You Dropped a Blonde on Me Read Free Page A

away from her grip like she was The Claw. “I can’t help you. We don’t have a position available right now.” He stood his ground, for which she’d show admiration by way of a polite golf clap if it wasn’t for the fact that she and Connor would end up drinking her mother’s till dry very shortly if she didn’t find some kind of steady paycheck.
    One deep cleansing breath later, Max’s eyes searched his behind his oval frames. She could do this. Whatever it took. “Please. Look, I’m begging you, okay? I need a job. I’m sure you hear a hundred sob stories a day with the economy in the shitty state it’s in, but I’m not kidding when I tell you I just need one person to give me a chance. Just a little break. I know I’m not sixteen anymore, and if I needed reminding, I’d just have to ask the hundred other places like this that I’ve applied to to tell me so. I get it. I know I have no experience in fast food. Believe me, I know . I have no experience in selling condoms either, but you can bet I’d do it if it meant I could earn a buck hawking ribbed ticklers. Well, that is, if the manager at Condoms on the Go-Go would have let me. But he said I had no experience in condoms. I say, hah! What does he know? I know condoms. I’ve used them plenty in my time. But that’s beside the point. So tell me something, because you seem like a guy who’s in the know—how the flip can I get some of this experience if no one will hire me?” Her voice had risen, pitchy and anxious, and her hand was right back at desperation, clinging to poor deer-in-the-headlights Mr. Herrera.
    There was a long pause before he spoke. Clearly, he sought to measure his response to her impassioned request. “Ms. Cambridge, can I ask you something? I mean, if it’s not too personal.”
    She automatically looked down at her perky breasts, floating just beneath her open-collared silk shirt. “You want to know if these are real, don’t you?” Everybody did, and she’d answer if it meant a job.
    He cleared his throat, giving a stern shake of his head, looking anywhere but at her frisky décolletage. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I would never . . . I’m just curious about your—well, why someone like you needs a job here? Aren’t you the lady who used to do the commercials for Cambridge Automobiles? You know, ‘Put your seat—’”
    “ ‘In something sweet,’ ” Maxine finished. Her face flushed a hundred shades of deep red. Why, why, why had she jumped straight to the boob question? “Yeah, that was me.” And now it wasn’t. Because she wasn’t twenty-five anymore, and her husband didn’t want her anymore, and she’d been traded in.
    “And you drive a fancy car, and you wear fancy clothes . . .”
    It was always like this when she showed up in Connor’s car or someone recognized her. Max plucked at her white suit jacket. “I’m dressed like this because I just left my lawyer’s office—which, FYI, was a complete waste of gas money I didn’t have, and the car’s my kid’s. I borrowed it from him so I could go see my 1-800-dial-divorce lawyer for him to tell me I’m defining broke in a whole new way, then swing by here so you could tell me you won’t hire me. My son’s car’s one of the few things my soon-to-be ex didn’t take from us, but don’t hold your breath for me, because I’m sure he’ll want that back, too.” She finished by clamping her mouth shut. Truly, it was the only way to stop the train wreck her big mouth had become.
    Yet for a mere moment, Maxine found the sympathy she’d hoped to tap into written on his chubby, moon-shaped face. He was waffling. Perfect. “Ah, messy divorce?”
    Messy had levels. Her divorce was at DEFCON 5. “You’re understating it. That’s very kind. I don’t want to get too personal and scare you off by divulging too much so you’ll only end up uncomfortable, but here’s where I’m at. You in?” If she could just make one person understand how close she was to