Trust in Me Read Free Page A

chest like curtains fluttering in the breeze. She grew acutely aware of his warm, callused hand covering hers. Her skin came alive, tingling sensations shooting from the place he touched her and coalescing in her core. With a shiver, Claire slipped her hand from under his, away from the intimate contact.
    Kevin glanced at his hand, now resting on her knee, and a red flush stained his cheeks. He jerked his arm back and spun his chair toward the desk. Clearing his throat, he picked up her application again. "Look, Miss Albritton, I don't think this is going to work out."
    Her heart lurched. He couldn't turn her down! He just couldn't! There were no other jobs available in town she was even remotely qualified for. "But why?"
    "You're just not..."
    "Qualified. I know. But I'm a fast learner. And although I don't have much work experience—well, none really—except teaching tennis to kids at the country club while I was in high school. But I've worked on lots of projects for the Garden Club and the Organizing Committee for Debutante Club made me their treasurer. And I helped in the concession stand at the charity polo match last year, so I have experience with a cash register."
    Kevin's face grew increasingly pale as she prattled. "Polo?"
    Claire clapped a hand over her mouth and flopped back in her chair, everything she'd learned about proper posture abandoned. What did posture matter now that she'd blurted out her meager work history like some desperate ninny?
    Kevin was silent for a long time, studying her with a peculiar quirk in his brow.
    "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blather on like that. It's just...I really want this job. I need this job."
    His gaze darkened and honed in on her. "Why?"
    Because my father doesn't think I can do it.
    To her horror, she felt tears burn the back of her throat, rising inside her. She pinched the bridge of her nose, fighting them back. She couldn't tell him all the reasons why having a job, earning her own income, meant so much to her and her pride, but she had to tell him something . "Because I'm starting my master's degree at Harrison University in the fall, and I have to pay tuition and rent. Eating would be nice, too." She gave him a weak smile. "It's important to me that I be self-sufficient, though...I'd rather not go into the why of it."
    She saw the uncertainty in his eyes and felt her best chance for freedom from her father's control slipping away.
    Now the tears did rise. They blossomed in her eyes and pearled on her cheeks. She dug in her purse for a tissue, spilling her lipstick and a pack of breath mints on the floor.
    The tube of lipstick rolled across the worn carpet and bumped Kevin's foot. He stooped and picked it up, peeking at the label. "Here. You dropped your Kissable Pink ."
    She sniffed and held out her hand. "Thanks."
    He dropped it in her hand as if afraid to touch her.
    She couldn't blame him. She'd made quite a spectacle of herself between her tears and her outburst of flustered rambling. She wouldn't blame him if he shooed her out of the office and locked the door. He didn't need a novice working for him. A desperate, inexperienced, coddled crybaby.
    Not finding a tissue in her purse, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She stood and straightened her skirt, edging toward the door. "I'll get out of your hair now. Thank you for your time."
    She had her hand on the doorknob when Kevin's calm voice stopped her. "Why didn't you put your cash register experience on the application?"
    Tipping her head toward him, she frowned. "Pardon?"
    "The concession stand at the polo match. You do have experience with a cash register. Hot dogs, jig saws—what difference does it make what you're ringing up?" Reaching in a desk drawer, he extracted a box of tissues and held them out to her.
    Claire took one, gave Kevin a puzzled look, then blew her nose. "You can't seriously—"
    "This says you majored in British Literature at Duke." He tapped the application with his pen.
    What was he