Page 5 of Wrecked By You

He stared at his laptop and then tipped up his chin, his glacial eyes boring into my face. I squirmed, the intensity of his gaze almost burning through several layers of skin.

“Your resume is scant. How old are you?”

I widened my eyes. Was he even allowed to ask a question like that? Yeah, I supposed he was considering his business served alcohol. I stammered an answer. “T-twenty-four.”

He held out his hand. “ID?”

My hand trembled as I removed my ID from my purse. Diego, a forger who’d done work for my husband had sourced fake birth certificates and social security cards for me and Chloe. With those, I’d been able to get a fake driver’s license, too. Diego had a soft spot for Chloe, and after what happened, he’d agreed to help me, at great personal cost to himself.

For my part, I’d promised never to reveal his part in my escape. And I never would.

Mr. Kingcaid scrutinized my ID, then handed it back to me. “College degree?”

“No. Do I need one to tend bar?”

He arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, I guessed in reaction to the bite to my tone. I silently cursed, pasted a smile on my face—and lied through my teeth.

“I worked for my father’s company for quite a while after I left high school, just helping out around the office, but I didn’t put that on my resume, as, well”—I forced a chuckle—“it feels a little disingenuous. I didn’t exactly interview for the role.”

He grunted. I waited for a response. None came. I knitted my fingers together and placed them in my lap to stop the temptation to fiddle with the hem of my shirt.

“I’m a good bartender, Mr. Kingcaid.”

If he was, in fact, the owner. For all I knew, he could be the janitor, and I, his entertainment for the day. I doubted it, though. He gave off an air of authority, and he hadn’t corrected me when I’d used his name.

“I’m hardworking, I’m efficient, and the customers at my last place liked me. That counts for a lot in this business.”

Another grunt. “You’re not from around here. Why’d you choose LA?”

I swallowed. He’d obviously picked up on my Southern accent. “Why not?”

He arched that eyebrow again. I rushed on.

“It’s the land of opportunity.” I smiled. He didn’t. I squeezed my hands tighter together and scrabbled around my mind for a reply he might believe. Then he spoke and saved me from adding additional reasoning.

“I see you worked at a place in New Mexico, but only for a month. Why’d you leave that job?”

Because my crazy estranged husband found me and our daughter, and I had no choice but to run.

“It was only ever supposed to be temporary.”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Temporary. Hmm. A lot about this,” he drummed his fingers on the desk, “seems to be temporary. I’m looking for reliable staff, Miss…” He glanced at his screen. “Reyes. Not someone who’ll leave me in the lurch because they’re only interested intemporaryemployment.”

I quelled my racing heart.Stay calm.“Not at all, sir. Since I came to LA, I’ve only managed to find temporary assignments, but I’m looking for permanent work, maybe even a career.” Time to flatter him. “It would be an honor to work at Level Nine. I’m not planning to leave Los Angeles. This is my home, now.”

Not planning to, no. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t run in a heartbeat, despite whatever lies I told to land this job. Chloe was all that mattered. I couldn’t afford loyalty to anyone other than my daughter.

“Did you tell him or her the same when they gave you the New Mexico job?”

Heat rushed to my face. I had told him exactly that. God, why had I put that job on my resume? Stupid. So stupid. And why was he fixated on New Mexico rather than my more recent assignments, ones I could back up with references? It was almost as if he smelled a rat and was determined to flush it out from its hiding place.

“No, he knew it was temporary. I moved on once he found a permanent member of the team.”

“Is that so?” He reached for his cell phone, drawing it toward him. “So, if I called him right now and asked for a reference, he’d back up your story?”

I wrung my hands. The game was up. Time to beg. “Please, I really need this job.” My voice shook, emotion and desperation choking me. “I just need a chance. I’m a good worker. I’m not lying about that.”

“Just about everything else, huh?”

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