Her First Mistake by Carey Baldwin (books for 10th graders txt) 📕

they would offer her the position. But maybe the pretense would help her accomplish what she’d come here to do. Maybe it was time to start thinking outside the box.

Fearless and fabulous, remember?

“Oh, no. I meant to say, yes. Yes. I’m here to apply for the waitress job—and I’m also looking for someone.” She dropped her wallet in her bag and pulled out a flyer. “Have you seen this woman?”

He stepped forward, then hung his head over her shoulder, eau de Marlboro leaking from his pores. She coughed, but he continued to stand too close, staring but not taking the offered flyer from her hands.

Maybe he didn’t want to give her a chance at his fingerprints.

At last, the doorman spoke. “Yeah.”

“Yes, you’ve seen her?” His response set off a chain reaction of pounding pulse, shortness of breath and trembling knees. “Where?”

“On the news.”

The guy hadn’t admitted to seeing Celeste, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been here. “Okay. Like I said, I want to apply for the server position, so I don’t have to pay?”

“Yeah, you don’t have to pay. I’ll call the manager.”

As he talked on the phone, she strolled, head held high, over to the stage and positioned herself in front of one of the dancers. And then, impossible as it seemed, she worked up the nerve to look the woman directly in the eye and smile.

In return, she got a wink.

A jolt of electricity buzzed through her. Afraid to look longer on the stage, she whipped around and found herself face to face with a tall man who, in contrast to the refrigerator guarding the door, was all lean, sinewy power. Despite his lined visage, he was handsome in a dangerous, tough-guy kind of way.

“Let’s have your name, please.”

Understanding she oughtn’t give her real name, she frowned. Then, she thought of one of Aunt Misty’s favorite Reba McEntire songs. “Fancy.”

“Okay, Fanny. Follow me.”

She winced, but didn’t correct him. He was already on the move, leading her to a small table in a corner. Surprising her with his manners, he scraped out a chair for her.

“Thank you.” She sat and clasped her hands in her lap.

He took the opposite seat. “So, Fanny, where do you see yourself in five years? What are your long-term goals?”

Her mouth went dry. She’d been unprepared for that. In fact, she was unprepared for all of this: the smells, the sounds, the raw sexuality on display. But most of all, she was taken aback by the way she responded to this assault on her senses.

She liked it.

“Sorry. Five years? Um. Could you repeat the question?”

“Take it easy, doll. I was being funny.” He reached over and laid a hand on her wrist, setting her skin on fire. “You got a look our guests will like, Fanny, and we need a waitress. You got experience? I’m asking for real.”

She wet her lips, wishing for a glass of water—or something stronger. “I have a bachelor of arts in English literature from San Diego State.” She’d graduated summa cum laude but, regardless of how it was pronounced, she didn’t relish using the word cum in this setting, so she held back that detail.

He tapped his fingers. “No problem. We got some other college girls here working the poles. But I mean do you have any waitress experience? What you been doing for a living? English degrees don’t pay the rent.”

They didn’t. Teaching at a preschool barely did either, but that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. And even though she was only pretending to apply for the job, she wanted to nail this interview, just to prove she could.

Reflected in one of the mirrored walls, she noted the emblem on the back of a guest’s T-shirt. “I’m currently on hiatus, but I’ve waitressed at Hotties.” She knew nothing at all about waiting tables and could only hope he wouldn’t ask any technical questions like whether saltshakers should be filled at the beginning or end of one’s shift.

“Hiatus, huh?” He grinned. “English majors. But I like you, doll.” He was jotting notes. “Hotties downtown or Oceanside?”

Would he try to check her references? She pulled the fabric of her dress away from where it stuck to her back. “Oceanside. Two years. I left because the customers were handsy. A little is okay, but the managers let it go too far. What’s your policy?”

“Strictly no touching. No worries on that count. Galen—” he glanced at the doorman “—will take care of any problems you have. I run a tight ship.”

“And the pay?”

“Minimum plus tips. I expect you’ll do real good for yourself—I mean real well. See, I know grammar, too. I just don’t always get the point.”

This was going better than expected. “You don’t need a reason to use good grammar.”

He handed her a pen and shoved his pad over. “Write down your number, and I’ll get back to you, Fanny. I got someone coming in tomorrow so I can’t offer you the job yet. I pride myself on being fair.”

She scribbled her real number and got to her feet, making a mental note to change her voicemail to an anonymous message. “I’ll give it some thought, but I have a few other offers already, so don’t take too long.” Then, refusing to be bested by a man who didn’t see the point of good grammar, she added, “By the way, my name isn’t Fanny, it’s Fancy.”

He stuck out his hand. “Suits you.”

On that note of approval, it seemed a good time to do what she’d come to do. “You’ve heard of the woman who went missing Friday, Celeste Cooper?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“Yes. Well, you see, I’m a friend of the family’s, so I’m asking around wherever I go. Have you seen her?” She searched her bag. “I’ve got this flyer I could leave with you.”

Like Galen, the manager didn’t touch the paper. “I haven’t seen her in here. Just on the news.”

“May I put up this poster near the door, in case someone else might have spotted her? There’s