I do wish Nix hadn’t said anything about my clothes. Now I feel self-conscious about my outfit. I have to remind myself that his entire life revolves around making me uncomfortable and questioning myself. I can’t take him seriously. It’s with that in mind that I’m able to keep my chin up as I open the glass door, setting off a bell that jingles merrily overhead.

The clock above the cash register tells me I’m five minutes late. Dammit. I knew they’d find some way to mess this up. I could always make an excuse, but no matter what the reason, this looks unprofessional. I’m starting out on the wrong foot.

If I don’t get this job, I’m sure there will be other opportunities, but the more time I spend with my soon-to-be stepbrothers, the easier it is to remember why I’m in such a hurry in the first place.

When the girl behind the counter clears her throat, I realize I’ve been standing here without having said a word. “Hi,” I offer. “My name is Leni Peters, and I had a four o’clock appointment to speak with the owner about a job.”

She can’t be any older than me, so why does it sting so badly when she shoots a pointed look up at the clock? It reminds me of when I was training, and my coach would make a face like that and convey a hundred kinds of disappointment without saying a word. “Yeah, let me tell him you’re here,” she mutters before heading to the back while I wish I could dig a hole and bury myself in it. Not the best way to start this out.

It’s not thirty seconds before she comes back. “You can sit down. He’ll call for you when he’s ready.” The phone rings, and she answers right away, leaving me with nothing to do but sit in one of the molded plastic chairs lined up in front of the window. A few tables are in use at the moment, but otherwise, the shop is fairly empty. I guess it’s a little early for the dinner rush.

Five minutes pass. Ten minutes, twenty. Now the tables are empty, and it’s just me and the girl behind the counter. Whenever I try to catch her eye, she suddenly remembers something she’s got to do. I’m pretty sure she wipes down the tables three different times before finally giving up and scrolling through her phone without bothering to acknowledge me.