Free Somewhat Saved by Pat G'Orge-Walker Page A

whispered and smiled.
    A man opened the door and politely invited Zipporah to come inside and have a seat.
    â€œGood afternoon, I’m Mr. Lamb.” She could tell his smile was genuine and inviting when he didn’t immediately look away. His speech had a hint of a southern twang and it sounded almost like he was teasing her, although he’d not said anything that would indicate that he was.
    â€œMiss Moses, have you had a chance to look over our manual and familiarize yourself with our particular needs?”
    â€œNo, I haven’t. I’ve only completed my application.”
    â€œLet me give you one to look over.”
    He hadn’t said it but he seemed to indicate that the job was hers, if she wanted it.
    â€œThank you.”
    Mr. Lamb walked back and forth between two cabinets selecting several manuals and papers. He walked like a professional model displaying a well-proportioned body. His waist was small but definitely manly. His skin was olive brown, smooth and hairless in the places she could see.
    She noticed that they had something in common. It was in the eyes.
    Mr. Lamb was at least a head or so taller than Zipporah. He acted a bit older than he appeared and she guessed his age to be in the early to mid-thirties.
    He was gorgeous and she wasn’t quite sure what to do with her observations. But her angst suddenly dissipated as she determined that whatever Mr. Lamb was selling, she was buying.
    â€œTell me a little something about yourself.” The accent tantalized her as she drank in every inch of him. He’d asked about her, wanted to know something personal.
    And then she remembered. Her clean but faded floral-print dress revealed more than she’d wanted. Her black pumps that set her back twelve dollars, which she revered as though they cost a million, said that she was Zipporah Moses, a homeless woman. Las Vegas’s best-kept secret—a woman who could out-sing Aretha and hit notes that Mariah couldn’t reach with a ladder.
    Her shoulders slumped as she scrambled to find a way to evade the question. She didn’t have to. The telephone on Mr. Lamb’s desk rang. “Chandler Lamb speaking, how can I help you?”
    Chandler . . . She now had a first name to go with her first impression. She tilted her head slowly, letting her eyes drink in what she now could call Chandler, although not to his face. But it didn’t take a second for her to return to reality. She was sure he would never associate with the likes of her beyond this office.
    Zipporah shuddered slightly as she pretended to remove an imaginary piece of nothing from her skirt. She needed to get a grip; she didn’t have time for frivolous daydreaming. She sat up a little straighter and focused on several pictures adorning the office wall.
    It was of no use, her eyes were immediately drawn back to him.
    He sat and then pushed his chair back, letting it lean against the wall. He tugged at the telephone cord until it extended to its full length. With his free hand, he drummed a fast rhythm with a pen.
    His face was still handsome despite the sudden look of chagrin. “Mandy is out to lunch, so have someone handle it until I can get security there.” He stopped and scribbled something on a sticky note. “I’m in the middle of interviewing a new employee—” He lay the receiver down harder than he’d wanted, then turned and gave her a look of exasperation before he continued to write.
    He pressed another button on the phone bank while trying to hide his aggravation behind a smile. He was evidently embarrassed by the momentary show of unprofessionalism. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Miss Moses. Please give me another moment.”
    â€œIt’s not a problem.” That was the best response she had. What she really wanted to do was to place his head on her shoulder. She’d cuddle him while saying seductively, “Don’t worry. I’m here