Page 9 of Our Way
“I’m not sure I would be able to work with you.”
My face falls. “Why not?”
“At the risk of being unprofessional, I have to tell you that I’m physically attracted to you.”
“Oh.” What the fuck? “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“I’ve never worked with someone I was attracted to before, have you?”
“Umm.” Jeez, this guy doesn’t mince his words.
“I’m very professional, and I’m in a relationship,” I lie. “You wouldn’t need to worry about that.”
He smiles to himself as if liking that. “Well, that makes things easier. I’m a professional, too.”
I clasp my hands in front of me.
He stares at me for a moment, as if assessing the situation. “I have one more person to interview this afternoon. I will let you know tonight, by email, if you have been successful.”
“Okay.” I smile.
He stands and holds out his hand to shake mine. “Goodbye, Dr. Morgan.”
“Call me Henry.”
I force a smile. Oh hell, this interview is weird. “Okay, Henry, I look forward to your email. Have a lovely weekend.”
“You, too.”
I turn and walk out of the room, not entirely sure what position it is that I’ve just applied for.
Who the fuck tells a person they are interviewing that they are attracted to them? What was that about?
I smile to the girls as I walk through reception. Does he tell them that he’s attracted to them, too? “Goodbye.”
“Bye.” They call.
I get into the elevator and shake my head. “Wow,” I whisper to myself.
Maybe he was just being honest. I mean, if he is a serial player or sleazeball, he wouldn’t say that to me in an interview, he would just perv on me while I worked.
I shrug. It takes all types, I suppose. I walk out of the building, across the street, and into the bar to find Nathan.
He’s sitting at a table in the back, scrolling through his phone with a glass of scotch in front of him.
“Hey.” I smile as I sit down.
He puts his phone down. “How did it go?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Fine, I guess. I find out tonight but the job sounds great.” I can’t elaborate on what Dr. Morgan said to me or Nathan will march into his office like a psycho. He’s a tad overprotective.
“What do you want to drink?” he asks.
I glance over the selection. “A glass of red, please.”
“Okay.” He gets up and disappears to the bar. I take out my phone and text my two best friends. These ones are my girls—the ones I tell everything.
Just got out of my interview.
