Awakened by the Scarred Italian
Page 18
Kat was unable to hide her shock; her face fell. ‘You’re looking for another job?’ If Sue, who was as upbeat as she was hard-working, had already given in... Am I the only one who hasn’t?
‘Too right I am, and I suggest you do too. There’s always bills to pay and in my case mouths to feed. I care about this place too, you know, Kat.’
Kat felt a stab of contrition that her reaction might be read as judgement. ‘I know that.’ But the point was she didn’t know what it was to be like Sue, a single parent bringing up five children and holding down two jobs.
On the brink of sharing the good news, she pulled back and moderated her response. She didn’t want to raise hopes if nothing came of this.
‘I know you think I’m mad, but I really think there’s a realistic prospect someone out there cares.’
The other woman grinned. ‘I know you do, and I really hope life never knocks that starry-eyed optimism out of you.’
‘It hasn’t so far,’ Kat retorted. ‘And Monday’s fine. I’ll cover... Good luck.’
She waited until the other woman had left before she sat down at her desk—actually, it was a table with one wobbly leg—and thought about who she might be meeting. Whoever it was didn’t hang around. The meeting was scheduled for the following morning and the letter had been sent recorded delivery.
Well, she could cross the two off her list who had already sent a sympathetic but negative response, so who did that leave?
But then, did the identity of the potential donor actually matter? What mattered was that someone out there was interested enough for a meeting. So there was no beacon of light at the end of a tunnel but there was a definite flicker. Her small chin lifted in an attitude of determination. Whoever it turned out to be, she would sell her cause to them. Because the alternative was not something she wanted to contemplate—failure.
So for the rest of the day she resisted the temptation to share her news with the rest of her gloomy-looking colleagues. Not until she knew what was on offer, or maybe she just didn’t want to have anyone dampen her enthusiasm with a bucket of cold-water realism? Either way there was no one to turn to for advice when she searched her wardrobe for something appropriate that evening.
There wasn’t a lot to search. Her wardrobe was what designers called capsule, though maybe capsule was being generous.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love clothes and fashion, it was just that her budget was tight and in the past used up by impulse bargain buys, which inevitably sat in her wardrobe untouched and were eventually donated to a charity chop.
After a mega charity shop clear-out at the beginning of the summer and an unseasonal resolution to avoid sale racks, she had adopted a pared-down wardrobe. There had been the one slip. She looked at it now, hanging beside the eminently practical items. She rubbed the deep midnight-blue soft cashmere silk fabric between her fingers and gave a tiny nod; it was perfect for tomorrow’s ‘dress to impress’.
Smiling because her moment of weakness had been vindicated, she extracted the dress that stood out among the white shirts, T-shirts, black trousers and jeans, and hung it on the hook at the back of the bedroom door. Smoothing down the fabric, she checked it for creases, but everything about the dress managed to combine fluid draping with classic tailoring and the look screamed designer. The only fault she’d been able to find that had caused it to be downgraded to a second was the belt loop that needed a few stitches.
It had fitted so perfectly when she’d tried it on and had been marked down so much that, even though her practical head had told her there would never be an occasion in her life where the beautifully cut dress would come into it, she had bought it.
If she’d believed in fate—well, actually she did; the problem, in her experience, was not always recognising the door left ajar by fate as a golden opportunity.
It took her a little longer to dig out the heels buried among the piles in the back of the wardrobe, and she was ready. All she needed now was to go through her plan of attack. If she wanted to sell her case, make it stand out amongst the many deserving cases, she needed facts at her fingertips and a winning smile and someone with a heart to direct it at. The smile that flashed out was genuine as she caught sight of her face in the mirror...her eyes narrowed and her forehead creased in a frown of fierce determination.
So her winning smile could do with some work!
Copyright © 2019 by Kim Lawrence
ISBN-13: 9781488044748
Awakened by the Scarred Italian
Copyright © 2019 by Abby Green
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