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Part of me wants to lean in and tell Cambridge,If you don’t give me this job, I’m screwed.

But desperation is never attractive.

So instead, I hand him a printout of my resume—even though I already emailed him a copy, I learned long ago to never trust another person to be as organized as I am—and begin highlighting my experience.

Cambridge nods as I speak, his bright blue eyes examining me closely. He doesn’t ask any questions.

When I finally wind down, he continues staring at me.

Okay. This guy is strange.

But then he says, “Can you start tomorrow?”

I blink, surprised. “Really?”

Cambridge laughs. “Really. I need someone who can start immediately, and you clearly have the kind of experience that will make you a perfect property manager.”

“That’s definitely true,” I agree. “And yes, I can start tomorrow.”

“Perfect.” Cambridge’s eyes bore into me, and I have to fight the urge to squirm in my uncomfortable chair. “Meet me here at nine tomorrow morning and we’ll get started on your employment paperwork.”

I leave the messy office vacillating between euphoria—I have a job! I’m not going to have to choose between selling my paid-off home and starving to death!—and something less immediately identifiable.

Something like… fear?

Am I really afraid of Ivan Cambridge?

No, I tell myself.I’m simply nervous about starting a new job.

Nonetheless, my heart pounds as I get into my car and head home.

Because something about Cambridge seems… off. Like he’s hiding a plethora of secrets behind those icy eyes of his.

Like he might stab me in the back the second I turn away from him.

And yet, the man is my new boss.

Everything is going to be fine.

Even if I am talking to myself.

Anyway, this job is just a holdover position, something to keep the electricity on and my house stocked with food until the real estate market recovers.

It’s not going to be some kind of bizarre life-changing event.

Right?

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