Page 21 of Changed Plan

“I work with the statistical variety, mainly the statistics of loss.”

“Hmm, me, too. Potential loss of your reputation, your career . . .”

“Careers could be lost without a good actuary, too.”

“Well, damn. Who knew we were in the same business?”

“I never would’ve guessed.”

“Seriously, though. You don’t seem like an accountant.”

“You don’t seem like a hype girl.”

“That is not what I am.”

“Touché.”

“Got it. You have a complicated job.”

“It sounds like we both do.”

He insists on picking up the check again, says it’s to celebrate my interview.

When we get up to his room, he lets me in, wishes me luck, and turns to leave.

“Should I just text you when my interview is over?”

“That’s kind of the way I saw this going, yeah.” He winks at me again, and I get another chill, much like the one he offered to kiss away last night.

Nerves. It’s just interview nerves.

I stand in the doorway and watch him walk away for a few moments, the same way I did when he left me at the bar. He’s wearing a shirt this time, but I can still see his back muscles as if he weren’t. And his perfectly sculpted shoulders, the peaks and indentions of his spine, the way his waist narrows . . .

Okay, time to shower. I shake away the image of Zane’s bare back and try not to think about the fact that I’m about to be naked in the same space where he’s been naked.

Damn these interview nerves!

***

That was the most successful interview I’ve ever had. There is not a doubt in my mind that I nailed it. I just don’t know if I want the job.

It doesn’t matter. If they offer it, I’ll have to take it.

I should be ecstatic right now, but I feel let down for some reason—like I’m sad that the interview went so well.

The position I interviewed for is PR rep, which is what I do. I started out as an intern during college, became an assistant, and then eventually, I got my own clients. If I get this job, I’ll finally be a senior rep, working with the biggest clients and earning a much bigger salary. This is everything I’ve been climbing toward.

So, why am I doing a mental faceplant instead of cartwheels?

What else am I going to do for a job? Become a homicide detective?

That reminds me I need to let Zane know the interview is over, and he can have his room back. Should I just leave? Is that rude? If I stay and wait for him, is that worse? I don’t know the etiquette for returning a man’s borrowed hotel room.

I send the text and begin packing up my computer. He replies immediately.

Zane:Don’t leave. I’m headed up.

Um, okay. So, I guess I’ll wait.

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