Page 1 of Trouble for Hire
CHAPTER ONE
WHEW. SOI’Mreallydoingthis.
Camille Dansen stared at her phone, and the digits on her screen glared up at her like a quiet shout.
12:00
That’s it. Twelve o’clock.
She released a short, incredulous laugh.
Oh my God, am I really doing this?
She gave her head a good, hard shake, laying her phone down on her thigh to, one, keep from staring at that text as if it would go for her throat. And two, hoping the weight of the phone would stop her leg from jumping like a jackhammer on a construction site.
The tattoo artist that had let her inside Forever Ink glanced at her from behind the shop’s front desk. The front desk that, if this interview went well, would be her responsibility. The longer she stared at the piece of furniture, the larger it seemed to grow until it nearly swallowed the tall, tatted and pierced man behind it.
Because that desk represented her uncertain present and her murkier future.
“I just spoke with Erik. He’s on his way and should be here in a couple of minutes,” he said.
She nodded. “Thank you for letting me know.”
“No problem.” He jerked his chin up, his voice remaining professional, neutral, but curiosity lurked in his hazel eyes.
She didn’t blame him. Compared to all the ink covering his dark brown skin, the silver piercing his eyebrows, nose and full lips, the vintage KRS-One T-shirt, black jeans and boots covering his rangy body, she probably looked like she’d veered in here by mistake on her way to the social at one of the local Baptist churches. And that was fair. Considering the last event she’d attended at the church in Providence, Rhode Island, where she’d been a member with her fiancé had been the Women’s Day anniversary brunch.
But that had been months ago. Six to be exact. And like everything else except her car, clothes and the few things she’d had when she began their relationship five years ago, her ex-fiancé, Bradley Luck, had received the church in their breakup. Along with the house, their friends...their life.
Spreading her fingers along her thigh, she dug the tips into the muscle through the knit of her dress. She was here.
Here.
Not in the affluent suburbs of Providence. Not in the two million dollar McMansion with its professionally decorated rooms.
Not in the past.
For all the good it’s doing you, a sarcastic voice snarked in her head. A voice that sounded so similar to her former future-sister-in-law, thoughts of an exorcism to expel Raquel Luck from her thoughts might be in order. A breakup had taken care of removing that woman from her life.
Well, a breakup and a move to another state.
Dorothy had a bucket of water, and she had a Nissan Rogue—whatever worked to get rid of the witches in their lives.
Now it was time to move forward. Starting with this job interview. That was if this Erik Mann showed up for it.
Camille glanced down at her phone. Eleven minutes late. Irritation stirred in her chest. Sure, she was applying for this position and needed to make a good first impression, but he wasn’t knocking his impression out of the park so far.
A warm tingling sparked to life behind her breastbone. She recognized the sensation, though it’d been a long while—years, to be exact—since she’d last felt its presence. That old recklessness she’d believed had been tamed. Or snuffed out. And not by love and contentment as she would’ve said only a year ago. But by the pressure to conform, the fear of disappointing.
She inhaled a deep breath, but nope. The stench of her own cowardice still coated her nostrils.
Still, that touch of wildness urged her to jump to her feet, say to hell with it and walk out. An employer who didn’t respect her enough to be punctual for an interview didn’t bode well for a future here. But maturity and, well, desperation kept her tail planted on the black leather couch.
Funny what things like rent, clothes and food did to your priorities.
“Hey, Erik. Your appointment for the front desk position is out here.”
The tattoo artist’s voice dragged her focus from thoughts of her precarious situation and back to him.
