Finally, the officer returns and gives me a ticket. He looks at me, all business, and tells me to slow down.
“Yeah,” I say, taking it glumly. I shove it in my glove compartment, along with my registration. My license goes back in my wallet. “I’ll do that.”
“Best of luck in Honeypot,” he says, trying to be friendly. I can tell he’s the kind of cop who takes pride in his work, who doesn’t give out tickets just to be mean. Still, it’s annoying he chose me to target for his ticket-writing today.
“Yeah. Thanks. I hear the Blair Ranch is beautiful,” I say, trying my best to stay calm. Don’t cry, Hope. Don’t think about how much this ticket is going to cost you, Hope. “Hopefully it’ll be everything it’s rumored to be.”
“The Blair Ranch?” He cocks his head, suddenly interested. His body is turned, like he’s going to walk back to his car, but he pauses, waiting to hear more.
“Yeah, I have an interview there tomorrow,” I say. I try not to meet his eyes. Those dark brown, beautiful, gorgeous, could-get-lost-in-them eyes are just too much. This guy must be drowning in pussy because he’s seriously hot. “I’m hoping I’ll get it,” I add, motioning toward the back of my car. “Obviously.”
He looks in the backseat, seemingly noticing the boxes for the first time.
“Is that so?” He says. I can’t tell if he’s curious, amused, or annoyed. This guy is completely unreadable to me, which is fine. I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m only looking for a job and possibly a new vibrator if this town has a sex store, which I’m guessing it doesn’t, based on its current population size.
“Yeah, well, who knows how many people they interviewed?” I shrug. I really shouldn’t get my hopes up. “But the guy wanted to see me in person, so I guess that’s good, right?”
Why the hell am I talking so much? This poor cop doesn’t need to hear my life story or how nervous I am about the interview.
“Do you know Mr. Blair?” I ask. I’ve only ever talked with the guy through email. He could be a cranky old codger for all I know.
The cop nods. “I know him,” he says. “Wyatt is a good man.”
“No, my interview isn’t with Wyatt. It’s with Carter,” I say, remembering the unique name. Carter Blair. I wonder what Carter is like. Maybe he’ll be one of those friendly old guys who wants to tell me stories about the war or who just wants someone to read him the newspaper at breakfast. There’s always the chance he’ll be an asshole, old and crabby, but I’m trying to keep my hopes up as much as possible.
The cop laughs, and I look back up, meeting his eyes that time.
“Trust me,” he says. “You might be meeting with Carter, but Wyatt is the one you need to impress.”
“Any tips?” I ask him hopefully. Suddenly, getting a ticket doesn’t seem like the worst possible thing to happen to me today. Maybe the cop has some great insight I can use to ace my interview.
“Don’t put up with his crap,” the officer says. He doesn’t even have to think about it. “Stand your ground with him no matter what he says.”
“I thought I was supposed to kiss my new boss’ ass,” I tell him. “Isn’t that the secret to getting hired?”
“Not with the Blair brothers,” he tells me. “With them, you need to be firm. Show them they can’t boss you around. And a low-cut shirt won’t hurt. Have a good day, miss.” He tips his hat and leaves.
My jaw is on the floor, but for the first time this entire trip, I can see myself actually landing this job.
Be firm?
I can do that.
Don’t let them boss me a
round?
I can do that.
Wear a low-cut shirt?
I can definitely do that.
Honeypot, here I come.
Chapter 2
Hope