Page 4 of The Grand Duel

“I’m so sorry, but the position you’re interviewing for today is no longer available.”

My jaw drops as I stare at the woman who stands half in, half out of the doorway.What?“But…I thought…but it was only just listed yesterday.”

You’ve got to be joking.

This job would have been perfect.

The woman sighs a sigh that tells me she’s as done with this day as I am. “Come inside. Please. Let me get you something warm to drink.” She holds open the door for me, her smile fake but wide, pleasant even, considering she’s just ruined my entire week with one sentence. “Come on. It’s freezing out there. I’m not taking no for an answer.” She ushers me inside with the flick of her head.

I match her sigh and follow her through the doors.

As if this day could get any worse.

I’m going to end up crawling back to my parents with my tail between my legs at this rate.

“I can explain the mix-up,” she assures me, leading me into a small side office.

I pause on the threshold and look up at the name on the door.

“Edna, but everyone calls me Ed around here. Tea or coffee?” She starts around the room, doing what she can to tidy the mess.

“You really don’t have to do this. I can see you’re busy.”

She looks up from the files she’s gathering on her desk, eyeing me through her thin gold-rimmed glasses. She’s got to be in her midfifties, insanely stylish in her cream roll-neck jumper she’s half tucked into her rolled-up jeans and paired with black boots. “I am,” she confirms. “I’m rushed off my feet Monday through Saturday and I need—needed some help. I don’t like having my time wasted, Miss Elton, and I’ve wasted yours today. The least I can do is make you a cuppa. Come, come on, sit down. I could do with one anyway.”

With little to no feeling in the tip of my nose, I drop down in the seat opposite her side of the desk and remove my jacket. “Thank you. And it’s Lissie. Just Lissie is fine.”

She nods. “So, tea? Coffee?” Her lips turn down in contemplation. “Something a little stronger?”

I break a smile.

If we truly wore our hearts on our sleeves, I’m pretty sure this woman—Edna—would have “stressed” printed in capital letters on hers. “I’ll take a tea, thank you.” Although it is four p.m. on a Friday, and I’d kill for a glass of wine right now. I’m just not sure if she’s joking, and if she isn’t, what kind of potential employee did that make me look?

Not that there’s a job available here now.

I run my hand over my forehead once she leaves the room, not minding what it’s likely doing to my makeup. I have more pressing issues to worry about. Like what I do now. Where I’m going to live.

Keep looking for a job, Lis. Something will come up.

“Edna Harrison?”

I turn in the chair to find a large bouquet of flowers hovering in my face, the delivery person’s head hidden behind a pretty bunch of red roses.

“No, she’s just making tea,” I say, not immediately standing.

It’s been the longest week.

“Are you able to sign for them?”

I stand. “Sure.”

I take the arrangement, admiring the extravagance of such a gesture.

I’ve had a hatred for flowers since I was little. Not the actual flower itself, but more the gifting of them.

Flowers are a rich man’s pacifier. In my opinion, anyway. A way of manipulating women into thinking they’re sorry or thinking of them.

I still remember the day my dad sent flowers to my hospital bed when I was eleven years old. At first, I thought they were pretty and so thoughtful of him, but then they got uglier and uglier until they started to smell bad, and the nurse threw them out.

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