“Open up!” I yell. “Please, Mr. Hansen, just give me a chance—”
The door swings wide open, and I stumble back with a yelp.
“You’re fucking crazy,” he hisses. “What the hell do you want?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out as I take my first good look at him in broad daylight.
Wow.
Okay, Gigi wasn’t exaggerating. He sure is hot. His white tank top and low-slung sweats mold to a powerful body. Tousled dark hair falls in his bright eyes. He scratches at his short, scruffy beard, and licks soft-looking lips.
He grunts. “Who the fuck are you?”
Oh yeah, Gigi was right on both accounts. He’s hot—and an asshole.
“Octavia Watson. I’m here for the interview?” Of course you’re here for the interview, don’t make it into a question. “You told me on the phone that I should be here at eight.”
There.
I lift my chin and wait, my gaze meeting his. His eyes are dark, and I don’t mean just dark brown. They’re deep and stormy like rainclouds about to burst. Dark like night wells that don’t reflect the moonlight.
“Interview?” he mutters, sounding confused.
“For the job. To babysit your children.”
He squints at me.
Encouraged, I step closer. He towers over me, and his scent hits me—clean male sweat with a hint of…something chemical? “Can I see the kids?”
“What?” He scowls. “No.”
My heart drops to my feet. “But…”
“We’re done here.” He starts closing the door, and I panic.
“I have experience! Look, I raised my brother and sister. I love kids, I’m really good with them. On the phone, you said—”
He slams the door closed and I stumble back, stunned.
Jesus.
“Screw you, Matt Hansen!” I shout at the shuttered house, my hands fisting at my sides. I swallow hard. “Jerk.”
Only silence answers me this time.
Well, that went down real fine, Octavia. Real fine.
What now?
I turn my back to the door, my eyes stinging. And I hate it. I hate that this affects me so much. It’s unfair that he told me I had a chance and then slammed the door in my face without hearing me out.
It’s the unfairness that gets to me. As I stand in the morning light, not blinking, hoping I won’t shed any tears—for all the things I’ve wished for since I was little in this shitty town, for all the dreams that I may not yet fulfill—I feel so close to falling apart, it’s unreal.
Get yourself together, Octavia. This is nothing.
A small setback.
Repeating that to myself, I walk down the porch steps and stare out into the empty morning, down to the path crossing the small, overgrown garden, already thinking of any other job I could find and cursing myself for heaping all my hopes on this one as if it were a sure thing.