Game On (Westland University)

by Lynn Stevens

  John and Tim grinned and repeated Devon word for word. I smiled and bent my head in polite defeat. There wasn’t any reason to repeat what Devon had already said, even if it would’ve been appropriate.

  Mr. Anderson tilted his head again as he stared at me, then he turned on his heel and marched toward the door.

  “Thanks, Olivia. You made me look like an all-star. No doubt Anderson will head toward my father and assure him that I’m JenCar material. Exactly as he wanted,” Devon said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. A sheepish grin took over his face. “Look, I know that didn’t go as you planned, and I’m sorry. So lunch?”

  If I hadn’t already felt completely humiliated and defeated, his words would’ve pissed me off. How could he think I’d go out with him after that? There was no way JenCar would hire me after that pitiful performance. And there was no way in hell I’d spend another minute around him.

  He got his answer as he watched me walk out the door.

  Chapter Eight

  I needed to get away from everything—my apartment, campus, Steak Stockade. For once in my life, I wanted to be someone else. Just for a few hours. I wasn’t born to fail. Living with so many brothers, so much testosterone, I had to fight for even the slightest bit of recognition for my academic abilities. But if I made something for dinner, it was “good girl, Liv.” I hated that. My brothers would get slaps on the back if they said something intelligent. My father would smile and tell me not to think so hard.

  It made my life hell sometimes. In the back of my mind, it was always “good girl, Liv.”

  I climbed in my truck and drove to UnShelved. A few hours at the bookstore normally calmed my thoughts or, at least, gave me a place to hide from the world. But it didn’t work. Everything that happened recently played on a continuous loop in my mind. I’d repeated my biggest mistake by sleeping with Devon, who was just using me to get what he wanted. Even if we didn’t have sex, which he claimed we hadn’t, I’d still fallen into his trap. I got the dream interview only to make an asinine impression. Spiraling out of control was not on my to-do list but had taken over the top spot anyway. I hopped back into my truck and drove in the opposite direction of everything I’d known.

  On the south side of Madison, I discovered a small bakery café in a neighborhood I’d never even noticed before. Not that I drove to this part of town often. Okay, ever. Most of my travels around the college town were within walking distance of Westland. Everything I needed I could get within a ten-minute stroll from my apartment. It served a dual purpose of saving money and keeping me in shape. I never wanted to end up in the same position as Dad did after Mom died. Medical bills piled up, the mortgage seemed astronomical, and the electric had gotten cut off twice. Adam took over the finances and paid all the bills the best he could, but my parents didn’t have much savings. It drained pretty fast. Nick and Trevor put their paychecks to use keeping the family above water, but just barely. Tony finally got Dad to snap out of it. If it hadn’t been for Adam taking charge, we might have lost the house and everything else. So I saved every penny I could and it still wasn’t enough.

  It felt like it would never be enough.

  I needed this break to ensure my future. But there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d get an internship. I’d worked so hard to even get my foot in the door. JenCar only took interns they wanted long term. Last spring, they hired Boyd Knox, who didn’t have the grades. He wasn’t the top of his class. He wasn’t even in the top 10 percent. But he had charisma, style, and he could talk his way into and out of anything. Once he graduated, he’d gotten on full-time at the South Carolina plant working in sales. They saw where he could succeed and put him there. Last I heard, he loved it.

  I slipped the truck into a small spot a block from the café. Italian flags hung from the rustic light poles lining the sidewalk. Across from the café was an Italian market with a green, white, and red awning. Other small businesses dotted the block: a jeweler, a gelato shop, and an Amish furniture store to name a few. Gelato was tempting, but the cold bite of January required something warm and chocolate, preferably with marshmallows and peppermint. I tightened my black peacoat around my waist and hurried to the café.

  A bell dinged above the glass door as I entered, reminding me of Dad’s shop back home. He hated battery-operated doorbells or anything that required electricity when a simple thing would do. A soft heat rushed to greet me along with the smell of espresso, fresh baked bread, and the sweet scent of cream and chocolate. I could almost taste an éclair in the air.

  “Can I help you?” an older woman asked from behind a pastry counter. She smiled and there was a familiar tick in her cheek that reminded me of Devon. Her strawberry-blonde hair peeked out from beneath a black-and-red ball cap with the logo for DeLuca’s Italian Bakery. She placed her hands on the counter and leaned forward. “First time here?”

  “Is it that obvious?” I asked, feeling immediately comfortable with her. I unwrapped my gray scarf from my neck and tugged off the matching gloves as I strolled forward.

  “I’m afraid so. Most new customers stop just inside the front door and inhale as if they’ve never breathed before.”

  Laughter bubbled from my lips, escaping only as a giggle. “The combination of sweetness, caffeine, and carbs will stop anyone in their tracks.” I stared at the bear claws, éclairs, Danishes, and other weight-gaining goodies displayed under the glass. They all looked like exactly what I needed for my pity party of one. “What should I get, then?”

  “Ah, well that depends on your mood.” She ducked her head and drew my gaze upward. A twist of the lips, a crinkle of her hazel eyes, and then a brightened expression flipped across her face faster than unlocking a cell phone. “A pick me up?”

  “Something like that,” I admitted. My fingers tore at my cuticles, an unconscious bad habit I’d never been able to quit. Once I realized I was destroying my skin, I’d stop. Normally that was too late.

  She nodded and bent to her knees, opening the sliding glass door under the cabinet. I didn’t try to see what she thought I needed. Besides, she stood quickly with a large chocolate éclair on a white china plate with a paper doily. The presentation made it that much more appealing. She sat the plate on the counter, barely making a sound as ceramic kissed glass.

  “Now,” she said, “this also calls for a warm drink, but I’m willing to bet money you aren’t a coffee girl.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. Coffee wasn’t really my thing. I preferred tea.

  “Fair enough,” she said, turning to shout over her shoulder, “Seamus, I need a deluxe hot cocoa with a kiss of peppermint…” She turned to appraise me with a narrowed eye. “And marshmallows, I think.”

  I nodded. That’s what I really came in for. This woman amazed me. “How did you know?”

  “It’s my job to know.” She rang me up, and the price was far smaller than I expected. “You go to Westland?” she asked as she counted out the change.

  “Yes, is that obvious, too?” I held out my hand, counting each coin as she dropped it into my palm. Even though the drink and éclair weren’t expensive, it still dipped into my preciously budgeted funds. My checks from Stockade paid for my truck payment, insurance, and utilities, but sometimes it wasn’t enough.

  She motioned to a table by the window. The wrought iron bistro set had been painted white with red cushions covering the seats. “Seamus will bring out your drink.” She smiled warmly. “And he makes the best deluxe. It drives my regular customers crazy when he’s too busy to fill in.”

  “If it tastes half as good as it smells, I’ll love it.” I moved to the other side of the dining area and settled into a chair. Despite the cold outside, the bakery was cozy without being too hot. I could only imagine how the bakers in the back felt.

  The view wasn’t anything spectacular, but I found myself staring out the frosted window anyway. The interview replayed in my mind. How could I have let Devon get to me so easily? Engineering was
competitive enough, but even more so as a woman. In this day and age, it shouldn’t be such a surprise women were still struggling in the job market. A few of the women who had graduated with engineering degrees in the last couple of years struggled to be treated equally. They warned me to expect the same. I was a realist. I knew it would be hell, but I was more than willing to fight to prove myself.

  “Here’s your deluxe,” a soft tenor said as he sat the oversize white ceramic mug on the table beside my untouched éclair.

  I turned to smile at Seamus and thank him, only to see Devon Miller staring back.

  “Hey.” He glanced toward the counter before sliding into the seat across from me.

  “What’re you doing?” I asked. The ice from outside seemed to have seeped into the comfort of the bakery and frozen my veins.

  “Working. I told you Mom owned a bakery. And you turned down my offer for lunch,” he said. His pale eyebrows rose toward his hairline, not quite making it. “We need to talk—”

  I leaned in closer, the humiliation from the interview and the memory of waking up in his bed snapping my careful control into a million little pieces. “Don’t go there.”

  “Go where? You don’t even know what I’m about to say.” Devon’s massive forearms rested on the table, his mitt-like hands clasped together.

  “Yes, I do.” I leaned in farther so nobody else could hear my confession. “You didn’t mean to sabotage me at JenCar. You didn’t mean to ruin my life. Oh, and you want to talk about how that one night ‘meant’ something to you,” I said, using actual air quotes. “I’ve heard your game, Devon. And I’m not playing. You’ve done everything you could to humiliate and ruin my life. I’m done.”

  “Really? That’s all?”

  “Yes, really.” I pushed my éclair away, wishing I could just run from this place.

  “First, I didn’t sabotage you at JenCar.” He leaned forward on the table, flicking my napkin with his finger. “Second, that night freshman year did mean something to me. Even if it meant shit to you. Third, I’m not trying to be an asshole or a dick or whatever you think I am. I sincerely like you, Olivia.”

  “Then why treat me like…” I searched for the word but couldn’t find one that fit.

  He tilted his head. “Like my competition? Because you are. I’m trying to do my diligence in having Anderson hire me, whether I want the internship or not.”

  “Wait,” I said after his words sunk in. “You don’t want to work at JenCar? Then why apply?”

  Devon smiled sadly and diverted his gaze. “Don’t get me wrong, the internship serves a dual purpose. It’ll look great on my resume and it’ll make my father happy. And if I get it, I’ll be the best damn intern they’ve ever had. JenCar’s not my end game, though. I’ve got other plans.”

  I fell back in my seat. Shock didn’t even begin to describe what I felt. “You don’t want to be an engineer? You’re so good at it.”

  “I didn’t say that. I just don’t want to work at JenCar after I graduate.” Devon shrugged. “There are plenty of other companies to work for. JenCar’s not the only place in town.”

  “But why?” I asked. It didn’t make sense to me. It was all I ever wanted.

  “I’d rather be a civil engineer. My degree will be good for that.” He smiled and leaned forward again. “It would be more fun than working eighty hours a week in a small office like Dad.”

  “But to build planes and design even the tiniest instrument that can keep a plane in the air—”

  “Is your dream, not mine. I’d prefer to build roads, bridges, even just work on construction projects. I prefer being outside. Next year I’ll apply for internships to do just that. Most of those companies don’t take on interns until they’re seniors. Working at JenCar this spring will only make me more appealing and well-rounded.” He paused and raised his eyebrows. “And the money’s just as good.”

  I laughed. The money was a big thing, too. I didn’t want to have to struggle like Dad did with seven kids. But I didn’t plan on having seven kids, either.

  “See, there’s a lot you don’t know about me, Olivia.” He tapped the side of the mug. “Like I make the best hot cocoa in Madison.”

  “You haven’t had mine.” I lifted the mug, savoring the smell of chocolate and milk with a hint of cinnamon.

  “Always a competition with you.” He grinned. “You’ll have to make it for me sometime. We can compare notes.”

  I sipped the drink and a moan slipped from my lips. “God, this is good. So what’s with the Seamus thing?”

  Devon laughed. “Told you. And, for the record, my name is Seamus Devon Miller.” He glanced toward the counter. “Mom named me after my grandfather and my great-grandfather. They immigrated from Ireland when Grandpapa was just a baby.”

  “So you’re Irish and your mom owns an Italian bakery?”

  “We’re Italian, too. Grandpapa’s Irish, Nonna’s Italian, that’s the DeLuca side.” He glanced back toward the counter. “Mom’s the only one who calls me Seamus.”

  “Until now.” I finished my éclair and smiled. “Seamus.”

  Devon laughed. “Go ahead. It doesn’t bother me and it’s not a secret. Growing up, it was easier for people to pronounce Devon.”

  “I’ll bet.” I drained the rest of my hot cocoa, saddened that it was gone. “Seamus.”

  “Keep it up, Olivia.” He winked and I shuddered. “I’ll find a way to make you scream it.”

  “First, don’t wink. It’s creepy.”

  “Noted.” His lips pursed to hide the smile.

  “Second, how do you know I’m a screamer?” I tugged my lower lip into my mouth.

  He leaned forward and whispered, “Because I remember ever single second from two and a half years ago.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. There were moments I remembered, but not every single second. Then again, he could’ve been lying.

  “Seamus?” his mother said from behind the counter. “Can you come back to work or is that too much to ask?”

  Devon smiled at the woman. “Yeah, Ma. I’m coming.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Get to know me, Olivia. You might actually like your worst enemy.”

  He stood and strolled toward the back before I could say anything. Good thing, since I had no clue how to respond to that.

  Chapter Nine

  A second interview. I don’t know how or why, but JenCar called me in for a second interview for Friday. I would’ve worn my favorite cream shirt, but that was still at Morgan’s, and despite my request for the ticket, Devon had failed to give it to me. I texted Paige for an outfit idea. Instead I got a text from Jayce that wasn’t exactly nice. There wasn’t time to argue. I’d show her the text later.

  So I wore the same suit but with a silk shell I found at a secondhand shop back home. The wine-red color reminded me of the stain on my cream, but I did my best to put the thought out of my mind. If I nailed this interview, I wouldn’t have to worry about driving home for Bradley’s birthday. It didn’t pay much, but it paid enough for gas. I didn’t want to dip into my savings or use my credit card if I didn’t have to. I’d finally paid my credit card off last fall after going a little overboard after I’d gotten it. That was not something I needed to do ever again.

  I stepped into the lobby of JenCar with as much poise and confidence as I could fake. Inside I was shaking like a leaf in a tornado. Mr. Anderson walked through the door by the receptionist desk with Devon fast on his heels. Devon, as usual, looked all business and very smug. But that didn’t mean anything. If I had learned anything about him, it was that smug was his go-to expression. He thought he nailed the second interview. In reality, he probably had.

  I’d never met someone who could transform into who they needed to be at a whim. Our sophomore year, Devon played the role of dumb blonde for a female prof who’d taken a liking to him. He didn’t need the extra attention she gave him for the basic calculus coursework, but he used it to his advantage. There was never any doubt in my mind tha
t she graded his work on a curve, ensuring Devon an A that he would’ve gotten either way. I couldn’t help but wonder if the Devon I’d seen glimpses of was the real one or if he was just playing another role in his arsenal.

  Besides, Anderson probably intended on hiring him the minute he sent in his resume. Family connections always helped even if it wasn’t fair to the rest of us. That only made everything four times as hard for me.

  “Hopefully the team won’t be affected by the actions of two players.” Mr. Anderson nodded to me as he led Devon into the center of the lobby.

  “I hope not, sir, but there’s bound to be some punishment.” Devon flinched, but he recovered quickly.

  Mr. Anderson nodded and shook Devon’s hand. “Mr. Miller, we’ll be in touch.”

  “I look forward to it, sir,” Devon said with a smile that most people would think was charming, but I saw it for what it was: fake. He raised his eyebrows at me, then strode from the building.

  “Ms. Dawson, this way, please,” Mr. Anderson said as he headed back toward the door.

  I shrugged out of my coat, careful not to mess up my hair as I unwrapped the scarf. The wind chill was negative ten and my cheeks burned against the heat of the building. I was so ready for winter to just end.

  Mr. Anderson walked at a brisk clip toward a conference room at the north end of the building. I had memorized every bit of the layout the last time I was here. A freakish habit of mine. I hadn’t used a GPS for anything other than geocaching with my little brothers.

  I followed him into the small conference room. At the table sat three other people I recognized from the JenCar website. George Hanson, Vice President of JenCar’s Madison location, took the seat at the head of the glass table. To his right sat Madeline Upton, the HR director, and to his left Roger McPherson, CFO of the Madison plant. Mr. Anderson took a seat next to Ms. Upton and motioned for me to sit at the end of the table opposite of Mr. Hanson.

  It was a united front against a lone applicant. If the positioning was meant to intimidate me, it worked. I did my best not to let it show, keeping my chin up and making eye contact with each person at the table. Mr. Anderson cocked his head to the left. Ms. Upton led the charge with the same questions Mr. Anderson had asked about my education. This time I did not fumble as I answered.