Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Isn’t that what every parent wants for their daughter?” I ask, because so far, Derek sounds like a good deal.
“You’d think. But I think they felt I was too dazzled by him to really know if he was long-haul material. They definitely thought I was moving too fast. We’d only been dating a few months when he got the job transfer. They didn’t like that I was dependent on him for the job as well as my living arrangements.”
“And you thought differently?” I surmise.
“I thought independently,” she corrects.
“Good girl.” I smile at her and load up another cracker.
“It ended up being a mistake, though,” she says glumly, stabbing a piece of bow tie pasta. “It was the failure my parents predicted, and it left me jobless, homeless, and with my dignity in shreds.”
“Aren’t you being a little hard on yourself?” I nudge my knee against hers for emphasis.
“Maybe.”
“You were a little irritated I tried to talk to your manager when you got fired.”
Her eyes come to mine, and she offers a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry I’m so touchy about my failures and perceived bailouts. When Derek kicked me out, I got a whole lot of I told you so from my parents and insistence that I come home. But I needed to prove to them I can take care of myself.”
“So you took a job in a coffee shop.”
“It was the first job offer I got, and I was scared not to take it. The pay was decent… enough to afford a small apartment and pay my bills.”
“I can probably get your job back for you.” I swivel my stool toward her, put my hand on her knee to squeeze reassuringly. “I know you probably don’t want help, but I found out today that Brienne Norcross, who owns the Titans, is good friends with Jerry Parsons, who owns the parent company of The Grind.”
Ava’s hand covers mine, her fingers curling under my palm. It’s a sweet gesture of gratitude and, at the same time, that simple touch tightens my skin.
“Thank you for the offer,” she says before sliding her hand free. “But I need to do this on my own. Once I figure out what I want to do with my life, I’ll have some direction.”
“And you want to stay in HR?” I ask.
“Not really. I mean, I enjoyed working in the human resources field, but I’d rather do something in marketing.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to offer to help her. I know I could probably score her an interview somewhere within the Titans’ organization. But she’d decline, as well she should. If I helped her get a job, it would be virtually no different from her situation with her ex. The best I can do is help her brainstorm possibilities and offer encouragement.
Regardless, I admire the fuck out of her insistence that she do this on her own.
“Okay,” I say, after tasting a pickled carrot and deciding I’m firmly against such an atrocity. “I’m going to coach you up. Envision your perfect job.”
Ava sets her fork down and closes her eyes. “My perfect job… hmm… lying on a tropical beach, testing suntan oils for a skincare company.”
Christ… the image of Ava in a bikini on a white sandy beach is not what I need right now or I’m likely to toss her over my shoulder and carry her off to my bedroom.
Ava opens her eyes and grins at me. “Too far-fetched?”
“If you want to stay in Pittsburgh, it is.” I laugh.
“I would stay here, but I’m not averse to moving.”
I ignore the twinge of dissatisfaction at the thought of her leaving the area. It’s ridiculous, really. This is only our second date, and I don’t even know that we’ll be seeing each other by the end of the week.
“You said your degree was in communications… why did you choose that? I’m assuming there was a specific career you were interested in?”
Ava nods, her eyes sparkling. “Yeah… I always wanted to do something in marketing. Not just brainstorming ideas but generating marketable content.”
“Okay,” I say with an enthusiastic smile as I stack salami on cheddar. “We’re on to something. Tell me more.”
CHAPTER 9
Ava
Cannon rinses the bowl from the vanilla ice cream we just shared as I watch from the kitchen stool. Dinner was delicious, and it took us over an hour to eat because the conversation was so free flowing.
Neither one of us had more than the original glass of wine as we picked at the food, sometimes using our forks to nab bites of pasta. Cannon suggested dessert by merely rising from the island as we were talking and dishing up a single bowl of ice cream with only one spoon for us to share. We passed the spoon back and forth as we talked, mostly about my career potential, with some subtle coaching and empowerment imparted along the way.