Free Purely Relative by Claire Gillian Page A

and—”
    “Earth to Gayle!”
    I snapped out of my nightmare.
    Jon handed me a black square, not a ring box. “Here, I got
you a fresh one because I nabbed yours.” He wasn’t offering his heart in
exchange for the one he’d stolen from me. He was offering an Egyptian cotton
towel, folded neatly into fourths.
    “I....” I barely squeaked that out.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take yours. Here,” he took back
the towel, shook it out, and wrapped it around me, gingerly drying my face with
the corners. When he was done, he pulled me into his arms, a frown on his face.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
    I shook my head and finally found my voice albeit a pale
version. “Nothing important.”
    “Well something’s got you on edge. I hope my family hasn’t
upset you.”
    He was being so sweet, so wonderful, and here I was unable
to tell him how distressing it was to not know if you were happy or sad your
boyfriend was not, in fact, on bended knee asking for your hand. The cold
reality was I was on my own, adrift in a strange city with meager savings and
no job. I couldn’t look to a man to bail me out of my problems. I never had
before and I wasn’t going to start now. I needed to get it together.
    “I’m sorry. It’s just … I’m scared.”
    He kissed my forehead then lowered his eyes to meet mine. “You?
Scared?” He shook his head. “You are one of the bravest women I’ve ever known.”
    I filled my lungs with the steamy bathroom air and slowly
released it to rein in my tears. “I don’t want to live in my car in the ghetto.”
    A laugh burst out of him. “Why would you live in your car
and why the ghetto, for God’s sake?” He smiled ruefully at me before kissing my
lips. “Oh. This is about being out of work, right?”
    “I guess. There’s a gushing stream of Anderson Blakely CPAs
hitting the street now, nearly all of whom have more experience than me. Who
are the other firms going to hire? A seasoned staff person or a whistle-blowing
menace who doesn’t know the first thing about corporate politics?” A final half
laugh, half-choking cough emerged from me as I expelled the last of my
barriers. We both laughed together, but I could see the tension in the lines
around his eyes, in the tightness of his jaw. Jon held his cards close to the
vest but the longer I knew him, the more of his tells I deciphered. Something
was bothering him too.
     
     

Chapter 9
    On Monday, my first interview turned
out to be a bust. I could tell in those first few critical seconds. The manager
had barely read my resume, barely knew anything about me and worst, had no
interest in allowing me to educate him. I spent the afternoon researching the
other firms in town. Jon was already on a new assignment, though I could tell
he hated it.
    He came over at seven, having finished his surveillance at
six-thirty.
    “How’d the interview go,” he asked after collapsing on my
sofa and pulling me onto his lap.
    “Terrible. I predict a form rejection letter by Friday, if
they even bother to send me one.” I nestled in and rested my head on his
shoulder. He was rapidly turning into my favorite chair.
    “That’s too bad. Their loss. That was Minderman?” His rich
voice soothed me like a semi-melty chocolate bar.
    “Yeah. I’ve got an appointment at a temp agency tomorrow.”
    “Mm.” His unspoken message was he didn’t approve of temping,
thought it was beneath me. We’d discussed the matter before, only he came from
money and had no idea what it was like not having any. I doubt he lived off
ramen noodles and pot pies while in college. Yours truly did, and was still
paying off the student loans that helped finance them.
    “How did your surveillance go today?” Even though he wasn’t
keen on being a field agent, I always found his stories fascinating. I could
people-watch for hours and never get bored. Jon would rather tap away at his
smart phone trying to hack into someone’s records. Officially he wasn’t