t planned to win the boss over by insulting
him. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Management 101 hadn’t covered how to
salvage a mess like this one. She tried to speak, to say anything to make
amends but her voice stuck in her throat.
“Miss?” From the tone of his voice, he must
think her a complete imbecile. He waited for her to continue, his gaze steady
on her, burning into her.
How could she apply for a job to a man who must
think she was a stuck up klutz? What the hell? What could she lose? She
had already wasted a half-hour and what could he do but say no? She would never
see him again in that case. “I’d like to apply for your job.”
Amusement flickered across his coal-dark eyes as
he assessed her from the tip of her suede boots to her Gucci purse. He leaned
back and folded his arms in an intimidating way. “Will you mop floors and clean
toilets?”
Angry that he doubted her capability or
willingness to do his dirty work, she bristled. When she started to grind her
teeth, she stopped herself, remembering she was on review. “If that’s the job
description, I can do it. I can pump gas, too. Want to test me?”
He chuckled, his lips lifting at the corners.
His brow arched and he continued to examine her fine clothing. “You don’t
exactly look the type. You ever worked in a C-store before?”
“What’s a C-store?” Blair had never heard the
term and gave him a blank stare.
“Convenience store. C-store for short.” The man
cracked a grin.
“No, I’ve never worked in a store like this, but
I’ve done retail and I can operate a register. I have an Associate degree in
Business and I’m in my senior year at FAU.” If she could handle Halladay’s
statistics class from Hell, she could handle this cinch job until a better one
opened up.
He swaggered to the register, withdrew a pad of
employment applications from under the counter, tore the top one off, and
pushed it across the counter to her. “Bring this back after you’ve filled it
out.” He turned his attention to an elderly gentleman that waddled into the
store to pay for his gas.
The customer plucked a local newspaper from a high
stack between the front door and register, and then tossed it onto the counter.
“This and two quick picks,” he said in a wobbly voice as his liver-spotted
hands slid a crumpled twenty-dollar bill to the manager.
The manager rang up the sale, counted back the
man’s change, and then punched up two lottery tickets that popped out of the
machine. He snatched them and deposited them in the man’s outstretched hand.
“Thanks, Race. You and me got a lunch date if I
win.”
Crinkle lines fanned out from the manager’s eyes
as he cracked a genuine smile at his customer. “I’ll hold you to that, Petie.”
The man chuckled and waved as he tucked the
tickets into his wallet on the way out.
So, the man’s name was Race. She tucked the
information away for future reference. “I’ll just fill this out now, if you
don’t mind.” She borrowed the fountain pen that rested next to the credit card
machine and began to fill in the blanks.
The heavenly aroma of the cooking hot dogs and
brewing coffee enticed her unmercifully, causing her stomach to growl again.
Aghast that the manager must’ve heard it for it sounded like Mount St. Helen’s
erupting, she kept her gaze down, praying he was hard of hearing or mistook it
for the whoosh of machinery.
She blessed her luck when he flicked on a
country music station and whistled to it as he resumed his mopping, although
she didn’t particularly care for that kind of music. At least it drowned out
other less desirable sounds. When she finished, she turned to him and asked,
“Can I get an interview now?”
“You’re awfully anxious to work here.”
“I need the job desperately,” she admitted. “I
was laid off my last job a couple of weeks ago, and now my rent’s overdue, and
I have to pay my tuition, or I’ll be withdrawn from classes.” And I’m
starved and I believed in the biggest jerk of all time that ran off with all my
money and saddled me with the full rent…. Of course she wasn’t about to
tell him her pathetic life story. Still, absolutely famished she stole a glance
at the grill, uncaring that she detested greasy hot dogs under normal
circumstances. She was unable to help herself.
He shook her hand and she couldn’t help but note
how perfectly hers fit into his. “Race Sutton.”
“Blair--”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Blair.” He cut her off
as he accepted the application she offered to him.
Miss Blair? Her brows knitted together.
She had only ever heard such a greeting on that old TV show “Dallas” but he
didn’t have a southern accent. He had no room to talk. What kind of a name was
Race?
“Are your parents NASCAR fans?”
“It’s short for Horace.”
Horace? He didn’t look like any Horace
she’d ever seen. Such a hunk should have a name like Brandon, or Troy or Jason.
Horace was downright criminal!
“I’m named after my father.” His eyes narrowed
as challenge vibrated in his voice. His shoulders tensed, and his fists
clenched at his sides.
“Your dad goes by Horace or Race?” Her curiosity
would get her into trouble one day, but she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t
know if marketing majors were born to be nosy or if they absorbed it by
osmosis.
“Ace.” Race held up one finger. “His dad went by
Horace. Eighty years ago it was considered debonair.”
“Not hokey, like now.” To her horror, the words
tumbled out before she could stop them. Then, her stomach grumbled, making her
wish she would melt into the floor and die.
He pretended not to hear her and walked over to
the coffee machine and poured a cup of the rich, dark liquid. “Would you like
some coffee or soda?”
The aroma smelled heavenly and she nodded,
following him, quickly forgetting her humiliation. “Coffee’d be wonderful.”
He fixed a hot dog and to her amazement, he
placed it and the coffee next to her on the counter without a word.
His kindness and generosity almost overwhelmed
her, even if it was just a free hot dog. She smiled her thanks and almost
forgetting she had ventured in for a job, she ate half the hot dog in one bite.
With piqued curiosity she asked, “So what will
you call your son?” She couldn’t come up with any decent derivations of the
name not already used.
“We broke tradition and named him Steve.”
The world rocked beneath her. We? They
had a son? They, as in Race was married? She almost choked on the
second half of her hot dog and she lost all pleasure in it. Her voice wooden,
the food tasting like sand, she murmured, “Nice name.”
“Can you start tomorrow night, Miss Blair?” He
rattled the application in his hand.
“Yes. But only if you stop calling me Miss
Blair.” When he called her Miss Blair, she felt like Miss Daisy or
Scarlett O’Hara, a feeling that grated on her.
His gaze focused on her hands, his brows
pinching together. “Sorry, I didn’t see any rings. Is it Mrs. Blair?”
She frowned, and then enlightenment dawned.
Shaking her head and suppressing a sigh, she put her finger on her signature,
enunciating as she corrected him, “I’m Miss Blair Fayard. Everyone calls
me Blair.”
Stars twinkled in the man’s eyes and his lips
twitched. A man had no right to have such chiseled, sexy lips. Those
lips spoke to her most erotic fantasies. But alas, she reminded herself that
those lips belonged to his wife who also owned the exclusive rights to have
erotic fantasies about them. Not that an employee should fantasize about her
boss regardless if he was married or not.
With supreme effort, she dragged her gaze from
his lips to his ears. Ears weren’t sexy. They’d be safe to stare at.
To her utter chagrin, Race had sexy ears, too. Ears just made to
nibble and lick. Ears perfect to whisper deep, dark fantasies into.
The object of her uninvited fantasies uncapped a
red ink pen and poised it over the paper, annoyingly professional. “What shift
can you work?”
She bricked off her wayward thoughts and
mentally reviewed her class schedule. Daytimes were filled with college
classes. “Part time. Evenings and weekends only.” After a pause, she added,
“I’m taking eighteen hours and I need study time.”
Race nodded as he scribbled. The application
fairly bled with red ink. “That’s a heavy load. Can you handle twenty hours a
week here, too?”
She nodded, her throat less constricted already
even though she wouldn’t get her first paycheck for a week or two. “What’s the
salary?”
“We
start you out at minimum wage. After you log a thousand hours, you’ll be
eligible for a raise.”
Minimum wage? With the outrageous price
for gas the station was raking in? How criminal!
Her heart sank to her toes. She’d have to
work more than twenty hours weekly just to meet her expenses. She’d have to get
a new roommate to split expenses with despite this job--if it was
offered. She could forget about any kind of recreation that cost money. Again
she cursed the evil Derek under her breath. She had a mind to warn his new
girlfriend about his
At least a raise loomed on the horizon. Her
hopes leaped. “How much of a raise?”
“A dime an
hour.” He didn’t flinch like he should have at such an embarrassing figure.
Blinking in shock, she did a double take. A dime
wouldn’t even pay for a phone call. That was only two dollars more a week for a
twenty-hour week. Two dollars wouldn’t buy one day’s food. Well, maybe if she
lived on rice and peanut butter sandwiches. “That’s a joke, right?”
“No joke. Do you want the job or not?” He
sounded as if her decision made no-never mind to him.
She made a quick mental calculation and
concluded she would earn a little over a hundred bucks a week. Not good, but
better than nothing. She would have to actively hunt another job, but this
would be some money until she found one. She didn’t have a choice. Her pockets
were completely bare. “I’ll take it.”
She leaned on the counter and stared him
straight in the eye. This was no time to get shy. “How about letting me into
your management trainee program? I’m almost finished with my management
degree.”
“You have to apply to Corporate for that but
they usually prefer grads. You’ll have a better chance once you have your
diploma in hand.”
Her hopes dashed. She couldn’t win. “Do you have
the application form?”
Race straightened, flashing a look at her she
couldn’t discern. “You’ll have to snail mail a resume or apply online.” He
delved under the counter again and emerged with a business card, which he held
out to her.
“Let’s get you suited up and ready to go for
tomorrow night.” He led her to the office that doubled as a storeroom and
pointed to a long rack of uniforms. “Take two in your size. Bring the soiled
ones back for the laundry service and take a new one after every shift.”
Blair sorted through the clothing rack looking
for her size, dreading having to wear the ugliest uniforms she had ever seen.
Neon orange and pink clashed wildly, giving her an acid flashback even though
she was far from a child of the sixties.
Meanwhile, he filed her paperwork in the metal
file cabinet. When he straightened up, he eyed her boots speculatively. “We’ll
start orientation tomorrow night at six sharp. Wear gym shoes that you don’t
mind getting dirty and tie your hair up. We have to abide by health
regulations.”
“Oh joy.” Her words came out so dryly they
almost turned to dust. She was going to love this job.
“Six sharp.”
She wiggled her fingers at her new boss, trying
to remember to be thankful for this godsend. At least her stomach was full,
even if she could still taste the grease from the hotdog. “Ta ta. Till
tomorrow.”
