Watching her walk away, I let her words replay in my head. She was right. There were many reasons I needed this job and money was only one of them. I had to stop thinking so small and consider the future. My future. No one was going to go out there and get it for me. I was going to have to do it myself.
Stuffing one final forkful of cake in my mouth, I bounced to my feet with renewed energy and my determination refilled. I was going to get a fucking job, and I was going to get the one I wanted. Checking my phone, I realised it was already after four-thirty and most places would be closing soon. If I was lucky, I could get in one more this afternoon and then I’d have to come back in the morning.
Turning the corner, I looked up at the sign on the next place on my list before turning my attention back to my phone. This couldn’t possibly be it. Double-checking the website, I was where I was supposed to be, but this place wasn’t what it was advertising. The website showed a sleek, chic salon with chrome and black chairs and a wall of mirrors. The silver and gold sparkling sign suggested luxury, and in this neighbourhood, that’s exactly what I expected. Hell, any house in a five-kilometre radius would set you back a couple of million without breaking a sweat. But the reality was very different. Overhead the sign was peeling, and paint faded. Inside, the once white tiles appeared grey and in desperate need of a serious scrub. The posters on the wall looked like they were straight out of the eighties and were peeling from the walls. More than that, it was empty. Like completely empty. Not a soul in sight. The four tattered vinyl chairs were vacant. No one stood behind the counter, and there was no one sweeping the floors – which they definitely should be.
I didn’t even bother hanging around.
Instead, I stuffed my resumes back in my purse and headed back to my car. As I was turning into the car park, my phone rang. Seeing Seth’s name perked me up in a way it really shouldn’t.
“What’s cooking good looking?” He asked as I answered.
“Just heading home actually. What are you up to?”
“Just finished training and heading home for a shower. Feel like catching up?”
“Seth Masters, is that your way of asking for a booty call?”
“Well…” From the way he stumbled over his words and the clearing of his throat, I knew I’d caught him off guard. Damn, I loved doing that. Tucking a mental note away to do it more often, I waited for him to continue. “I wasn’t.”
“Sure, you weren’t.”
“No. I actually wasn’t. But if you’re offering…”
“You’re insatiable.”
“Your fault.”
“Anyway, I wanted to know if you felt like getting some food.”
I did. I really did. Especially after last night. It had been the best. Fucking magical. And full of magical fucking. When he wasn’t playing my body like a master, we laughed and joked and just enjoyed hanging out. At three am, when my legs had given out and my vagina had called a time out, we were sitting up in bed eating cheesecake watching infomercials and swapping childhood stories. Seth’s face may grace the front page of the paper, and his salary may be public knowledge, but it was almost like he hadn’t realised. Some of the stories and anecdotes he’d shared about growing up, I was almost positive some sleazy reporter would pay good money to print. He was too trusting. I just hoped it was only with me and there wasn’t some other arsehole out there who’d destroy that part of him.
“I’d love to…”
“Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?”
“But…I really need to get some sleep. Someone kept me up all night.”
“If I remember correctly, I’m sure it was you keeping me up all night,” Seth teased back.
“You may have a point there.”
“Oh, I definitely have a point.”
“You’re terrible,” I told him, sliding into the car and dumping my bag on the front seat beside me.
“You love it.”
“Maybe.”
“How about a run in the morning then?”
“Ugh. You’re trying to kill me.”
“Nah. I just want to see you in those lycra pants again.”
“I might be able to arrange that.”
“Perfect. Six work for you?”
