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The lady’s anger seemed to thaw some. “I guess I could do that.”
He nodded and moved to the side so Brandy could step forward. “I’ll let my head receptionist take it from here. Thank you for being so kind and understanding.”
The lady’s facial expression softened, and she dropped her head. In case she gave Brandy any more problems, Jason stayed nearby, busying himself with a copy machine issue that someone had emailed him about. Relief trickled through him when the woman left peacefully.
“Thank you,” Brandy whispered as he headed back to his office.
Before he could reach for his door knob, someone called out to him. “Jason, just the person I wanted to see.”
He spun around and saw his boss. “Hey, Rueben.” A sinking feeling started in the pit of his stomach. “Are the interviews all done? Have you found the right person for the job?”
“Nope, but I think I saved the best for last. I would normally never hire someone with her... experience, but she has a recommendation from someone I know, and I think she’ll be a great person to work with. She’ll be here in about twenty minutes. Meet me in the conference room in ten.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but slowly closed it. He didn’t want to sit in on the interview anymore than he wanted to be splattered with paint again, but it would be helpful to see who Rueben was going to force into his work life. He didn’t even need an assistant. Maybe after a few weeks, he could prove he would be fine without one.
“Jason . . .”
He inwardly groaned and turned as another person called for him. A receptionist. . . again.
“What is it, Cammie?”
“You’re needed downstairs at the main desk.”
“Uh, okay. Do you know why?”
She shrugged. “Someone’s here to see you.”
Hmm. His parents didn’t come around unless it was a holiday, and Easter had been weeks ago.
“Okay, tell them I’ll be right down.”
He headed for the steps, clinging to his side of the wall when a family pressed close by. If it wasn’t his parents, who could it be? He hadn’t kept in contact with anyone from school, and other than Rueben, his grandparents were long gone.
Upon leaving the stairwell, he quickened his stride, not wanting to be late for the interview. He stopped short—a few feet away from the front desk. Standing at the counter, wearing a red blouse and khaki skirt, was the woman who’d splashed paint all over him.
He took a step back just as she spotted him.
“Hey, Jason.”
The paint smears were missing from her hair, and she actually looked decent—as if she were business worthy. But he couldn’t get her initial image out of his head. “How did you know my name?”
“The receptionist told me.” She held out a Styrofoam, Christmas-themed plate with little yellow circles. “They’re lemon macarons. I baked them myself, and I swear you’ll like them.”
The treat looked tasty enough, but he didn’t know this woman. She stepped closer when he made no attempt to reach for the plate and pushed it softly toward his stomach. “They won’t bite. My name is Hannah, by the way. Hannah Smith.”
He reached up to take the plate, if for no other reason than to make her leave, but the brush of her fingers had him jerking the plate away. He took a step back, crunching the Styrofoam sides. Thankfully, the macarons stayed put.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “I just wanted to apologize for yesterday again.” With her other hand, she held out a bag. “It’s a shirt. I wasn’t sure of the size, so there’s a gift receipt if you need to exchange it.”
She waited for him to say something—anything—but he didn’t. She just kept advancing, backing him slowly toward the wall behind him.
Suddenly, he stopped their twisted dance, knowing this would all end once he allowed her to apologize. “Okay, thanks.”
He took the bottom of the bag in his hand and turned away from her, his hands full of things he didn’t want. It had been a nice gesture, he realized, but it only reminded him of the previous day. Thoughts of paint on his body and her skin against his made him want to drop everything in his hands and run. But he forced himself to remain calm as he hurried to the conference room, not even stopping to drop off the things in his office.
“There you are,” Rueben said when Jason opened the door.
Jason looked down at the trash can by the door and decided to hold onto the plate and the bag a little longer—until he was in the privacy of his own office.
