Chapter One
Delilah
“I can do this . . . go in there, show them what I’m made of and nail the interview.” My nervous voice echoes in the bathroom as I take in yet another deep breath.
“Chase that sunset, Lu,” I whisper to myself, using my childhood nickname and the mantra Mama has been telling me since I was a little girl.
I pull my hair back, my skin pale, and my makeup is heavier than usual only to cover the dark circles under my eyes as I stare at my reflection.
Tawney needed help with closing the diner last night. As much as I wanted to go home and get a good night’s sleep, I couldn’t leave her. She’s been so good to me, taking a chance on a girl who’d never waited on tables.
I inhale, exhale, then shake out my shoulders to relax them. All this to impress the man I imagine sitting behind a large desk, lobbing questions at me for a job I have been trying to nail for the last couple of weeks.
It was only a few months ago when I packed up, did what I wanted, and embraced my new life. As I look at my blue eyes, there’s less uncertainty in them since I moved to California.
Time has given me the opportunity to find the strength I once had.
My parents raised me to be a strong and confident woman.
I have two older brothers, Drake and Dylan, one a sheriff and the other a former Navy SEAL, which forced me to be resilient and tough. Then there’s Daxton, my younger brother with Down syndrome who’s shown me there is still good in this world.
When I left my hometown of Windmill Creek, I wasn’t being tough and resilient.
Leaving home was one of the toughest things I had to do. But I had to do it and run away from the one man who ruined me and tore me down—physically and emotionally—every chance he had.
The raising of his hands and the threats still ghost my thoughts. The bruises once hidden under my clothes, the cast I had on for weeks and told my family I fell off my horse while riding her.
I shake my head and take in another deep breath, pushing him out of my thoughts.
He has no place here.
Not now.
Not ever.
Today is about me.
I need to walk into that office and show another man that I am not weak and deserve this job.
Chase your sunset. I repeat in my head about the hundredth time.
My fingers trace the leather portfolio case on the granite counter, ready to show my designs.
I silently pray all those years in Sunday school paid off as my fingers fiddle with the cross charm hanging from my necklace. Mama gave it to me when I turned sixteen. It’s my favorite piece of jewelry and I wear it every day.
I look at my watch. 9:12 a.m.
My stomach growls, and I regret not eating breakfast. I should have at least toasted up a bagel, but there was no time.
I hit the snooze button a couple of times just to get that extra sleep. Then after finally waking my ass up and the news reported a three-car pile-up on the 405 Freeway, I was pressing my luck to sit by the toaster for two minutes.
The thing about LA traffic, it will take at least two hours to travel only fifteen miles. I’m grateful I quickly learned that the moment I moved here, although it’s something I may never get used to.
I go over the typical questions and rehearse my answers in my head.
Why did you choose this company?
Why should we hire you?
What special skills can you contribute?
CJJ Public Relations only hires the best.
I square my shoulders and scan my outfit again.
My hair, my face, even my new heels one last time.
Check, check, and check.
A woman enters the restroom and startles me out of my thoughts as I realize I hadn’t shut off the faucet.
After she does her business and washes her hands, she pulls out a tube of lipstick from her Michael Kors purse. I quickly glance at the dark blue folder in her hand. A resume? Is she here for the job interview too?
She smooths the mauve gloss over her lips, then blots them together. She’s wearing a white top with beige pants complementing her dark waves floating down her back. She looks familiar, but I can’t remember where I have seen her before.
The woman glances at me through the mirror and I’m immediately embarrassed for staring too long.
Good one, Delilah. You probably look like a freak!
“That perfume you’re wearing . . . what’s it called?” she asks as she slips her lipstick back in her purse. “It’s pretty.”
“Huh . . . it’s um . . .” I stumble over my words sounding like a complete idiot. You’d think I was from another planet and didn’t understand a word she said to me. “Uh, it’s . . .” I glance at my reflection again and I suddenly look pale.
Why can’t I speak? I mentally slap myself in the head. All I had to say is that it’s a perfume my friend Jenna makes and sells at her boutique back in Kansas.
“Are you okay?” she asks as she places her hand on my shoulder.
“Yes. Sorry. Nerves. And I skipped breakfast.” My mouth feels like I swallowed a jar of cotton balls. “Are you here for a job interview too?”
She laughs gracefully. “Oh, no. Just a meeting.”
“So you work here?”
“You could say that.”
A sigh of relief washes over me, thankful she’s not my competition. “I’m interviewing with Mr. Grisham, in the Creative Department,” I say, then chastise myself for blurting it out. Did she really need to know that?
“Ahh, yes . . . Peter is looking for someone to fill Liz’s spot. After she had her baby, she decided to be a full-time mommy.”
“I’m assuming there are some big shoes to fill?”
“Liz was great. There’s no doubt about that,” she says, while my lack of confidence suddenly overwhelms me.
“Any advice you can share?” I ask. I need some insight on how to nail this interview since she’s not a threat to taking it.
The corner of her mouth turns up, and a raise of her perfect brow. “Don’t get pregnant.”
“Oh, I’m not . . . I don’t even have a boyfriend,” I say nervously. “I mean . . . I want to have kids someday but . . .” Delilah, shut your mouth. You sound like a babbling baboon.
“I’m kidding.” She laughs and extends her hand. “I’m Kitty, one of the publicists here.”
“Delilah. But my friends call me Dee.” I shake her hand and can’t help but stare at the sparkling diamond on her finger. “Beautiful ring.”
“Yeah. Jackson’s a keeper.” She gazes at her ring, then giggles as if she remembered something. The look in her eyes tells me she must be one of those women that found her true love. I envy women like that.
Mama with Daddy. Dylan with Phoebe and Drake with Franny.
“Well, clearly he’s a keeper. It’s written all over your face.”
“What is?” she asks as her cheeks turn rosy.
“Love . . . not just regular love. The rare kind. The kind that makes you smile even when you’re not trying to.” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get all mushy.”
“It’s okay. I like a woman that recognizes what love is. I take it you have been in love before?”
“Me? No. Mine was a mistake, not love.”