by Lily LaVae
“Fontaine, you can’t return to work until I sign off, and I can’t. You still can’t control your temper. You’re going to have to find a new job. And just how do you plan to do that when you can’t even provide a resume? You’ve lost more jobs than most people have had in a lifetime.” Though his voice remained mild, he enunciated the words he really wanted to sink in.
“You’re not helping, doc.” She tipped the can back again and only got drips. Damn, they only gave one can per meeting.
“No, it’s you who isn’t helping. I’ve tried everything I know to give you good coping mechanisms. There’s something you’re not telling me, something deep that’s keeping you from living a healthy life. We need to talk about this. Or, you’re just going to have to keep coming to see me. But it’ll be on you to pay for it. Your last job will no longer cover the meetings without that signature.”
Damn again. Another failure. She was getting good at it.
It made no sense to keep coming. She’d never tell him her secret anyway. Certain skeletons were best left in the closet. Everyone she knew was broken in some way. It wasn’t like she was special or anything. “Well, you know I love our little chats.” She shoved herself out of the seat and strode over to the recycle bin, unable to keep herself from slamming it through the hole.
“I have an idea.”
He raised out of his seat and walked over to the table along the wall where he kept all his files and folders—the table where the “patients” weren’t allowed. He opened a beige folder and pulled out a slip of newspaper.
“I found this ad as I was looking through the Independent last Sunday.”
She turned and glared at him. “The Independent? I didn’t even know that was still in circulation.” Even her grandmother read everything on her eReader.
“Yes, well, as I said this ad seems to be perfect for you.” He handed it to her.
Eloise approached him and slid her pixie cut white-blonde hair behind her ear, a holdover motion she’d been unable to forget after cutting it all off. Ed made her a little nervous. He slipped the paper in her hand and closed his folder as he turned from her.
She read the ad over twice. It looked like a normal job placement service, but she couldn’t figure out why Ed would think this particular place would suit her. “Okay? So, why is this place any different from the ten other placement services I’ve used?”
He glanced over his shoulder and his eyes softened just a bit. “This one is looking for women specifically who want to make a difference. I think once you have a job that means something, you’ll want to keep it. You’ll learn to control your temper if you have a reason to.”
She glanced at the paper clipping once again. “This gives an apply in person address. What do I wear to apply for a job when I don’t even know what they’re looking for?”
She hadn’t had a decent wardrobe in a long time. If the firm was looking for someone to change the world, her clothes wouldn’t even get her in the door.
“I know you feel your anger building, you want to hate me for making you think about this, for not signing your work return papers. But I think this place, more than your old job will be better for you. I think it will give you the push you need to make a change. Here’s my card. Call me if you need anything, but you’re officially out of my program unless you can afford to do it yourself. There’s nothing more I can do for you.”
He knew she couldn’t afford it, because she couldn’t keep a job. She accepted the card and stuffed it into her pocket. Though she hadn’t been angry before he’d said anything, the suggestion did the trick. “How can you just do this? Give up on me? I’m not fixed, and just because you gave me this place doesn’t mean they’ll hire me.”
“They may not. But you’ll never know until you try. Good luck, Fontaine.” He collected his folders and walked out, leaving her alone in the room with the circle of empty chairs. The lights were over-bright to her eyes and she felt a tension headache building. She flexed her hand to keep it from shaking. Her anger wouldn’t build. It was under control. Ed was right. It wouldn’t do any good.
The address on the paper was across town. She’d have to go from Dallas proper to Addison. If she didn’t find work soon, she’d lose her car and her apartment. “Crap. Another agency to take a cut of what’s mine.” She crumpled the ad and stuck it in her pocket with the already crumpled card. At least she wasn’t drinking anymore.
2
Morgan yanked open the door to his bus. Amanda waited for him just inside on one of the leather couches as she’d said she would. She practically pounced on him.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Do you even remember what you tell me, or do I need to start recording what you say with time stamps? I’m so sick and tired of trying to please a boss who just can’t be pleased! One minute you want one thing, the next you tell me something completely opposite. You tell me how to do something, then when I do it, you stand over me and yell that it’s not the way you showed me—even when it is.”
He tried to interrupt, to let her know her little speech was unnecessary. She could leave any time and he’d just forward her pay through the agency he’d hired her from…if he could remember which one he’d used that time.
“And this—” Amanda grabbed tongs off of the bar and picked up a pair of panties that had been left behind at some forgotten point. “—is disgusting. You don’t pay me enough to put up with your asshole behavior and the filth left behind by your little cling-ons.”
He crossed his arms. “Are you mad because those aren’t yours?” At least Amanda wasn’t a simpering nut like the first PA. Amanda had a mind of her own.
Her face flared red. “No. I quit. I’m finished.” She tossed the underwear at him and slammed the tongs down on the bar.
After she rocked the whole bus with the force of the slammed door, he picked up the discarded drawers and tossed them in the garbage. Did he really need another PA if the tour ended in a week? He could probably manage without one all on his own and then he’d have a little time off where he could focus on finding someone who really fit his crew.
Yeah, he had an attitude and working with him wasn’t easy, but this was also the chance of a lifetime for some person. They could deal with a little attitude for that. It wasn’t easy being Morgan Turner.
He took the little slip of paper from his pocket and pulled out his phone. Pulling up the browser, he quickly typed in the address on the ad to see if anything would come up. They were looking for women to change the world and he needed one woman who wasn’t an asshole. Seemed like a match. If they were looking for flexible women, that was about perfect for him. Though not meek. He needed someone with a little backbone or they would just cry whenever he walked by.
Many of the pages he scrolled through had been shut down and all that remained was a bunch of one-line descriptions of what had once been pages. The address seemed to be for a bridal agency—a mail order bride agency. People still did that? He chuckled that some lonely jerk out there needed the help of an agency to find a willing woman. He took a deep breath and reclined on his leather sofa. A bridal agency wouldn’t help him find the perfect PA.
Morgan sat up straight in his chair. A bride. A bridal agency would do all the work for him in finding the perfect PA. He could put in an order for an assistant…trick them into thinking he wanted a bride when all he wanted was for an assistant to last at least one tour.
It was the perfect, fool proof idea. He would get a woman matched to him and wouldn’t have to marry her. She’d be just the right person for the job and he’d never have to go through another agency again. A smile cracked over his lips and he rubbed the unfamiliar feeling away. It was the best way to solve his PA problem, and they were headed right for Dallas. Perfect.
After applying for more jobs than she could remember and getting no call backs, Eloise searched for the jeans she wore to her last anger management meeting. She crawled around on the floor until she finally found them, stuffed under her bed in a wad.
/> Inside the pocket was Dr. Edward Peterson’s card with his number and the newspaper clipping, crumpled but still legible. She pressed it flat and stared at the ad, her heart racing. She needed a job. Her landlord would hold her place if she could assure payment was coming, but not for long.
Her closet was sorely lacking, but she managed to find a pencil skirt she’d worn to her first interview way back before her life had changed forever. She stared at the little angel wing tattoo on her shoulder and the anger that usually welled up, turned to tears. In a week, it would be one year since her life had changed.
One year since Liam had walked away.
She bunched her hands into fists. Thinking about when her fiancé left her was counter-productive. She found a dark silk top in the back of her closet that would cover the little tattoo. Then she slipped on heels and switched her messenger bag for a clutch purse.
Taking one last look around her apartment, she took a deep breath and locked the door behind her. It felt like stepping into a whole new life, but it was just another job. She shook the strange feeling from her as she strode out to her car and followed the directions from the map on her phone to the address.
The agency was a three-story brick building with no name on the front, just a number. While it looked like any other business, the lack of an identity set her skin to prickling. For all she knew, this was some fake ad made to lure in unsuspecting women—like the Craigslist ads her mom had always warned her about.
She gripped the short handle of her purse, prepared to use it as a weapon, and stepped out into the hot sun of the parking lot. She searched for any sign that the building might not be just what it seemed—like strange vans without rear windows—but the building was just like every other in the small office complex. Inside, the front entry was empty except for a woman sitting at a long, half-circle desk. Her headset was small and it appeared like she was talking to herself, her huge curls adding to the strange scene.
She pressed a button on the phone and moved her headset to the side then put on an enormous fake smile. “May I help you?”
Eloise dug the ad out from her purse and slid it across the desk.
“You’re here to see Mrs. Creed. Why don’t you have a seat in the chairs just over there. Congratulations on taking such a life-changing step!”
Eloise pushed her hair behind her ear once again and strode over to the waiting room chairs. Mrs. Creed was apparently the applications manager or perhaps in charge of hiring? It was difficult to decide which when she knew nothing about the business.
An older woman with short white curls and a business suit came through the door and held out her hand. “Welcome to the DBA. My name is Alveda Creed. I’ll be helping you fill out your paperwork today and get you sent down to our medical staff for prescreening. We’re glad to have you.”
The woman’s hand was cold as she shook Eloise’s then directed her through the door.
“I’m Eloise Fontaine. I found your ad in the paper.” What else could she say? What was the DBA? She’d never even heard of it.
“That’s fine. We’ll get to all of that in a moment when we sit down and have a chat about the best way to use your talents.”
Her talents? She didn’t really have any. “Well, I can type. I’m not so good at answering the phone. I don’t put up with stupid very well.”
“Miss Fontaine!” Mrs. Creed scolded her.
Eloise could feel her blood pressure rising. She stopped in the middle of the hallway and forced her breathing to slow. She couldn’t afford to lose this job before she even started, but when had truth become wrong?
Mrs. Creed’s mouth turned down in a sour frown. “Should you pass our rigorous tests, you will go through training on how to speak and act accordingly. Most of the men who apply are quite wealthy and expect a certain level of decorum.”
Her anger broke through. “Are you telling me that no women apply to your company? That sounds very sexist.”
Mrs. Creed laughed. “If you would prefer to be matched with a woman, it is rare and highly unlikely that I’ll be able to help you. We just don’t see those applications. Perhaps there are other services similar to ours that would be a better suit?”
Eloise closed her eyes and focused on keeping her anger under control, along with her mouth. Mrs. Creed was older and maybe she just hadn’t entered the twenty-first century yet. She hadn’t even met with anyone when she’d filled out the other applications.
“Miss Fontaine?” Mrs. Creed raised her brows and waited. “The choice is yours.”
Was it? It sure didn’t feel like she had any say at all. “I’ll stay.”
Mrs. Creed smiled and continued down the hall, finally opening a nondescript door to a small office. Eloise followed her in. There was a desk with a chair on either side. A small tray of water and snacks sat on the edge and next to it was a pristine file about an inch thick.
“Over the next few hours, you’ll be filling out all of this paperwork to help determine if you’re a good fit for our organization.”
She was usually pretty good at seeing what kind of answer was expected, just from how the questions were asked, but she’d never seen a stack of paperwork for a job that thick before. “What’s in there? Do you need to know everything? Right down to my favorite color?” She joked, hoping Mrs. Creed would laugh a little and give her some indication of what she was up against.
“Well, yes. Even that can be important. This is your life we’re talking about. Any information you can give us will be helpful in placing you.”
Eloise took a seat on the side of the desk facing the door and Mrs. Creed took the other.
“Good. Now, I need to ask you one very important question before we even open this file. Miss Fontaine, are you a virgin?”
3
“What did you just ask me?” Eloise clutched her chair and slid it back, ready to run. What kind of freaky job was this, anyway?
“Don’t look so shocked. Your husband will want to know if you’ve slept with anyone else or not.” The words fell from Mrs. Creed’s lips as if what she said made perfect sense, but they certainly didn’t.
“My…husband?” Her head was spinning. This couldn’t be happening.
“Yes, you’ve come to the Diamond Bridal Agency. It’s our job to find you the perfect husband, and, not to brag, but we take our job very seriously and few of our women ever come back.”
“Marry? You want me to marry someone? That’s how I’m going to change the world?” Her voice was so high it was approaching silent.
“Yes. The men fill out a questionnaire, much like the one you’re about to fill out and then we enter it into our database and we don’t place you until we can find a perfect match. The only exceptions are those who are not virginal. Those require…more time.”
Eloise gulped back the bile in her throat. “I want to leave. I’m no virgin. This isn’t the place for me. I thought you were a hiring agency.” The closed door and small room suddenly felt stifling. She was too terrified to even get angry. Maybe Ed was right, this place would take the anger right out of her. She’d kill him if she ever got out of this place.
“Dear me. That is terribly unfortunate. We are a very private organization and I assumed you’d been told by the secretary at the front desk. No matter. By the end of the first few days, even the most hesitant of brides are ready to find their husbands when they realize they don’t have to play the field anymore.”
“Play the field?” Eloise raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t played anything, but that still hadn’t kept her from finding herself pregnant and scared as the father walked away. Nope. She wouldn’t ever let a man touch her again. She may not be a virgin but it didn’t matter, because she’d die with the same number of sexual partners as she had now—one. “No. I don’t want a husband. I don’t want to be here. I swear, I won’t tell anyone about your little company. I just need to go. You see, if I don’t get a job—like, today—my landlord will take my apartment and I’ll lose my car.”
Mrs. Creed laughed. “If we manage to find a match for you quickly, you can have your clothing bonus right away and that should take care of any final bills you have. I do ask that you retain most of it, though. Our clothing experts prefer to have enough to buy you a new wardrobe that will best match what your husband will need and what will make you both happy. His satisfaction is guaranteed and it’s one way we thank our brides.”
But if he wasn’t satisfied…
“And what happens if he isn’t and he returns his bride?”
Mrs. Creed’s brow furrowed. “Well, in that case, we ask our returned brides if they would like to try again or if they would like to sign a silence clause. They are then let go of any obligation. But you must understand, it rarely happens. We are in the business to make sure you succeed.”
Eloise didn’t care about succeeding at finding a husband, just in making ends meet. “So, if you find me a match today, I get the money to pay my bills, and a new wardrobe?”
“Yes.”
Eloise smiled to herself as she planned all the ways to make a man hate her. This couldn’t have been more perfect. She grabbed the pen next to the stack of papers. “Let’s fill this out.”
Dear Mr. Turner,
After careful consideration of your needs, the Diamond Bridal Agency is pleased to inform you that a bride has been located who matches your unique requirements. All communications have been kept private, as is our policy and will cease after this missive. We request, for the security of our other clients, that you destroy this message after reading it.
Your satisfaction is guaranteed. To comply with your request for a bride as quickly as possible, your bride will be waiting at our headquarters in Addison on August 13th. Your name has been kept private, as you requested. Please do not hesitate to contact me should there be any issue with your bride. Her name is Eloise Fontaine, and she will sign the contract when she meets you.
