Page 11 of At His Beck & Call

I fidget in my seat, looking around at the beautiful interior of Pippa Grooman’s office. She is a gorgeous woman with long blonde hair and full lips that form a natural pout as she reads the information I put on the intake form.

She hasn’t said anything yet, and I’m terrified she’s going to tell me that mothers aren’t welcome at the agency. Since I handed over the form, she’s just been clicking keys on her keyboard with a blank expression as she reads.

That can’t be a good sign, right?

“I have full-time childcare if I need it,” I blurt out. “I’ll make sure that my son is taken care of during work hours.”

Pippa looks up at me, her eyes changing from focused concentration to surprise.

“Oh, we don’t discriminate against mothers, Melissa. Don’t worry. Everybody has to make a living in this world. There are a few women on our books who have little ones younger than Henry, and they make it work.”

I breathe out as Pippa returns to the sheet. She has a red retractable pen in her hand with a satisfyingly thick nib that she uses to tick the different things I’ve put on the form. She pauses halfway down, a small wrinkle appearing between her brows as she reads the information I put about my marital status.

Am I allowed to be married? I thought about writing ‘soon to be divorced’ next to it, and now I wish I had.

Pippa ticks the box either way.

“Are some of the other women here married?” I ask, out of curiosity more than anything.

Pippa nods. “Some. A lot of people don’t care about monogamy these days. I have one lady who works here, and her husband loves the stories she tells about her exploits. To each their own, you know?”

There is no judgment in her tone; she strikes me as very open-minded and friendly.

The cup of herbal tea she made me sits steaming on the desk in front of me. The cup and saucer are the exact same shade of teal as the bird on the wall behind Pippa’s head. I pick it up and sip it gently. It has a sharp tang to it and is probably the nicest mint tea I’ve ever tasted.

“Wow, that’s good,” I say enthusiastically and put the cup back into the saucer with a gentle clink. Pippa beams at me as she places my form alongside her keyboard.

“Bethany was here this morning advocating for you,” she says, with the same softness in her voice. “I have to say, I’m impressed at everything you’ve done in your life. She didn’t give me a lot of details, but she told me you’d gotten out of a bad relationship. I hope that is all in the past.”

I’m not sure if she’s asking me to make sure I don’t have PTSD or something, and I just nod, waiting for her to go on.

“I know Bethany well, and I trust her. I hope you understand that I have no problem with you as a candidate, and I’ll bear you in mind in the future.”

My throat dries up. “You don’t have anything you can offer me today?” I ask, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

“I have a few clients who are looking for someone right now, but…” she trails off and glances down at a Post-it on the desk I hadn’t noticed before.

I can’t read it upside down, but it looks as if Pippa has made some notes about the sort of man that might be suitable for me.

“Uh, did Bethany give you some rules around who I could be placed with or something?” I ask, remembering what Beth had called her ‘non-negotiables’.

Pippa shifts in her seat, looking uncomfortable. “Not exactlyrules, but what she said made sense to me. My priority is the health and safety of my employees first, my clients second. You’ve had some hard years. I don’t want someone that I place you with to trigger… bad memories.”

My fingers twist in my lap, the unpaid bills that arrived in my mailbox this morning making anxiety rise inside me.

“I appreciate Bethany’s input,” I say softly, “but it wasn’t her place to tell you about my soon-to-be ex-husband.”

“It absolutely was,” Pippa replies softly but firmly. “It would have been remiss of her not to, and I’m glad she did. We have a lot of clients who wouldn’t be suitable, who want things that you might not be comfortable with.”

“Can’t I be the judge of that?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Can you?” I frown, confused by her tone. “Listen, Melissa?—”

“Lissa,” I insist.

“Lissa,” Pippa continues, rising from her chair and coming to sit in the empty one beside me. “Bethany clearly thinks the world of you, and she’s told me of your resilience and the hard work you put into everything you do. I would jump at the chance to have you with us, but I’m not sure it’s what is best for you.”

“Am I too short and pale?” I ask impulsively. “Because I could wear heels and get a fake tan.”