Pamela leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s good for him.”
Nash leaned back, unwilling to be taken into her confidence so easily. A lips-only smile was as much as he could go in the direction of agreeing with her. What was good for Harrison was probably not dealing with a slightly hostile new employee. He should have lightened up, but lawyers scratched him like a cheap wool sweater in July.
Pamela appeared unfazed by his lack of response. “I’m sure you’re curious, now that you’ve had a chance to read through Harrison’s verbose document, what exactly you’ll be working on.”
“I had wondered.” He smiled, showing his top teeth this time like he wasn’t cringing inside at the myriad of horrible alternatives that had crossed his mind as he sorted through legal mumbo jumbo.
“Everyone does, dear. We’re a specialized brokerage firm.”
He sat up straighter. A brokerage firm was promising—respectable, even. And if the chapel-like hush over the office was any indication, they worked with wealthy clients. It wouldn’t take long to prove to them—and himself—that he was an honest, hardworking man who wanted to live the quiet life.
His hands grew moist and he stopped himself from wiping them on his pant legs. Wealthy clients wouldn’t want an ex-con near their account. His chances of getting this job were slim to none—but they were the best chances he had.
“We line up a client’s specific needs with our employees’ skill sets. Our success rate is ninety-eight percent.” Her right eye twitched, making him think that the two-percent failure rate kept her awake at night.
“That’s an impressive success rate.”
She smiled, though it was forced. “You have an interesting skill set, Mr. Westport.”
His hands went from damp to soggy as she perused his résumé on her screen.
“An MBA, two years as a mid-level manager at a shoe factory. One year as an executive …” She dropped her chin as if looking at him over a pair of glasses, even though she didn’t wear spectacles. “And then three years in prison.”
And there it was—his shame laid out like a nightmare buffet.
He cleared his throat and tried to lighten the heaviness in the room. “I don’t believe my prison sentence was on the résumé.”
Pamela tipped her head to the side, considering him. She wasn’t the first person to do that.
“You and Amber must have worked together for a long time,” he said without thinking.
“Why do you say that?”
“She looked at me the same way you just did.”
Pamela lifted one eyebrow. Something sparkled in the corner of the room. Nash jerked to see what flashed, only to find a potted plant. The hair on his arms stood at attention and a tickle crossed his neck. He shook off a strange sensation and refocused on the interview.
“I’m going to hire you, Mr. Westport, to be a groom.”
Nash lurched forward. “I’m sorry, I thought you saidgroom.”
“I did.” She tapped her computer screen and then swiveled it around to face Nash. “This is Kensington Donegal.”
Nash stared at the woman with nutmeg-colored hair, blue eyes like his childhood summer sky, and an impish nose. Her straight hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and she wore a blue business dress that did wonders for her eyes. He swallowed against the speechlessness that threatened to hold him prisoner.
“Kensington has an urgent need for a groom with your specific skill set.”
“Why, does she need to break out of prison?” He quirked a smile, shocked that he’d been able to make the joke in the first place.
Pamela was not amused. Her stare pinned him to the back of the chair like an industrial-grade nail gun. “Since you rose quickly through the ranks at your last position, I believe you will be an asset to Kensington as she works her way into a new position as CEO of Hazel’s Dairy Delights.”
“The ice cream company—with the Over the Moo-Moon Cream Cheese Cake flavor?”
Pamela cocked her head like a proud peacock. “The very same.”
“My mom bought a half gallon of that every Saturday the whole time I was growing up. I can’t remember a Saturday night without a cone.” He dropped his ankle off his knee and inched forward on the chair. “They’re a tradition.” He wondered briefly if his parents kept that up, or if their tastes had changed in the last three years.
“I’m happy to hear you’re a fan. As Kensington’s husband, you would be her support, confidant, and counselor in matters related to the business.”
