Drive Me Wild. Elizabeth Harbison

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      “When do you need a driver?”

      “For summer school. In four weeks.”

      “Four weeks!” She threw up her hands. “And you’re only looking to hire someone now?”

      “You’re not helping your case.”

      “I’m trying to help yours. And mine.” She could tell she was getting nowhere with him. She remembered a chocolate bar for Jimmy that she’d put in her purse earlier, and made a mental note to inhale it the second this miserable meeting ended. “Look, maybe I should talk with someone else about the job, since you obviously can’t be objective about me.”

      “As a matter of fact, I’m in the unique position of understanding just how wrong you are for this position.” He sighed and softened his voice. “Grace, you’d be miserable. Why are you even here?”

      “Because I need work,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “And this is the only possibility in town.”

      “But it’s not a possibility.”

      “It is.” She knew she sounded desperate, but she didn’t care. She was desperate! “You can teach me whatever it is I need to know, and I can take the test and do the job so quietly you won’t even have to think about it again. I might be the best damn bus driver you ever had.”

      “And you might hate it and quit after two days.”

      “I won’t. I promise.”

      “Well, you’ve already said you’re leaving town next year. I’m not hiring a lifeguard for the summer, I need a bus driver. I need someone who’s going to take the job, do it well and keep it for more than a single school year.” His gaze grew penetrating. “This is nothing personal.”

      “Yes, it is!” She jabbed a finger in the air at him. “Personal is exactly what it is. You’re obviously holding something against me from a hundred years ago—”

      “Not true.”

      “—but if you think it’s easy for me to sit here and beg you for a job, you’re mistaken. If I can get past our history enough to work together, surely you can.”

      “We don’t have a history.”

      “Of course we have a history! We’ve known each other for eighteen years.” A small hurt flared in her, like a match lit on a windy night. How could he act as if they were total strangers? Maybe they hadn’t always gotten along, but once or twice in their past Grace had gotten the feeling that they had connected on a very deep level.

      One instance in particular came to mind.

      But now it was as if he was so eager to distance himself from her that he would even go so far as to distance himself from the facts. So she decided to remind him of those facts. “We went to high school together, Luke. You were my husband’s best friend, for Pete’s sake. That’s history.”

      “That,” he agreed, “is history.”

      She hesitated, unsure as to whether he was agreeing with her about the whole concept or if he was making the point that his friendship with Michael was history, as in kaput.

      Because she knew that.

      She remembered when it had happened.

      Before she could think of something to say, Luke spoke again. “It’s irrelevant whether we have a history or not, because this is about qualifications. And you don’t have them. At least not the right ones.”

      “I’ll bet I have better qualifications than most people you interview for this job,” she argued. “Have most of your applicants taken the Red Cross CPR course for infants and children? Can most of your applicants arbitrate an argument between two ten-year-olds? Can any of your other applicants tell the difference between the Robo-Crusier-Insect-Man and the Auto-Alien Transformer?”

      Luke raised an eyebrow. “You think being able to make that distinction will come in handy?”

      Her gaze was direct and serious. “You just never know.”

      He studied her quietly for a moment, then, with a small nod, he said, “That’s true. But it doesn’t change my mind.”

      “What would?” she asked plaintively.

      He took a deep breath. A deep dismissive breath. “Look, I’ve got to admire your determination, but I don’t see this as a good fit. So I’ll keep your number on file and—”

      “And what?”

      He sighed. “And hope you forget this whole idea.”

      “I can’t afford to,” she said, quietly but firmly. “I need this.”

      “You’re not half prepared even to take the test, and like I said, summer school begins in just four weeks.”

      “But I can learn, like I said.” She raised her chin and challenged him. “Besides, you’re ignoring some rather obvious extenuating circumstances.”

      “Am I?”

      Grace gathered her energy. “I won’t pretend to be able to read your mind, Luke, but I know you well enough to tell when you’re cornered.”

      He raised an eyebrow.

      She continued, “You need a driver. As you yourself have just pointed out, there are only a few short weeks until school starts, and—” she looked around the room “—I don’t see a lot of people lining up for this position, no matter how optimistic you may be about that happening as soon as I leave. I need a job. And while I may not have the exact qualifications you’re looking for, I’m willing to learn whatever I need to in order to satisfy your requirements. It seems obvious to me what you need to do.”

      There was a long silence during which she trembled under his familiar gaze.

      Finally, Luke broke the silence.

      “You’re absolutely right. It’s very clear what I have to do.”

      Hope surged in her. “Good.”

      Luke stood up and gave her a cool appraisal. “Thanks for coming by, Grace. I’m sorry this didn’t work out, but good luck finding something else. And welcome home.”

      Chapter Three

      Luke stared at the closed door in disbelief.

      Grace Perigon.

      No, make that Grace Bowes, trophy wife of his high-school partner in crime—it was hard to call Michael a friend—and the only girl who’d ever really gotten under his skin.

      Even now, with the perspective of so many years, it was hard for him to say just why she’d gotten under his skin. Sometimes he’d thought he’d hated her. Other times…well, other times, he’d thought maybe it was the opposite.

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