“No, not at all,” Andrew assured me. “The final decision rests with me and Sam. We just need to see how you interact with the others. I know it’s short notice, but do you think you could be here in an hour?”

“Of course!”

“Don’t worry, Jaine. I’m sure there won’t be any problems.”

Gosh, he was sweet, wasn’t he?

I hung up and turned to Prozac, who was napping on my keyboard.

“Oh, Prozac, honey! The job is practically mine!”

I raced over and swooped her up in my arms.

Funny, she felt kind of heavy. Was it my imagination, or had she actually gained weight? How could that be, with all the low-cal cat food she’d been eating?

Oh, well. She obviously took after me. I’ve been on plenty of diets where I’ve starved myself for a week (okay, for a day), and then stepped on the scale only to find I’d gained a pound. Maybe it was just taking a while for her metabolism to adjust.

But I didn’t have time to think about Prozac. I had to get ready for my practically-certain new job at Union National Bank, a prestigious financial institution with assets of more than twelve billion dollars. Of course, its biggest asset, as far as I was concerned, was one Andrew Ferguson.

It took me forever to decide what to wear. I tried on outfit after outfit until my bed looked like the communal dressing room at the Bargain Barn. I finally decided on a classic black Ann Taylor suit. True, I’d bought the suit sometime in the McKinley administration, but classics never go out of style, and with a Talbot’s silk blouse and a pair of slingbacks I’d picked up half price at Nordstrom, I managed to achieve the Corporate Writer look I was going for.

On the downside, I’d taken so much time trying on outfits I didn’t have time to stop off anywhere for breakfast, so by the time I got to the bank I was starving.

Andrew, Sam, and about seven bank managers were already gathered around a conference table when Queen Elizabeth, the receptionist, showed me into the conference room.

Sam looked ravishing in a designer suit that made my Ann Taylor look like something from a Hee Haw rerun. Andrew looked pretty darn ravishing himself, his hair still curled seductively at the nape of his neck.

Sam got up from her seat at the head of the table and introduced me to the bank managers, whose names and faces passed by in a blur. There were a couple of white guys, an Asian, an African American woman, and a Latina. All very corporate. All very buttoned-down. It was a good thing they couldn’t see me in my usual elastic-waist sweats.

“I’d like you all to meet Jaine Austen.” Sam said, showing me off to the gang.