Dalton, Tymber - Contractual Obligation (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (2 page)

He stubbornly shook his head and stood to head for his room. “I don’t care. Somehow, I will take care of this. They’ve worked all their lives, and I will not let them lose their house!”

* * * *

Doug was still in his room when his father and younger sister, Eileen, got home. Doug had fired up his laptop and brushed off his résumé. It wasn’t the best, but his grades were excellent, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get a good job. He could sell his car, and he and Tate could share rides. Hell, his parents were just a block from the county bus line. He could take the bus if he had to.

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?”