I stroke my chin in amusement. “You want to work in advertising?”
She nods.
“Why’s that?”
She clears her throat, teasing the sweat on her glass with her delicate fingertips.
“You know…you ask a lot of questions,” she says, fighting back a grin.
“I can’t help it,” I chuckle. “In fact, I mentor a lot of recent college graduates.”
“Do you?” she utters, her tone sweet but sassy.
I nod. “Do you have a mentor in the advertising field?” I’m concerned when her head sags in hopelessness. She’s now staring at a bottle of ketchup sitting off to the side.
“No. Not yet.”
“I think it’s important to find someone who’s really good at what you want to do, then ask them if they can mentor you.”
She looks back up at me. “It’s funny, I really don’t know that many people in the advertising field.” She laughs. “Actually, I know none.”
“You know—with the internet, you have the whole world at your fingertips,” I say. “Even if your dream agency isn’t hiring at the moment, it would behoove you to connect with someone there and ask if you could drop in for an informational interview.”
Quen stares, wide-eyed. “A what?”
“You’ve never heard of an informational interview?”
She slowly shakes her head from left to right.
“What it is…you basically visit someone’s place of business and sit with them one-on-one. Instead of them interviewing you, you are interviewing them. You’re getting to know all about their business and what it is that particular person does. You’re also finding out how to position yourself once a job opens up in their organization. It’s also a great opportunity for you to ask them to mentor you.”
“Yeah—before he tells me to get the hell out of his office,” Quen chortles.
I narrow my gaze. “Or she.”
“Or she. I certainly didn’t mean to be sexist towards a hypothetical employer.” Her expression oozes sarcasm. “Ironic, considering I hope to be in that position at an advertising firm at some point.”
“Whoever you speak to, if they were truly dedicated to their job, they wouldn’t ask you to leave if you were genuinely seeking guidance. It’s important for leadership to not only lead but to also help usher in the new breed of talent behind them. Someone who’s exceptional at what they do and has mentored other exceptional people will be remembered by many after they’re long gone. True leaders always find a way to make a positive impact beyond where they are seated.”
When I see her subtle puzzled squint, I instantly regret dishing out the corporate pep talk so thick. Dial back the Tony Robbins act, O’Brien.
“Yeah, I can see that.” She appears to reach a moment of clarity. “It sounds like you speak from experience.”
“I like to think I’ve learned a little about leadership over the years,” I respond with a slight grin.
“I’ll definitely take your advice once I get back home. Thank you.”
When she smiles, it practically radiates against my skin.
Damn, she’s too cute.
Betty Jo, the waitress, returns to the table with both sandwich orders.
Little Miss Quen and I dig in.
“I feel bad. It looks like you didn’t enjoy your meal,” I quip with pursed lips.
Quen shrugs. The plate sitting in front of her doesn’t contain a single crumb, just like mine. That Reuben was the best I’ve had in a while.
“I swear, I thought you were going to lick the plate at one point,” I tease.
“Hell yeah, I was,” she chuckles. “I told you, we’ve been on the road for hours. I was starving.”
Nothing pleases me more than a girl who’s not afraid to eat. I catch her searching the diner yet again, obviously looking for her ride who has yet to meet her here. I silently hope that this trucker didn’t drive away with any of Quen’s valuable possessions.
“You didn’t say where you were headed?” I probe.
“Carmel-by-the-Sea,” she says with trepidation. “It’s…”
I nod adamantly, cutting off her impending explanation. I realize her hesitation was more for me than it was for her. She was concerned I wasn’t familiar with the location she was referring to, but it’s quite the contrary. I’ve spent most of my life exploring every inch of shore surrounding my home state. I’m a Californian, through and through.
“I know Carmel. It’s lovely. Historic scenery, tons of boutiques, great surfing. What do you plan to do while you’re there?”
“My best friend’s father has a beach house.”
My eyes widen and my lips purse as I answer with an impressed nod. I thought about getting a beach house there some time ago, but my business keeps me in the Bay area, which is two hours north of Carmel Beach.
“It’s a beautiful town,” I confirm.
“My friend Blair has been sending me pictures of the place to entice me to go. It looks beautiful. I can’t wait to get there.”
“Have you spent any time in California at all?” I ask.
“I have, but I was really looking forward to exploring more of the state…checking out the scenery. But my car crapped out before I could leave Oregon. Just three hours into my trip.”
“Three hours?” I’m perplexed.
She nods, ashamed.
“Why didn’t you turn around and go back home?”
Her earlier upbeat demeanor shifts, making it obvious to me that she’s running away from something. Or perhaps she’s searching for something instead.
What are you looking for, Miss Quen?
In an instant, she collects herself and squares her shoulders. “I decided to move forward on my quest for a clean start.”
“A clean start?” I echo, intrigued. “A clean start from what?”
“Boys.”
Indeed, she’s running from something. More like someone.
I do a poor job of hiding my amusement by fighting back a laugh. Her reaction to mine makes it clear that she isn’t the least bit amused. It doesn’t stop me from twisting the knife.
“Hitchhiking across state lines to get a clean start from boys seems kind of drastic, don’t you think?”
Void of a smile, she hunches her shoulders and takes a swig of water.
I wonder what she’s gone through in her short life that would lead her to such drastic measures. Whoever this dumbass is, he obviously hurt her badly.
“Mind telling me what happened to make you feel it’s necessary for you to have a clean start from boys?”
From the perturbed expression on her sweet face, I can tell that answering my question is the last thing she wants to do. My eyes hone in on hers. Unlike her, I don’t blink. I figure I’ll just stare her out of silence. It doesn’t take long at all for her to break away from my gaze. She looks down at the empty plate in front of her, which Betty Jo should’ve taken away a while ago.
“I recently broke up with my boy—” She abruptly stops herself. “Well, he wasn’t really my boyfriend. We were best friends for three years. I was hoping that we’d eventually get to that point. Anyway,” she waves in frustration, “he told me two months ago that he wasn’t ready for a relationship…which I call bullshit on because what in the hell were we doing for the past three years?” She huffs in frustration. “Although he told me he wasn’t ready, he didn’t hesitate to claim someone else on his Facebook page four days ago.”