42. Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Two
Beau Drewitt
I Swear I’m Not Sexist
Ihave a very busy day ahead, but all I can think about is seeing her later.
I scheduled an interview for today. I have past me to thank for that.
That stupid fucking idiot. I have never interviewed a cleaning person in my life.
I have interviewed booksellers, managers, interns, and once a man who insisted he could “commune with the books” if I let him sleep in the back room, but never someone whose entire job revolved around sanitation.
It feels strangely formal. Like the bookstore doesn’t really deserve a cleaning person.
I straighten the stack of papers in front of me for the fourth time.
It’s not even a real stack. Just a couple blank sheets of copy paper, a flyer for the coffee shop across the street that displays their hours, and a coupon for twenty percent off vacuum filters that I have no intention of ever using.
A throat clears in the doorway. “Are you Mr. Drewitt?” I look up.
The woman in front of me is fairly elderly, small, and carries the expression of someone who has seen every kind of mess a human being could produce.
She wears sneakers that look indestructible and holds her purse like Kai or I might nab it from her.
“Yes. Please come in, Lydia.” I gesture to the chair across from me.
I regret the gesture immediately. She sits down and I don’t think she blinks once.
The interview hasn’t even begun and already I feel judged by this woman who looks like she owns a mop with visible battle scars.
“So,” I begin, clasping my hands on the table, “thank you for meeting with me today. I’m looking to hire someone to help keep the bookstore clean.
Floors, shelves, occasional spills, the usual.
It seems my time to clean has been moved to a different area of my life. So, I could use the help.”
Her gaze sweeps the room, lingering on a dust bunny in the corner that I could’ve swore I swept up. Her mouth tightens as she looks at me condescendingly. “I specialize in deep sanitation,” she replied. “Bloodstains, rodents, hazardous materials, things of that nature.”
My eyebrows rise. “I sincerely hope none of that becomes relevant.”
“You would be surprised what people leave behind in businesses.”
I swallow. “I would prefer not to be.” She doesn’t laugh.
Not even a micro-smile. The mop woman is a fortress.
I clear my throat. “Right. Well. Um. The store gets dusty. That’s my biggest concern.
And sometimes customers knock over a display.
Once a pigeon flew in through the chimney and caused a bit of panic, but I don’t believe that was a regular occurrence.
” She nods as if all of this is common knowledge, like every bookstore on earth occasionally catches a run-in with airborne wildlife.
Then, as if on cue, my brain betrays me.
Is hiring a woman specifically for cleaning sexist?
What if this was some sort of subconscious gender bias?
What if this was a step down a slippery slope that ends with me accidentally becoming every woman’s least favorite uncle at Thanksgiving who talks about traditional values?
I force a tight smile. “I, uh, want to make sure you understand that this position is based solely on skill. And availability. And not at all on being a woman. I would gladly hire a man to clean.”
She frowns. “Do you have a man applying?”
“No,” I admit. “But if I did, I would consider him strongly.” That was the wrong thing to say. I allied a little too hard there.
She blinks slowly. “Do you want me to leave so you can go find a man to consider?”
“No. Absolutely not. That’s not what I meant.
” I run a hand through my hair, deeply aware of how unhinged I sound.
“I simply want to clarify that I’m not making decisions based on gender.
I won’t make any assumptions. Just need to know about your dusting and mopping proficiencies.
” Her stare could strip paint. I scramble for professionalism.
“Let’s move on. Can you tell me about your prior experience? ”
She pulls out a folded sheet of paper and slides it across the table.
Her resume is pristine with neatly aligned bullet points, certified training, experience in almost every type of building, and a special expertise in commercial cleaning crime scenes.
Crime scenes. I’m almost afraid to ask. “This is very impressive,” I say.
“Can you tell me about the line that says biohazard mitigation?”
“No.”
I nod slowly. “Understood.”
She leans back in her chair. “Your store smells organized.”
I blink. “Is that a compliment?”
“No, an observation.”
“Right.” This woman definitely hates me.
She continues. “There’s a loose floorboard by the staircase. Your carpet runner is crooked. Someone spilled tea near the romance section, but it appears to have happened recently because the stain hasn’t set. Also, the lights flicker. And your mop bucket is older than I am.”
I stare at her as if she’d just performed a full psychic reading. “You saw all that walking in?”
“Yes.”
I sit back and let out a slow breath. “Great. You’re hired.”
Her expression doesn’t change. “Do you want references?”
“Nope. I’ve heard all I need. I definitely think I want someone who can see a tea spill from thirty feet away.”
She stands, collects her purse, and gives a single nod to me that feels oddly regal. “I can start Monday.”
“That would be perfect,” I say, leaning forward to shake her hand.
She glances at my hand and back at me before sliding out of her seat and turning to leave.
I lean back in my chair, pulling my hand back, and stare at the ceiling.
If she does like me, I would hate to see her angry. That woman is a stone-cold fortress.
I lift the pen from beside my stack of copy paper and write her name down alongside her phone number from her resume. Then for safety, I underline it.
The store has been dead silent for nearly an hour, no pun intended, the kind of quiet that means closing time is near.
There’s still forty-five minutes left on the clock, though no one ever comes in this late.
The bookstore has that settled hush that I’m not used to after a busy day.
I haven’t properly cleaned in weeks so dust floats around in the air.
Who have I become? Thank god I hired Lydia today.
I lean against the counter, trying to focus on the ledger in front of me, but it’s useless.
This task is a moot distraction. My thoughts keep straying to her.
Only her. In an hour or so she’ll be here, and I have already decided tonight I’ll ask her on a real date.
Not just lunch. No distractions, no hesitation.
A genuine night meant for her. I’d like to think that when it comes to courting, we are finally in a good place to start taking things a little more seriously.
Lunch was to keep me from rushing ahead of schedule.
Still, I have to claim her before it’s too late.
I can choose her everyday without question, but I need to know if she’d do the same.
Kai shuffles out from the back, carrying a binder that he handles like it’s gold. He sets it down on the counter and flips it open. “You’re staring off again,” he says without looking at me. “Which means you’re thinking about bow-chicka-wow-wow.”
I arch my brow, not making eye contact with him. “Since when did you become an expert in human behavior, Mr. Pokémon collection?”
He grins, sliding a card into a protective sleeve. “Since you started acting like a man who got hit with Attract. It’s obvious.”
I let out a slow breath, straightening a stack of books. “I’m going to finally ask Elowen on a proper date tonight.”
Kai looks up sharply, then gives me a low whistle. “Finally. Took you long enough. So, what’s the move? Are you going to impress her with candlelight, or just stand there and brood like a true Count until she caves?”
“You have a remarkable lack of subtlety,” I say. He isn’t wrong, theoretically. I do have a vast desire to brood lately.
He shrugs. “I deal in facts. And the fact is you’re insane over her.
So? What will it be?” Classic Kai pops a piece of mint gum in as our gaze meets.
“It’ll be something unforgettable. She deserves nothing less.
Do you not agree? You’ve made your attraction to her evident as well.
Unless, someone else has caught your eye?
” Go on, tell me about the phone call with Imani. Now who’s the wingman?
Kai’s eyes widen. “Easy boy. She’s all yours. Plus, that’s perfect. Because I’ll be working at the speakeasy tonight, which means you don’t have to worry about me barging in if you happen to get… preoccupied.” He wiggles his brows and leans closer.
His imagination causes me to gasp, “You do realize I can read your mind, right, you sick fuck? I guess I should tell you that I know all about your runaway thoughts with Imani.”
Kai freezes like I’ve lined up my sights on the center of his chest. “Imani? Whaaaaaaaaaaat?”
“Feel free to pretend. I get it.” I scoff, “A little too well, actually.”
“Back to you and Elowen! I can see it now. Upstairs in your old man slash bad-boy loft. Shirt off. Record spinning. Really paints a picture-perfect movie. Fits in with all the weird ass memorabilia you got hanging up there.”
I shake my head, fighting the urge to scoff at his admission. “You have a talent for ruining perfectly respectable moments. I didn’t mention anything about the removal of either of our clothes. I told you I’m going to ask her on a proper night out.”