Riley looked at me like she pitied me, reaching up to squeeze my shoulder. Before she could walk off, I called out.

“Any advice?”

She shrugged, a sad attempt at a smile on her face. “Make sure there’s beer around.”

Chapter Two

Giana

Charlotte Banks was the canvas landscape picture of cool as she sat behind her desk the next afternoon, eyes on her computer screen while the tape of Clay’s interview played back. That screen was angled toward me, too, so I could watch from where I sat opposite her — like I hadn’t replayed it a hundred times already.

If I expected a blow out, I didn’t know my boss. Mrs. Banks appeared almost bored as she watched the screen, occasionally looking down at her manicured nails and picking at the skin around them before she’d fold her arms over her chest once more. Her short copper hair was straightened and styled to perfection, the strands framing her sharp chin, not a strand out of place. Her lips were painted a muted red, and her wide, golden eyes were like that of a cat lazily watching a mouse struggle where she has it by the tail.

I swallowed when the video stopped, an image of Clay’s uncharacteristic frown frozen in place. I chanced a look at my boss, who simply blinked and waited for me to speak.

“I’m sorry,” I started, but she held up a hand, her voice warm and smooth like dripping hot fudge as she spoke.

“Not what I want to hear. Try again.”

I closed my mouth, considering before I opened it once more. “Clay and his girlfriend broke up, which I was unaware of until after the interview. He’s clearly in no headspace to be on camera, and I take full responsibility for not realizing that until it was too late.”

Charlotte etched a brow, unfolding her arms and turning her computer screen back around before she was scribbling on a notepad on her desk.

“Good information to know,” she said, not looking at me. “But still not what I wanted to hear.”

I fought the urge to deflate, using every muscle lining my spine to keep it straight, my chin raised, eyes on her.

She glanced up at me before sighing. “Can you handle it or not?”

I bristled at the accusation, at the fact that she even had to ask. But then again, I couldn’t blame her — not after what she’d had to work with since I first walked through her door. It had taken all my effort, every single day, just to look these guys in the eye and speak loud enough to direct them where they needed to be.

I’d come a long way, yes… but I certainly had a ways to go.

“Of course,” I answered, hoping my confidence was convincing.