Tymber Dalton - Contractual Obligation

Whatever it took, he would make this work.

He had printed out yet another version of his résumé to proofread when his father knocked on his bedroom door. “Son?”

“Yeah, come in.”

His dad looked careworn, older than even when he left that morning. “So.” He sat on the end of Doug’s bed and held up the paper from the mortgage company. “I guess you know.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry, Dad. I shouldn’t have opened it.”

“Just promise me not to tell your mother, okay?”

“She doesn’t know?”

He shook his head. “Not how far behind we are. She knows we’re having trouble. I had to choose between keeping her on my health insurance or paying our mortgage. And with all the doctor bills and her prescriptions, and the co-pays for her surgeries…” He looked down at his hands, which lay twined in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Dad. I’m going to hit the job fair tomorrow and get something. I know Tate will back me up. We’ll get moved down here and pay rent to you guys. That alone will help. We’ll negotiate with the bank for more time and get you caught up.” He laid a hand on his dad’s shoulder. “I won’t let you lose the house. I promise. No matter what I have to do, okay?”

His father made a choked noise that sounded unmistakably like a sob. He threw his arms around Doug. “Thank you, son. I’m so sorry you have to deal with this.”

“It’s okay. Tate and I wanted to move down here anyway. It’s fine.”

After his dad left, he called Tate and filled him in.

“Man, that sucks,” Tate said. “So I should start collecting boxes, huh?”

“Do you know how much I love you for putting up with this?”

Tate’s normally playful voice turned serious. “Why do you think I would do anything else but move back with you? I love you.”

Doug closed his eyes and envisioned Tate’s blue gaze and blond hair. He’d met his lover in school, when they shared several business classes. Tate had been raised in St. Augustine, an Atlantic Ocean surfer boy, while Doug, a Tampa native, rarely got to the beach while growing up despite its close proximity. They’d moved in together nearly a year earlier after dating for over two years.

“I miss you,” Doug softly said. “It feels more like I’ve been gone five weeks instead of five days.”

“Well, it’s for a good cause,” Tate said. “It’s okay. And I’ll be thinking about you. You’d better get a good night’s sleep so you’re rested for tomorrow.”

They said their good-byes, and Doug settled in to try to go to sleep. He’d set his alarm for four o’clock. The job fair didn’t open until nine, but he wanted to be there by five so he could get in line early for a better shot at a spot.

* * *

Doug groaned as he approached the main entrance to the convention center. It was only a quarter after five in the morning, and already there were at least a hundred people in line. He took his place at the end of the line, most of the people dressed in their business best and carrying briefcases, folders, or portfolios. Presumably with their résumés inside, such as the fifty copies he had with him.

By the time the front doors opened nearly a half hour early, the line behind Doug had swelled to several thousand, stretching around the corner and out of sight. No telling how many others had arrived after him.

He stopped by the information desk and picked up a map. Over two hundred employers from around not just the Tampa Bay area, but the whole state, were there. As people started streaming past him to the enormous convention hall floor, Doug took a moment to scan for his best options. He wanted something in business, where his degree would be an asset, not just any old job. Wasting both his time and a prospective employer’s looking into fields he had no expertise in wouldn’t help.

He stepped to the side and used a pen to check off the most promising companies first. With his attack now planned, he headed toward the hall. His first three stops were, he hoped, the most promising. He was guaranteed an interview on Monday at the third one, for which he profusely thanked them and pocketed the appointment card.

Within an hour, he’d worked halfway through his list and accumulated three more interviews. Not going to stop now, he thought.

His next target was Wells Technology International, a company well respected in the area for their aeronautic components and hardware. They were not only looking to fill positions in a new plant they were staffing, but had one other opening, an executive administrator position, with potential to advance.

Why not? He still had plenty of résumés in hand. And even if he probably didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of landing that one position, he wouldn’t pass up a potential opportunity.

There were three women manning the booth and talking to prospects. When one, whose nametag read Carmen, finished, he stepped forward, hand out.

“Hi. I’m Douglas Holt.”

She gave him a welcoming smile. “Nice to meet you.”

He offered her a résumé. “I know I’m just out of school, but I’m interested in the executive administrator position.”

She scanned the paper, her eyebrow arching. “Oh, this is very impressive. Considering you will receive on-the-job training from the man currently in the position, we’re more concerned about ability and availability than experience for this position. It’s very intense, requiring someone with high energy and the flexibility to work long hours, do a lot of travel.”

“That’s me,” he said with a smile he hoped didn’t look too desperate. “I’m extremely flexible.” He felt his face heat. “I mean, in my schedule.”

She extended her arm, indicating he walk around the table and take a seat at one of two chairs behind the table.

She took the other, positioning a laptop webcam to face him. “Before we begin, our CEO, Harper Wells, is monitoring these interviews via video. Is that all right? The position requires working with her personally, and she wanted to listen in to the candidates.”

He hoped he wasn’t creating sweat rings in his pits. He reflexively reached up to straighten his tie and run a hand through his hair. “Sure.”

They talked for a while. Carmen gave him information on the company and a bare-bones basic summary of what his job duties would entail. He struggled to keep his eyes on her and not on the blue light shining next to the web camera port on the laptop.

After ten minutes of talking, Carmen’s cell phone rang. She glanced at it, smiled, and answered. “Yes, Ms. Wells?”

Harper kept one eye on her personal laptop screen and another on the reports she was compiling on her work laptop. From the moment the first potential candidate sat down to talk with Carmen, she kept hoping someone, anyone, would fit the bill.

My age range. Single. And not a troll. Jeez, that’s all I ask.

Finally, a little over an hour into the process, Carmen sat down with a cutie with brown hair and sweet brown eyes. She couldn’t tell how tall he was, but he didn’t look like he was in bad physical shape.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

She grabbed her phone and called Carmen’s cell after listening for a few minutes. He was smart, he had a degree and good grades that wouldn’t raise red flags with her dad for hiring him, and he was easy on the eyes.

Please, please let him be single and not a douche!

“Carmen, can he come over right now for an interview?” She knew her dad was out of the office until late the next afternoon. The convention center was only four blocks from the office tower where their headquarters took up three floors.

“I’ll ask him, ma’am.” She watched on the screen as he eagerly nodded, smiling as he vigorously shook hands with Carmen. She handed him a paper with a map and directions, and he practically jumped out of his seat.

Harper smiled. He was eager, practically desperate. Money wasn’t an issue. Gorden would retire with a comfortable pension even by executive standards. She could hire in his replacement for far more than the average graduate could ever hope to make and still pay the guy less than Gorden would earn in pension.

Carmen faxed the man’s résumé to Harper’s laptop. When she received it, she scanned it with a pleased smile. On paper, he would do. She closed her laptop and headed to the bathroom. After checking her blood sugar, she sighed and dosed herself with insulin. She’d have to be more careful in the future. She wouldn’t have Gorden shadowing her, making sure she ate on time and keeping her blood sugar steady. No one else on the staff besides him and her father knew about her condition, and that’s the way she planned to keep it. She worked out religiously as part of her weight-maintenance regimen. She wasn’t gym-rat thin, but she fought to keep her body fat down and her muscles toned. She’d been a solid size twelve since graduating high school, and if her doctor was happy with that, so was she.

* * *

Holy crap! Is she kidding? Do I want an interview right now? Hell yes! He took the paper with directions to Harper Wells’ office and bolted from the convention center floor. At the front door, when the muggy late-July Tampa heat slammed into him, he paused. If he ran the entire four blocks, he’d be drenched in sweat when he got there.

After taking a deep breath, he forced himself to walk the entire way. Upon arriving at the building, he ducked into the restroom in the lobby to freshen up and check himself out in the mirror.

No dark armpit stains, good! He straightened his tie again and headed for the bank of elevators to get to the twentieth floor.

The receptionist held him at her desk while she called back. Then she hung up and smiled. “Please follow me, Mr. Holt.”

She stood and led him through a maze of well-appointed hallways to an office that appeared to be located in the far corner of the building, if he wasn’t totally disoriented. She rapped on the door, opening it when a woman’s voice on the other side said, “Come.”

“Mr. Holt, ma’am.”

“Thanks, Kim.” He walked in, and the receptionist left them alone. The woman sat at her desk, her back to him. If he had to guess, it was a typical control tactic to put him off.

He tried not to let his expectations drop a notch, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to be wasting time on a dead end any more than he wanted to risk losing out on a valuable opportunity.

The woman turned and smiled kindly at him as she stood. He immediately reevaluated his first impression. She was young, not much older than him, and dressed in a neat, stylish charcoal pantsuit. Her shoulder-length dark blonde hair was tucked behind her ears. Hazel eyes studied him. Maybe five six if she wasn’t wearing heels. Not chunky, but no waif, either.

“Mr. Holt? I’m Harper Wells, CEO of Wells Technology.” She extended a hand across the desk to shake, and he stepped forward and took it. Firm grip, but not like she was trying to prove something.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Wells. Doug Holt. I really appreciate this opportunity.”

She indicated for him to take a seat across the desk from her as she retook hers. “Please, feel free to call me Harper.”

* * *

Hot damn, I’ve hit the jackpot, she thought when he walked in. He was definitely in shape, that much she could tell from the way his khaki slacks fit him and the cut of his long-sleeved dress shirt. He even had a cheap but decent-looking tie.

Style on a budget, good. She sensed more than just the normal anxiety from him.

“As you know,” she said, “I listened in on your initial interview with Carmen.” He nodded but didn’t interrupt. Good, he wasn’t overly pushy. “Now, I want to give you some background information before we start serious discussions.”

Here’s where she had to tread carefully. Carmen had told her the basics of how to phrase her questions so as not to run afoul of someone who wanted to cause trouble later. “This job, if it’s offered to you, will involve a lot of travel, including overseas. Sometimes for weeks at a time. A lot of nights, weekends, even holidays spent working, with me. Is there any situation in your life that would prevent you from being able to fulfill that obligation?”

He frowned, and she felt her gut roll. Damn, he probably has a wife or girlfriend. She looked but didn’t spot a ring on his left hand.

“I don’t have a passport, but I could apply for one. Will that be an issue, waiting for it to come through? I don’t know how long it takes.”