Page 5 of Storm's Embrace

Thank goodness.

She schooled her features as he shrugged and came back to where she stood with her arms crossed, his head shaking as a slight smile played over his lips. “We’re the only ones here right now.”

Ah, so obviously a good reason not to do what she’d asked. After five years, it was going to be hard to get him to change, even if it was kind of her own fault for letting him get away with it all this time.

But at the time she’d come to work for him, she’d been a single mom who’d wanted to stand on her own two feet. So she hadn’t said anything the first time, then the second, and the third, and so on. Looking back, she had to admit she’d been so grateful for the job she probably would have put up with almost anything.

Things had been more than tight financially back then. After her divorce, she’d barely been managing to hold on to her apartment—despite the fact her parents were helping out. Also, her level of discouragement had been pretty high after going through seven interviews in two months without a call-back. After interview number three, she’d gotten the distinct impression no one wanted to take a chance on a 21-year-old single mother with the sole responsibility in the care of an eight-month-old.

She’d finally given in and let her lease go and had been packing for her move back to her parents’ house when her cell had rung. Since Zoë had been taking her nap, she’d hurried to answer it before it woke her up.

“Hello,” she’d answered on a breathless note.

“Miriam Perry?”

She hadn’t bothered to check the caller ID before answering and had frowned at the unfamiliar voice.

“Yes. This is Miriam Perry.”

“This is Dr. Eli Storm. You applied for the receptionist position I advertised.”

It had been one of many she’d applied for, but one she’d all but forgotten about it after nearly a month.

“Yes,” she’d said while trying to hold back her excitement.

“I know it’s last minute, but do you think you could come by for an interview this afternoon?”

She’d scanned the chaos surrounding her and had wondered which box she’d packed herinterviewclothes in.

“Certainly,” she’d said with more confidence than she’d felt. “What time?”

“How does three o’clock sound?”

She’d checked the time on her phone. Two hours. Plenty of time to get ready and have Zoë to her parents’ house.

“I’ll be there.”

He’d given her directions to his office and then hung up, leaving Miriam to rush through a shower before ransacking boxes for the clothes she’d needed while running around with one towel wrapped around her body and another around her head. The suit had been slightly wrinkled, of course, so she’d ironed it within an inch of its life before carefully putting on her makeup. She’d been determined to make a good impression, so when he found out about her single mom status, he’d know it wouldn’t keep her from being on time and looking professional.

Zoë had had her own ideas and had woken up screaming before Miriam could dry her hair or get dressed. She’d gone to her daughter and quickly picked her up from her crib, only to find she’d had a massive blowout that had seeped out of her diaper and migrated up over her back and down her thighs.

They’d both needed a bath once she’d gotten her cleaned up.

So, she’d hurriedly jumped in the shower again with her daughter—all while trying to keep her face out of the water so her makeup wouldn’t run—before getting out and dressing her child in a onesie. But it hadn’t been enough to soothe her unhappy baby.

So, Miriam had ended up sitting her in her highchair in the kitchen and feeding her applesauce while muttering, “I should’ve added multitasking to my resume.” Because she’d managed it all while pulling on her clothing and buttoning buttons between spoonfuls.

She’d ended up brushing out her nearly-dried hair that reached past her waist before tying it into a high ponytail and running out the door. Fifteen minutes later, her mom had met her at her car, who gave her the quick encouragement, “You’ve got this,” as she took Zoë from her car seat.

It had been close, but Miriam had made it to her appointment with only minutes to spare as she’d sat down in the waiting room. She’d just blown out a relieved breath when a mature, well-dressed woman had come out the door by the reception window after what she’d assumed had been her interview. The woman had looked down her nose at Miriam and snickered as she’d walked out.

“What’sherproblem?” she’d groused while frowning at the door closing behind the woman. Then she’d nervously smoothed down her blouse, only to lift one wet, sticky hand out in front of her to stare at it in dismay.

Applesauce.

Not only had she discovered a large, runny blob of the stuff below her left boob, but that she’d also buttoned her blouse up wrong. She’d hurriedly redone up her buttons with trembling fingers while watching for anyone else coming in or out, and then pulled some wipes from her purse—what mother of a baby didn’t carrythoseeverywhere—and had managed to get the applesauce out. But a huge wet spot she couldn’t hide had been left behind.

“So much for making a good impression,” she’d muttered, tightening her ponytail for the third time. Then she’d slumped back in her seat when it had all suddenly hit her—the weight of her responsibilities, her grim employment outlook, her dwindling finances.

---