Page 9 of Just a Distraction

“Well, since you so unceremoniously caused me to get sent home early, now you have to tell me more about these decisions you have to make.”

“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?” he teases.

“Blaine doesn’t want me around right now. He’s manipulative and that’s one of his moves.” I wave him away. “But that’s beside the point. Spill the beans about your dilemma. I could help you. Since, you know, the jeopardy music in your head is winding down.”

He sighs and gives me this look likeI know, right?

“I have two options of where to work and am having trouble deciding between them.”

I rest my hands in my denim jacket pockets. “Two job offers? That puts you in a one-up situation, sounds like.”

I like a man who is intelligent. And not only did he get an advanced degree, but he has two job offers? Color me impressed.

He leans up against his car—a shiny, white Jeep Wrangler—and hesitates. “You’d think so, but it’s complicated.”

When I make a face, he balks. “You told me getting a new job was a complicated subject and now you’re not letting me use the same word to describe my situation?”

My smile breaks free. “Good point. I would say to go with the place with the best breakroom.” I reach out a reassuring hand. “Trust me on this.”

He laughs. I don’t want to admit that I like making him laugh. “That’s your scientific answer?” he asks.

“Yep. I’m not saying the nicest as in the best furnishings and more modern décor because that’s not necessarily better. But what’s the vibe in the breakrooms? Unless you don’t know.”

“Sounds like you’ve been in your fair share of breakrooms, huh?”

“Don’t get me started.” I rest my forehead in both my palms. “So many.”

“You’ve switched jobs a lot, huh?”

I drop my hands and tilt my head to the side. “We’re talking about you, Milo. Focus.”

“What if I want to talk about you?” His eyes soften, and my stomach does a little flip, like a tiny gymnast resides in my insides.

“I’m infinitely boring,” I say. “But you?” I point to him. “You have a real problem on your hands, and the host ofJeopardyis just about to tell you if what you wrote on one of those screen thingies is right or wrong.”

“Is it weird that I’ve always secretly wanted one of those screen thingies?” His face transforms as his mouth widens into a smile.

This man has such a beautiful face, with his strong jawline and his dark fringy-lashed eyes.

“Is it weird that I sort of like how weird it is that you want one?” Oh no. My Tamela Hawkins genes are taking over again!

His grin is triumphant. “You like me, huh?”

Oh boy. I raise a finger. “I did not say that. I said I like—” I click my tongue. “Never mind. So tell me about the two companies.”

Not that any of this matters. After tonight, I’ll never see him again. I breathe in the temperate air and memorize the way the autumn trees in the park strip look against the blackened sky—scratchy, pocked . . . wildly beautiful.

“One is a financial solutions company, and the other is a hospitality company.”

I peer at him. “And do you know about the breakrooms?”

He perks a smile. “Yes, I’ve been in both breakrooms. The hospitality company’s is better.”

“Well, there you go. Tell whoever replaced Alex Trebek that the answer to ‘Where will Milo . . . insert last name . . . spend the next forty years of his life?’ is ‘What is the hospitality company with the sweet break room.’”

Milo visibly shudders. “When you put it like that…”

“Not that you actually have to work there for forty years!” I raise my palms. “But your prospective employer doesn’t need to know that. He needs to think you plan to live and die working for him.”

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