Page 13 of Sugar Coated Lies
I bet he has, only I’m not referring to pie in the literal sense.
He rubs the light stubble on his chin. “Is the recipe homemade or restaurant-owned?”
“Homemade.”
One corner of his mouth hikes up. “That’s good.”
“Why is that?” And why does he look so pleased?
He leans forward, and I can’t help but admire the mint-green color of his eyes and the tiny flecks of brown now visible in them. “Can you keep a secret?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He focuses on my lips for a moment. “I don’t like your boss. I don’t like the way he treats you, either. But I suspect you need this job—orajob—and I’d like to offer you one.”
Holy shit. I could get fired for having this conversation. “What kind?” Is he even serious?
“In our store, at the farm. We sell pecans, obviously, but we also grow peaches and sell bakery goods with both ingredients. Beverages, donuts, cookies,pies.”
“And what would I do?”
“Bake, sell, serve, learn about the pecan farming industry if you want. You’d be well paid and respected. You’d get regular breaks as well as benefits. You’d also have a much more pleasant work environment.” He scans the cracks in the table surface and the tape on the back of my booth.
My heart pounds in my chest. This is exactly what I need. I shouldn’t act too eager, though. Right? Ugh. I don’t know how to do this. “When could I start?”
“Immediately.”
“What’s the pay?”
“Twenty an hour. Full-time, that’s a little over forty thousand a year.”
I can’t hide my gasp. It’d be an adjustment and a longer commute than the diner, which means Carol will need to put in extra hours. I might lose more sleep, keeping up with my studies and assignments, but a pleasant work environment and more pay would be a blessing.
“What are you thinking?” he whispers, his gaze devouring mine.
“I’m wondering if this is real,” I lie. He doesn’t need to know I have school and a sick grandfather to care for, or he might rescind his offer.
“It’s as real as you want it to be.”
I lick my dry lips.
He watches.
Is he this intrigued by all women? Probably. I bet they’re like ice cream for a guy like him, a new flavor every week.
I stare at the table. “I’ll have to put my two weeks’ notice in. It wouldn’t be fair to leave the others without help until they find a replacement for me.”
“Your boss doesn’t deserve it, but I understand and respect your decision.”
My eyes find his. It’s what I needed to hear. “Thank you.”
“Then we have a deal?”
I peek at the camera in the corner. “I’d rather not shake on it, though.”
“I understand completely. Will he give you a hard time about leaving?”
I let out a humorless laugh. “What do you think?”
