Page 69 of Going Deep
“Me neither.”
Lola darted a glance at the bar, where Simon stood waiting for drinks and chatting with Skip. “What if he did?” she asked. “Make up a job for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, would you take it?”
“I don’t know. I need a job, and I’m not stupid enough to turn down free money.” Ginger huffed out a breath. “But on the other hand…”
“Yeah,” Lola agreed.
“At best, it would be weird,” Ginger decided. “At worst, I’d feel obligated, and I really don’t want that.”
Lola looked grim. “No, you don’t.”
“But he doesn’t know that I know that he’s the one pulling the strings,” Ginger said, “and to make me feel obligated, I’d have to know, right?”
“That’s true,” Lola allowed.
Ginger rubbed her temples. “I should’ve told him at the batting cage that I knew about the foundation.”
“Well, that ship has sailed, so we deal with what it,” Lola said philosophically. “Are you going to go to the interview?”
“Hmm? Oh. Sure, what have I got to lose? I have to find something to wear, though. I left all my professional clothes back home.”
“Back in Ohio,” Lola corrected her. “This is home now.”
Ginger worked up a feeble smile. “I hope so.”
“We’ll go shopping Monday after work,” Lola decided. “You, me, Anna. Shopping, then dinner. We’ll find you something to wear, you can practice your interview skills, and we’ll help you figure out how you’re going to tell Michael.”
Ginger slumped in her chair. “Thanks. I need all the help I can get.”
“What do you need help with, darling?” Michael asked, strolling up to stand next to her.
She shot Lola a panicked look as she sat up in her chair. “Um, an outfit. For my interview on Tuesday. Lola and Anna are going to take me shopping.”
Simon arrived, two tall glasses filled with pale amber liquid and ice. “Hey, Michael. Ladies, your drinks.”
Ginger took hers with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Simon.”
Simon handed Lola a glass, then perched on the arm of her chair. “What are we talking about?”
“Shopping,” Lola said. “Ginger has an interview on Tuesday, and she needs an outfit.”
“An interview?” Simon’s golden eyes sharpened. “For a job here in Chicago?”
Ginger forced herself to sip her ginger ale slowly and nod.
“That’s great,” Simon enthused. “Is it a teaching job?”
Ginger hesitated, then realized it would be more suspicious if she didn’t answer. “No, it’s at the Killingsworth Chicago Family Center?”
“Really?” Simon’s gaze arrowed to Michael, and it took all of Ginger’s willpower not to turn around. After a moment, Simon looked back at her. “How’d that happen?”
“We ran into a friend of mine who works there,” Michael said smoothly. “Ginger was interested in the Center, thought it might be a good fit for her, so I passed her resume on. They called on Friday to schedule an interview.”
Simon was looking at Michael again, his golden eyes unreadable. “Well,” he finally said. “That’s great. Good luck, Ginger.”
