"Puerto Rico."
"Pasé un verano en la isla. Es hermosa. Me encantaría volver algún día, pero me da miedo que mientras este allí no quisiera volver a casa mas nunca." (I spent a summer on the island. It's beautiful. I'd love to go back someday, but I'm afraid I'd never want to come home again.) I wink and she narrows her eyes. "My name is Leo James, and I own Guardian Protection Agency." I drag yet another card from my wallet. "You see, I’ve been trying to recruit Miss Erickson for a position working for me, but she keeps refusing. When I saw her outside today, I had to give it one last shot to persuade her. However, sadly for myself, she politely declined. It seems she is very excited about the prospect of a position here at the Tribune. It’s my loss. But please don’t penalize her for my persistence. You would be lucky to have her." I finish with a charming smile.
She flicks my card in her fingers. "Guardian, huh? You run security for Slate Andrews, right?" She changes the topic, and it forces the smile to fade from my lips.
"I do," I answer with more attitude than necessary.
"Is it true his new bride is pregnant? Our sports section would have a field day breaking that story."
"I never comment on clients, Mrs. Fernandez. I’m sorry. There will be no breaking story," I almost growl.
She shrugs. "You can’t blame me for taking one last shot," she says, throwing my words right back at me.
"Of course not." I plaster on a patronizing smile.
"Well, Miss Erickson, seeing as you are in such high demand, even if you did keep me waiting for almost half an hour, I’d love to speak with you more." The bitchy woman drags her gaze away from me to focus on Sarah, who is nervously smoothing her skirt behind me.
"Yes, and I’m sorry again for being late," Sarah stumbles out.
"Follow me." She walks down the long hall.
A wide-eyed Sarah turns to face me and silently mouths, "Thank you."
I smile and wink before pointing to my card she’s still holding. "Call me," I mouth back to her while making the universal phone signal with my hand. She quickly nods and heads down the hall.
"I GOT the job!" I hear her scream over the phone as I sit at the computer in my office. It hasn’t even been an hour since I left Sarah at her job interview, but I haven’t stopped thinking about her yet. "I mean, hey… This is Sarah Erickson from, you know…earlier," she says uncomfortably.
I laugh at her reminder. "Yes, I remember. So I’m assuming the interview with the Wicked Witch went well after I left." I recline back in my chair, pushing my feet out in front of me.
"Well, the first five minutes were questions about how I knew you. But after that, she seemed to warm up a little bit. She offered me shit for pay, but hey, whatever. I am gainfully employed."
"Congratulations. I think you should let me take you out to dinner this weekend to celebrate." I smile to myself at the prospect of seeing her again, but the line goes silent. "Sarah?"
"Oh, um…I… Well," she stutters.
"Wow. Don’t sound too enthusiastic," I laugh.
"No. I mean. Yeah, okay. Dinner sounds good," she says quietly, but I can still hear the uncertainty in her voice.
I should offer to pick her up, but her hesitance tells me that she would be wary of such a conventional date. "You want to meet me at Shades on Friday night?"
"Yeah. Shades. Seven?" she asks nervously.
"Sounds like a plan."
"Okay, well, I’ll let you go, Leo. Thanks again for today."
"Sure. No problem. I’m glad things worked out. I’ll see you on Friday."
"See you then. Bye." She hangs up.
And even though it’s Wednesday, the weekend just became entirely too far away.
"I CAN'T DO it," I say, staring in the mirror and running my fingers through my long, blond hair.
"Sarah, stop. You look amazing," my little sister, Emma, says as she tugs my top down to reveal more cleavage.
"What if he's a serial killer? I've only met him once." I shimmy my top back up to cover my chest.
"He's not a serial killer," she tries to reassure me but pulls my top back down. "You have great boobs. Show a little skin."
I glance down at my chest. She's not wrong. I do have nice boobs, but I'm not sure that is what I want to show off on a first date with a man I barely know. Second date, maybe. Third, definitely. What the fuck am I thinking?
"I should just cancel. This is going to be a disaster." I walk over to my phone and grab it off the nightstand. I open my texts and prepare to send Leo a message with some lame excuse of why I can’t make it.